*From "Saudi Arabic for visiting businessmen" phrasebook. You never know when you'll have to ask someone to take you to the airport in Arabic
For the last couple of days I have had a cough. My cough isn't the liquid gargly cough of the seasoned smoker or the dry pointless bark of the person at the back of the audience just when the play's getting interesting. I have whooping cough. I can keep up this terrible-sounding croup-hoot all night if required and Bud finally made a late bid for parental responsibility and rang the quack (opposite).
Turning down the appointment offered (1030 am next Friday) we waited in the little hot room full of Romanian babies and grannies wetting themselves for a mere 50 minutes before the doctor called me in. I didn't have a temperature in my ear, there was enough oxygen in my thumb and my lungs sounded good through my tummy. Even though I hooted several times she (in a thick Arabic accent) still said no yellow medicine for you, my son, come back if it gets worse. I'd missed my playdate with Ben and nearly missed Supper #1.
In the corner of the Beavers church hall was a large tub of Lego. Surely I don't have to pay Beaver fees to play with Lego? But we did, and there were lots of bits I'd never seen before. Bud told me about a Lego 10179 limited first edition Millenium Falcon (unopened) that's 3 feet long when built, just sold on Ebay for £1,420. I said moo, why can't I have it. He said fine, old chap, you only have to get into the Golden Book one and a half thousand times.
For the last couple of days I have had a cough. My cough isn't the liquid gargly cough of the seasoned smoker or the dry pointless bark of the person at the back of the audience just when the play's getting interesting. I have whooping cough. I can keep up this terrible-sounding croup-hoot all night if required and Bud finally made a late bid for parental responsibility and rang the quack (opposite).
Turning down the appointment offered (1030 am next Friday) we waited in the little hot room full of Romanian babies and grannies wetting themselves for a mere 50 minutes before the doctor called me in. I didn't have a temperature in my ear, there was enough oxygen in my thumb and my lungs sounded good through my tummy. Even though I hooted several times she (in a thick Arabic accent) still said no yellow medicine for you, my son, come back if it gets worse. I'd missed my playdate with Ben and nearly missed Supper #1. 
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