Clank!

I bought some bathroom tiles in a shop called "Mr. Klinker".
So far, so good.
Danish friend asks for the name of my supplier.
"Mr. Klunker", says I.
Much Danish guffawing all round.
Klinker = tiles
Klunker = testicles

Something for the weekend ...

A SHORT LOVE STORY FOR VALENTINE'S DAY
A man and a woman who have never met before but who are both married to other people, find themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a trans-continental train. Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they are both very tired and fall asleep quickly, he in the upper berth and she in the lower.
At 1:00 am the man leans down and gently wakes the woman saying "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I'm awfully cold."
''I have a better idea" she replies. "Just for tonight, let's pretend that we're married."
''Wow! That's a great idea!" he exclaims.
"Good" she replies. "Get your own fucking blanket."
After a moment of silence, he farts.
The End

The "F" word ...

In Danish, the word for speed is "fart" .
As a new driver in Denmark, you will come across road-signs that indicate what fart level is considered acceptable.
It is admissable to fart at 50 km per hour within city boundaries but this should be reduced to 30km in smaller town centres (where people are in closer proximity and excessive farting could result in damage to property or personal injury).
On motorways one is free to fart at 110 km.
However, it would serve you well to note the following:
The Politi (Police) are allowed to fart as much as they like in order to catch up with you and, when they do, they will take delight in issuing you with a farting ticket.
P.S.
When traveling on any of the Scandinavian ferry services, a quick browse through the handy "Fartplan" (available onboard) lets you know what kind of farts to expect when onboard.

Something for the weekend ...

A bloke from Yorkshire goes to the jewellers ...
He says, "Can tha mek a gold statue o' mi dog?".
"Aye, reckon a can," sez the jeweller. "Does tha want it eighteen carat?".
"Neigh," sez bloke, "I want it chewin' bone."

Gentlemen's Attachments

During the course of dinner last week, my Danish sister-in-law mentioned that she thought my dog's testicles looked a bit peculiar and perhaps I ought to have them checked out by the vet. The next day found me at the reception desk of our local animal doctor haltingly explaining why I needed an appointment for Viggo (my dog). All appeared to be going well as I managed, in my strangulated Danish, to explain who I was, what my dog's name was, the fact that I required an appointment with the vet and could they arrange a consultation?
The lady at the desk (whom, it later turned out, was the vet) then asked me what the problem was.
Now, this is where it all went a bit pear-shaped (or should that be plum shaped?).
I said "Jeg tror at han har problemer med sin ... pause ... forgotten correct word for it ... bugger, what on earth is the word for it? ... ah, yes, ....... klunker."
With just the merest hint of a raised eyebrow and the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth, the vet set an appointment time and bade me farewell.
It turns out that the word "klunker" is somewhat archaic and would normally only be used to describe the very heavy tassels that were hung from curtain pelmets in Danish houses in days gone by.
The only way to describe the effect of what I had said to the vet would be to paraphrase it in English as such:
"Good morning. My name is Reluctant Mermaid and this is my dog, Viggo. I was wondering if it would be at all possible for me to arrange an appointment with the vet. It would? Marvellous. The problem? Ah, yes, I think that he might have a problem with .... pause ... forgotten correct word for it ... bugger, what on earth is the word ... ah, yes, .... his large, heavy-duty decorative curtain tassels."
As it turned out, his curtain tassels were perfectly in order ... but it did bring a whole new meaning to swags and tails.

Splash

I have slipped off my rock somewhat of late. Damn that seaweed! Will be back in the morrow to begin the first of my 2009 posts. Happy New Year to all - or "Godt Nytår" as they say in the land of beer and herring.

A roll by any other name ...

Early on in my relationship with Mr Mermaid, we went on a skiing holiday with approximately two million of his friends - all wonderful English speakers until they hit the alcohol - after which time they reverted to their native Danish (quite right too). Anyway, I was very new to the whole 'Danish' thing and couldn't understand a blessed word anyone was saying, so decided I would pass the time by asking my "table partner" what a few words in Danish were: knife (kniv), spoon (ske), bowl (skål), etc. For good measure, I also asked for the word for butter (smør) and "bread roll" (bolle). Nothing wrong with that, all going splendidly so far. Or so I thought.
Later in the evening, fuelled by one too many Carlsbergs, our assembled group began the much-loved tradition of singing terrible songs as loudly as possible. Feeling it would be churlish to let a complete lack of Danish prevent me from joining in, I decided to improvise with the few words that I had learned that evening. Thus, I began singing a catchy little number which contained just the three lyrics "Jeg elsker bolle, jeg elsker bolle!" ("I love bread rolls, I love bread rolls!") Fuelled by the ever-louder (!) applause from my Danish audience and carried away with my own brilliance, I sang with an enthusiasm normally reserved for the mentally deranged (all the time blissfully unaware that my lovely table partner/translator had omitted to mention that bolle also means fuck in Danish).
The rest of the holiday was spent trying to avoid the advances of a randy Danish skiing instructor.