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From Russia, with not so much love
Dec. 29th, 2025 11:38 amI think I may have already mentioned that Porthos is half Russian. His mother had the great misfortune to be born in Siberia; she eventually got out by dint of marrying an Englishman, the result of this being, of course, Porthos. She did very well for herself over here as a translator, though I think she's now mostly retired; and she and Porthos regularly stick two fingers up at Putin by finding all the Ukrainians they can and royally entertaining them (they live in the same town, though not in the same house).
Life in Siberia was, as you might expect, pretty grim, especially in the winter. When Porthos' mother was growing up, every winter, as soon as the freeze set in properly, her father would go out, shoot a bear, drag it home, and stick it in the shed. For the rest of the winter, every time the family wanted meat, he'd go and hack a bit off this frozen bear with an axe. Porthos' mother wasn't the biggest fan of bear meat, and I should think that by the time she left home she was very glad not to have to see it again. But, apparently, that was just what you did in Siberia.
So our Porthos grew up fluently bilingual, which gave him a massive head start learning other languages; he is still probably the best linguist (in the sense of "language learner" rather than "student of the way languages work") that I know. He and his mother still code-switch all the time with dizzying rapidity, which can get a bit disorientating at times, but that's just how they function.
Well, one day, he decided he wanted a frock coat; and you can't just go and buy one of those off the peg, especially not if you are (as he was at the time) an imposingly large gentleman. He's tall, and at the time his circumference was not too far off his height. So he asked me if I could make him one, and I said, of course. I found a pattern, enlarged it fairly considerably widthways, and made it up for him; he was very pleased with it, and decided he'd like a pair of knee breeches to go with it. Conveniently, the frock coat pattern also had a pattern for those included.
Now, this was a long time ago. I had never widened a trouser pattern before, so it didn't occur to me that I didn't need to widen it throughout; his legs were not as thick (in proportion to the pattern) as his torso was. So I just widened the whole thing, then I made a calico mock-up and got him to try it on.
He came out of his bedroom wearing this mock-up. We looked at it, and each other, and laughed. And then his mother rang.
He answered his mobile. "Zdrastvuitye, mama... [Russianrussianrussianrussian...] [Russianrussianrussian...] [Russianrussian Bermuda shorts Russianrussianrussian...]"
I mean. I couldn't argue. But that's how I found out that there is no Russian term for "Bermuda shorts".
There's also no Russian word for "gonk", but that's quite another story!
Life in Siberia was, as you might expect, pretty grim, especially in the winter. When Porthos' mother was growing up, every winter, as soon as the freeze set in properly, her father would go out, shoot a bear, drag it home, and stick it in the shed. For the rest of the winter, every time the family wanted meat, he'd go and hack a bit off this frozen bear with an axe. Porthos' mother wasn't the biggest fan of bear meat, and I should think that by the time she left home she was very glad not to have to see it again. But, apparently, that was just what you did in Siberia.
So our Porthos grew up fluently bilingual, which gave him a massive head start learning other languages; he is still probably the best linguist (in the sense of "language learner" rather than "student of the way languages work") that I know. He and his mother still code-switch all the time with dizzying rapidity, which can get a bit disorientating at times, but that's just how they function.
Well, one day, he decided he wanted a frock coat; and you can't just go and buy one of those off the peg, especially not if you are (as he was at the time) an imposingly large gentleman. He's tall, and at the time his circumference was not too far off his height. So he asked me if I could make him one, and I said, of course. I found a pattern, enlarged it fairly considerably widthways, and made it up for him; he was very pleased with it, and decided he'd like a pair of knee breeches to go with it. Conveniently, the frock coat pattern also had a pattern for those included.
Now, this was a long time ago. I had never widened a trouser pattern before, so it didn't occur to me that I didn't need to widen it throughout; his legs were not as thick (in proportion to the pattern) as his torso was. So I just widened the whole thing, then I made a calico mock-up and got him to try it on.
He came out of his bedroom wearing this mock-up. We looked at it, and each other, and laughed. And then his mother rang.
He answered his mobile. "Zdrastvuitye, mama... [Russianrussianrussianrussian...] [Russianrussianrussian...] [Russianrussian Bermuda shorts Russianrussianrussian...]"
I mean. I couldn't argue. But that's how I found out that there is no Russian term for "Bermuda shorts".
There's also no Russian word for "gonk", but that's quite another story!
