My dear Fleming is currently reading Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence. She assures me that it’s a very famous book, and that my mother and sister will have most certainly read it, and that my father will equally as certainly not.
During my evening of emailing whos-its and reading blogs about whats-its, my dear lady has been on the couch beside me chuckling her way through Lawrence’s crafy 19th century sexual references. During one of her non-chuckling moments, she turned to ask me what ‘Bolshevism‘ meant, knowing full well that it was a very simple word and that of course I knew it, and that even she knew it, however it was unfortunately stuck on the tip of one of her many linguistic tongues. I, as a good proper Australian, have never heard of a word containing more than two syllabols, so insisted it was a typo and should read ‘Ballism’, which means one who is judgmental to all things balls.
I do not wish to ask Google for help , as I fear they will side with Annelies against my rallying cry for Ballism.
In any case, her favourite line is currently line 27, page 41:
Me? Oh. Intellectually I believe in having a good heart, a chirpy penis, a lively intelligence, and the courage to say ‘ shit!’ in front of a lady.
Ahhh 19th Century, the things we can learn from you still!