Lost In Translation

Mr TLC is reading an old guitar magazine when I get into bed.

“Corduroy Pillars, they’re making headlines,” he says in a slightly sarcastic tone of voice.

I mistakenly assume that this remark does not need a reply, but realise my error when I look up to see Mr TLC staring at me waiting for a reaction.

“Er right,” I manage feebly. “Who are they then?” I ask, mistakenly assuming that Corduroy Pillars are some band that didn’t make it. (Yes, I know, you’re probably way ahead of me here.)

Mr TLC stares at me as if I am mad. “Corduroy Pillars, they’re making headlines,” he says again, slowly and carefully this time.

I still don’t get it. Is this how it feels to be a kid in one of my lessons?

“Who are Corduroy Pillars? Are they a band?” I ask. I immediately regret this, because this question leaves Mr TLC with a look of despair on his face.

“You used to laugh at my jokes,” says Mr TLC, in a sad sort of voice. He picks up a pillow and waves it at me as he says “Corduroy Pillars, they’re making headlines,” for a final time whilst miming lines on his face.

Oh, corduroy pillows. Not pillars. Making headlines. I get it, finally. Mr TLC is shaking his head. I feel like a total idiot.

Sometimes I feel as if Yarkshire is still a strange foreign language, evidently pillow talk is beyond me.

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