Horrible homophones

“English is a funny language. They write CAT but pronounce KAT and it means Poocha. Malayalam is logical. We write Poocha, we say Poocha and we mean Poocha,” a man from Kerala had once said.

I tend to agree with this man. It is indeed a funny language. Otherwise why pronounce two words exactly the same when they are spelt differently? Take the example of SUN and SON for instance. Or HEIR and AIR. Or BEAR and BARE. They hide behind the respectability of the posh sounding word, ‘Homophone’. But do I care? Especially when they serve no purpose other than to cause confusion and get me into trouble. I would ask the boffins to review these troublesome words and weed out the duplicates.

Just the other day I took my wife to this lakeside café in a place called West Wellow near Romsey. I had been to this café twice before with my cycling friends. The best toasties in England are to be had there. Tomatoes, onions and cheese (or ham if you must) between two slices of well buttered white bread, toasted to golden perfection, consumed with a bit of salad and washed down with a pot of tea. Wah! Delightful, more so after a gruelling bike ride in sub-zero temperatures.

That morning, the sun had emerged after several days of hiding behind the clouds. My wife is not a cyclist and so, we drove to Toasty Café. It is owned by a friendly middle aged couple. The husband greeted us as we entered. I assumed he had recognised me having forgotten to factor in a small detail – he had only seen me in my cycling gear, all bright orange and yellow highvis lycra, wrap around sun glasses, helmet. That morning I was in my civvies. As far as he was concerned, he was seeing me for the first time in his life. When he said,

“You brought the sun with you today,” I thought he meant – instead of bringing your cycling friends, you brought your son today. I was a bit taken aback and turned around to take a good look at my wife – as if I was looking at her for the first time. I tried to understand why the man mistook her for my son. Ah! clever me had it figured – it is the short haircut that gave her a boyish look.

“No,” I replied, “this is my wife.” No sooner had I said it, I realised my error.

The restaurateur mumbled something and I wished I were a slice of tomato hidden inside a toasty. Anyway, the moment had passed and no explanation was offered. The toasty was delicious as always, maybe flavoured with a touch of foolishness. All because of a damned homophone!