Take a look at this word:
Quoin
What’s going on there exactly? It’s very odd, as though someone was trying to type ‘coin’ in their phone and came out with a right old mess of nonsense.
The more you look at it the less it makes sense, possibly causing fits of giggles from its nonsensical nature. In a way it’s a bit like that picture of George that got funnier the longer you stared at it; scientists are yet to understand the power of Gorg.
For those not in the know, myself included, a quoin is a masonry block at the corner of a wall. Some are structural, providing strength for a wall made with inferior stone or rubble, while others merely add aesthetic details to a corner.
Imagine that, your corner is looking a little out-dated, not completely on the fashions so you rustle up a sexy quoin and stick it on the outside of your house ot make the neighbours jealous. If I had a collection of quoins mine would all have feather boas and they’d dangle from the side of my block of flats, teasing those that walk past with their dogs.
I wonder how many quoins Kevin has been through in his redevelopment cycle encompassing most of the British Isles.
10 comments on “Quoin (what did you call me?)”
Funny you should mention quoins. I’d never heard of them until we had a surveyor come and write a detailed report of things we didn’t understand about houses. He mentioned quoins. I looked it up at the time, and still don’t know which bit of the house he meant.
Prior to this post, if you had asked me what a quoin was I would have said it was some kind of tenderloin or a hefty slither of meat you ordered from the butchers.
Yes. That sounds right. Lamb quoins for dinner with smushed potatoes and vodka glazed peas.
I expect given that you’re used to the high life, you have previously eaten stacks of lamb quoins but were too important to care what was written on the menu so waved the waiter away and told them to bring you some posh meat.
Yeah. Most places I go, the waiter is unable to bring me any meat that I consider sufficiently posh, so I usually flounce out, but not until I’ve ground the lamb quoins into the carpet with my heel.
You see you, right, you’re so money sometimes it’s ridiculous.
One day I will have all the quoins I can hope for, more than I can ever eat. I’ll build a sanctuary out of them and people will flock from miles around to see my lovely lamb quoin structure.
A sort of lamb quoin shrine? I’d visit that, to pay my respects to the glory of the quoin.
Then I’d complain that all the meat was too cheap for my tastes, and I’d flounce out, but not until I’d ground the lamb quoins into the carpet with my heel.
I’m going to have someone draw your face on a lamb quoin and put it on the list of people who are not allowed to enter the sacred lamb quoin shrine. It will be a physical list, with quoins for all who have abused the love of the quoin (what?).
There’s too many quoins in that sentence. Now we’ve run out.
Eh, ah, oh… dammit!