IDIOMS, not IDIOCIES

by BJM Publishing, posted in Miscellaneous

“An idiom is a phrase or expression whose meaning cannot be understood from the literal definition of its individual words. It is a figurative saying peculiar to a specific culture or language, where the group of words has a generally understood meaning different from the literal interpretation“

Body Parts

Cold feet: Being nervous or reconsidering a decision. Its modern usage meaning “lack of courage” appeared in American fiction in the late 19th century. One theory suggests it comes from gamblers who would claim to have “cold feet” as an excuse to leave a poker game before they lost any more money. An older Italian “Lombard proverb” also linked cold feet to being out of money.

Pulling someone’s leg: Joking with someone or teasing them.

Pulling the wool over someone’s eyes: means to intentionally deceive, trick, or mislead someone to prevent them from discovering the truth. It implies manipulating someone by hiding facts, often for personal gain. It is an informal idiom often used to describe someone being foolish or tricked

A chip on your shoulder: Holding a grudge or being easily angered.

Get off my back: Stop bothering or pressuring someone.

Bite off more than you can chew: Taking on a task that is too difficult. This idiom emerged in 19th-century America and refers to the practice of chewing tobacco. People would offer others a “plug” of tobacco, and greedy individuals might take a bite so large they couldn’t handle it comfortably or would even get sick.

Break a leg: A way to wish someone “good luck,” usually before a performance. This theatrical well-wishing began in the 1920s. Because theater folk are notoriously superstitious and believe wishing “good luck” actually causes bad luck, they wish for the opposite. Some suggest it refers to “breaking the leg line” (entering the stage past the side curtains, known as “legs”) or bending the knee in a deep bow after a successful show.

Cost an arm and a leg: Something that is excessively expensive.

Living hand to mouth: Having only enough money to satisfy immediate needs without any savings.

In over my head: to be involved in a difficult situation that you cannot get out of

By the skin of your teeth: To barely succeed at something or to narrowly avoid disaster.

Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater: is an idiom advising against losing valuable things while trying to eliminate unwanted ones. It means avoiding overreactions that discard good aspects along with the bad. Common examples include quitting a job over one minor issue or scrapping a whole project due to small errors

Animals

When pigs fly: Something that is impossible or will never happen.

Bring home the bacon: To earn a living or provide financial support for a family. Its origin likely stems from 16th-century country fairs where people competed to catch a greased pig; the winner literally “brought home the bacon”.

Raining cats and dogs: Raining very heavily. While there are many theories, one of the most common involves 17th-century street drainage. During heavy storms, debris and unfortunately drowned animals would be washed through the streets, making it look as though they had fallen with the rain.

Like a blue-arsed fly: Running around frantically or being very busy (common in UK/Australia).

Like a chicken with its head cut off: Acting in a frantic, disorganized, or senseless manner. Similar to above.

The elephant in the room: A major problem or controversial issue that is present but everyone is ignoring.

Let the cat out of the bag: To accidentally or prematurely reveal a secret. This phrase likely traces back to a medieval market scam. Merchants would sell what they claimed were valuable piglets in sacks (known as a “poke” –  buying a pig in a poke). If the buyer was suspicious and opened the bag, they might find a worthless stray cat instead—thus “letting the cat out of the bag” and revealing the secret.

A man on a galloping horse wouldn’t notice: Used when a small mistake is insignificant and won’t be seen by someone passing by quickly.

Get off your high horse:  It is used to tell someone to stop judging others or behaving as if they are better or more important. The phrase originated from medieval times when high-ranking people rode very large horses.

Miscellaneous

Hit the nail on the head: To describe exactly what is causing a situation or to be precisely correct. This phrase has been around for centuries, appearing as early as the 15th century. It is a simple metaphor for accuracy and skill—a carpenter who hits a nail perfectly on its head is doing the job exactly right

Piece of cake: Something that is very easy to do.

Break the bank: To be extremely expensive or to spend all of one’s money on a single purchase.

Born with a silver spoon in your mouth: Born into a wealthy and privileged family.

In the red / In the black: These terms come from traditional bookkeeping, where accountants used red ink to show losses (debt) and black ink to show profits.

Time is money: An expression used to emphasize that time is a valuable resource and should not be wasted.

and on that note, I think I will call it a day: to stop working or end an activity for the time being……

The Mirador in San Miguel de Allende

by BJM Publishing, posted in Adventure, Travel

There are certain experiences in life that sound charming in theory and feel like a personal vendetta in practice. The Mirador in San Miguel de Allende falls neatly into that category.

Now, if you’ve never heard of it, the Mirador is essentially a scenic lookout perched above the town, offering postcard-perfect views of terracotta rooftops, church spires, and that golden, late-afternoon glow that makes everyone briefly consider quitting their job and moving to Mexico. It’s lovely. Truly.

Getting there, however, is another matter entirely.

Let me translate it into Canadian: imagine climbing the stairs of the CN Tower for fun. Then add a dash of the Grouse Grind for personality. Sprinkle in 30-degree heat and the faint suspicion that you’ve made a series of poor life choices. That’s the Mirador walk.

Naturally, this is how our day unfolded.

The plan, you see, was simple. Innocent, even. A quick stop at El Manantial, a charming little bar we had spotted in a YouTube video. It promised excellent margaritas, Day of the Dead murals, and swinging saloon doors, which frankly sounds like the beginning of a very good decision. After that, a civilized dinner on a rooftop near the Jardín. Easy.

We had already been walking for about half an hour when we wandered through a park hosting an art show, paintings, sculptures, the kind of cultural detour that makes you feel pleasantly accomplished. Then we exited the park, consulted our GPS with blind faith, and spotted a staircase. A staircase that, in hindsight, was less “shortcut” and more “ominous prologue.” Up we went.

At the top, we paused, lungs filing a formal complaint, and were rewarded with a sculpture of a giant hand, which I had seen online and never located. “Well,” I thought, “this is going splendidly.” A bonus discovery. A triumph. That, as it turns out, was the last coherent positive thought I had for quite some time.

Because just around the corner… more stairs. And then more.

And then the slow, creeping realization. That dawning horror. The mental replay of earlier advice: “Don’t walk to the Mirador. Take a cab. You’ll thank us.” We had, in fact, taken a cab up there previously for precisely this reason. And now, like two stubborn protagonists in a cautionary tale, we were doing the one thing we had explicitly been trying to avoid. “For fuk’s sake,” I muttered between gasps, “how stupid are we?”

The stairs came in waves. You’d crest one set, heart pounding like a percussion section, only to round a corner and be greeted by another flight, waiting patiently like it had all day to ruin you.

We stopped at least four times. Possibly more. Time loses meaning when you’re negotiating with your own cardiovascular system. Thankfully, we had a bottle of water, which we drained with the reverence of people who now understood the value of hydration on a spiritual level. The sun, meanwhile, had decided to participate enthusiastically, turning the whole ordeal into a slow roast.

There were two other women making the climb. One looked about half my age and stopped just as often, which provided a small, petty comfort. Misery loves company, especially when it’s wheezing beside you. At one point, while we were paused and pretending this was all part of a fitness plan, my husband casually remarked, “If I have a heart attack, just roll me down the hill. It’ll be easier for the medics.”

By then, I had entered a new phase of the journey: open hostility. I was swearing like a long-haul trucker and no longer cared if we ever reached the restaurant, civilization, or the afterlife. And then, finally, the summit.

We reached the top around four o’clock, having left the house at 2:30. A brisk outing, if you define “brisk” as “an endurance event.”

We found El Manantial, collapsed into two chairs, and ordered margaritas with the urgency of people who had just survived something mildly heroic. Ken disappeared to the washroom. I sat there, oddly fascinated by the fact that I didn’t need to go. Not even slightly. It turns out that when you sweat out your entire body weight, certain systems take a break.

After a restorative pause and the slow return of dignity, we made our way back down toward the Jardín. I stationed myself in the square, listening to mariachi bands and contemplating my life choices, while Ken secured a reservation at Trazo 1810. And here’s the important part: it has an elevator. A glorious, civilization-affirming elevator.

Dinner was lovely. Wine was involved. The moon rose obligingly, casting that soft silver glow over the rooftops as if to say, See? Worth it. And in fairness, it did save the day. As for the Mirador? The view is undeniably beautiful. The journey up? Character-building, they say.

Personally, I feel I’ve built quite enough character already. Another glass of wine, por favor!

The 1938 Hispano-Suiza “Xenia”

by BJM Publishing, posted in classic cars

Some cars are just on another level—so exotic and impressive that they make everything else look ordinary. Most countries are lucky to have even one “legend” to their name. You’ve got the American Duesenberg SJ, Britain’s 12-cylinder Rolls-Royce Phantom III, Germany’s supercharged Mercedes SSKL, and France’s massive Bugatti Royale. But then there’s Hispano-Suiza. These cars were in a league of their own. No expenses were spared on their creation ensuring they were the best ever built.

The brand started back in 1901 when a Swiss engineer named Marc Birkigt convinced his Spanish boss, Emilio La Cuadra, to pivot from electric buses to motor cars. The name “Hispano-Suiza” literally means Spanish-Swiss, a nod to the Spanish money and Swiss engineering behind it.

During the 1920’s and ‘30s the company produced the vehicles that established its reputation among the elite of the world’s great motor cars. The H6, which debuted at the 1919 Paris Motor Show is still considered one of the greatest cars ever made.

When the Great Depression hit in the ’30s, most luxury carmakers panicked as their pool of wealthy buyers dried up. But Hispano-Suiza doubled down, refusing to compromise on their huge, powerful, over-the-top designs. While they eventually stopped production in France by 1938, they kept things going in Barcelona until World War II began.

One of the coolest stories from this era involves André Dubonnet, a wealthy heir to the aperitif fortune and race car driver. He commissioned the 1938 “Xenia”—named after his late wife—which is basically the peak of pre-war Art Deco design. It’s a sleek, curvy, one-of-a-kind masterpiece that looks like it’s from another planet. He won a sports car race at Boulogne with it in 1921.

In the end, Hispano-Suiza was a perfect mix of world-class engineering and pure style. Marc Birkigt eventually retired in 1950, and in a fitting twist, the French side of his company ended up merging with Bugatti.

A collage of luxury cars from long ago era

Can you guess the other luxury cars in the above collage? Which is a kit car?

DON’T LIE NO MORE

by BJM Publishing, posted in Miscellaneous

A poem by Beryl McGuinness

There’s a hole in my soul

That can’t be filled

Empty words and broken trusts have left me less than thrilled

Don’t try and play another angle, I have seen them all

Be a man, don’t be a dick, I know each and every dirty trick

What don’t you get when I say that I don’t want to play,

I can’t be nice and hang around to make your day

You are on your own, set adrift, I just don’t give a shit

A humanoid, no emotion and numb a bit

Been knocked around and made to feel inferior

But a light’s gone off in this one’s interior

I deserve the best and will not rest till I find an equal

I can be on my own but not alone, and happier.

Feel free to turn it into a country song!

Gregory Clark – legendary fisherman and writer

by BJM Publishing, posted in Adventure, Miscellaneous

The man I’m about to tell you about was a giant—though he stood shorter than most.

biography of writer Greg Clark

His name was Greg Clark. Before the world got loud and digital, Greg was the voice of Canada. Back in the day, he was more famous than the Prime Minister, and for good reason. The editorial director of Weekend Magazine, once described Clark as “a man so Canadian that no other land could possibly have produced him.”

He started out as a bit of a rebel—failed out of the University of Toronto twice—before landing at the Toronto Star in 1911 where his old man was an editor. But the real world came calling in 1916. Greg went over to the mud and blood of the Great War. He survived three years in the trenches, winning the Military Cross for bravery at Vimy Ridge.

When he came home a Major, he wrote a story that still haunts the neighbourhood in Toronto. It’s called “One Block of Howland Avenue.” You see, every single young man on his block died in that war, except for Greg and his brother. When they finally came home from the war their father met them at the beginning of the street and begged them to take the long way around—to go through the back alleys—so the grieving neighbours wouldn’t have to see two sons coming home when theirs never would.

Greg carried that heart into his writing. In the ’20s, he sat across from a “tall young squirt” named Ernest Hemingway at the Toronto Star. Greg actually told the kid to give up on fiction and stick to reporting! He laughed about that later, of course, once Hemingway became… well, Hemingway.

Through the 30’s, Greg was the man people turned to. He covered the big stuff—the Lindbergh trial, the forming of the UN, the coronation of a King—but his greatest moment was at the Moose River Mine. When every other reporter packed up and gave up on the trapped miners, Greg stayed. He was there, in the silence of the woods, when the first faint tap-tap-tap came from the earth. He got the scoop because he had the patience to wait.

Though he was too old to fight in the second war, he went back as a correspondent. He saw the Blitz, Dunkirk, and the front lines in Italy. He lost his own son to that war, a blow that would’ve broken a lesser man. But Greg kept writing. He moved to the Montreal Standard and Weekend Magazine, sharing tales in his column, “The Packsack,” that felt like a warm letter from an old friend.

He won everything—the Order of Canada, the Leacock Medal, honorary doctorates. But if you asked him? He’d probably tell you his proudest moment was being inducted into the Canadian Fishing Hall of Fame.

He died in ’77, and most of his nineteen books have slipped out of print, which is a damn shame. He knew how to find the “human touch” in the darkest of times. He lived through the horrors of war and the heartbreak of losing his son and wife, yet he still wrote with a rhythm and a grace that made you feel like the world was going to be alright.

So, next time you’re in a dusty old bookstore, look for his name. Scour the shelves for a bit of Greg Clark. We could all use a little more of his integrity and his humour in our own lives today.

Kitchener’s Art Deco Nereids: A Sparkling Tale

by BJM Publishing, posted in Art

Gather ’round, everyone! Lean in, because I’ve got a tale for you about two of Kitchener’s most famous “ladies” who spent decades looking for a permanent home.

Imagine it’s 1940. A local artist named Helen Waimel Robertson—who was a total rock star in the sculpture world—decides to create something a bit “extra” for the era. She crafts these two stunning Art Deco statues. They aren’t just any statues, though; they’re sea goddesses, or Nereids*, elegantly hitching a ride on the backs of dolphins. *They represent the beauty and goodness of the sea.

Now, here’s the cool part: Helen didn’t just use plain old cement. She mixed in quartz aggregate. So, when the sun hits them just right, they don’t just sit there—they sparkle.

But back in the 1940s, Kitchener was a pretty quiet, conservative place. When a local businessman named Roy Bullas put these “nude” sea nymphs in a fountain outside his furniture store on Charles Street, it caused quite the stir! People weren’t exactly used to seeing mythical goddesses hanging out by the sidewalk. They became a local landmark, but they definitely raised a few eyebrows.

Fast forward about forty years. The wrecking ball arrives! The Bullas store is being torn down to build the downtown bus terminal. For a minute there, it looked like our sparkling goddesses might end up in a scrap heap. Luckily, a local couple, the Kachiks, stepped in like art-world superheroes and saved them from the rubble.

After that, the statues spent a long time hiding away in city storage—basically a dark, dusty basement. It wasn’t until 1998 that they finally got their “happily ever after.” Thanks to some serious persistence from the artist’s sister, the city brought them out of retirement.

Because they’re made of that special sparkling concrete, they couldn’t stay outside forever—the Ontario winters are a bit much for even a sea goddess! So, they were moved into the “refreshment” lobby of the Centre In The Square. Today, they stand there finally dry, warm, and ready to greet everyone coming to see a show.

So, next time you’re in the theatre for a performance, look for the ladies on the dolphins. They’ve survived the 1940s critics, a demolition crew, and years in a storage locker just to sparkle for you!

Note: A sculpture is a three-dimensional work of art. It can be made of stone, metal, clay, or other materials. A statue is an artwork that depicts a person or an animal or part of a person or animal. The terms sculpture and statue are often used interchangeably.

ASHES TO ASHES

by BJM Publishing, posted in Adventure, Family and Friends

If you should choose to have yourself cremated instead of buried in a cemetery perfectly preserved in whatever state you happened to be in when the grim reaper knocked on your door; there are certainly several methods available to you. Some of the conservative ways are to have your ashes put into an urn and then in a grave or interred into what looks like mailboxes at your local UPS store or placing the urn on your mantelpiece, provided you have a fireplace at home.

We are not interested in boring, we want the dramatic. If we can’t have a Viking shooting an arrow out over the water to set the barge with our remains on fire then – we might consider some of the alternatives in the list below.

  • Underwater Reefs: Ashes are mixed with environmentally safe concrete to form a reef ball placed on the ocean floor, helping to rebuild marine habitats.
  • Vinyl Records: Some services press ashes into a functioning vinyl record, which can include a personalized soundtrack or recorded voice messages.
  • Aerial Scattering: Ashes can be released during a skydive, often from over 10,000 feet, allowing them to disperse over a significant landscape.
  • Cremation Diamonds: Carbon can be extracted from the ashes to create synthetic diamonds which can then be set into jewelry.
  • Hot Air Balloon or Drone Release: Ashes can be scattered from a hot air balloon or a drone over a scenic location for an aerial tribute.
  • Glass Art Pieces: Ashes are mixed with hot glass by artisans to create unique, colorful vases, paperweights, or ornaments.
  • Memorial Tattoo Ink: Remains are sterilized and mixed with tattoo ink, allowing for a permanent memorial tatto
  • Space Burial: A portion of remains can be launched into space, with options for orbiting the Earth, traveling to the moon, or entering a deep-space journey.
  • Memorial Fireworks: Stuffed into fireworks so we can light up the sky one last time and shower sparks and ashes on the family and friends below
  • An Hourglass: Taking some of the ashes, putting them in an hourglass and using it to mark the time at family game nights, probably a preferable option if you spent most of your time at these games, yelling at your opponents or trash talking them. A quieter alternative, if you will.

Which ever method you choose, I feel it is vital that you honour the wishes of the person who requested it upon their death.

When my brother died, he had left instructions that his ashes were to be spread in various places in Ontario and a few in PEI. If you are of the mind that you will be reincarnated, this may become tricky; however we did do this for him. As this was not technically legal, we were very subversive in carrying out his instructions.

My brother had a certain sardonic sense of humour. I was to spread his ashes at the place where he worked, the place he lived most of his adult life, the grounds of the house where he lived when he died, and the garden at the house we grew up in. The first three were relatively easy and all in the same City. The last, not so much! Our old house had been torn down and a huge mansion built in its place and most of the garden had disappeared but there were a few bushes near the road just off their driveway.

My older brother and my best friend had come with me for moral support. He, however, parked the car at the end of the road in case the cops came and they could make a quick getaway leaving me to explain the situation. That’s a different kind of support! I had some of the ashes in a film canister and casually dropped them in the bushes as I languidly walked by the driveway. Thankfully no one came out to ask what I was doing, no alarms went off, no dogs barking, etc. We had pulled it off!

Even though there was some concern on my part, I respected his wishes and I hope that when my time comes, my family will respect mine. How would you like your remains to be scattered? Were there some methods I have left out that you would prefer?

A tiny Principality between Austria and Switzerland

by BJM Publishing, posted in Adventure, Art, Gardens and/or Museums, Travel

It was established in 1719 and achieved full independence in 1866.
Situated between Austria and Switzerland, Liechtenstein is one of only two doubly landlocked countries (along with Uzbekistan) in the world. The capital city is Vaduz.

It spans about 62 square miles, making it the sixth smallest country on Earth. (Following Vatican City, Monaco, Nauru, Tuvalu, and San Marino). It has a population of about 39,000. The terrain is mountainous, ideal for skiing, and largely covered by the Alps. It is a parliamentary monarchy with a Prince (Head of State) who holds significant political powers, including vetoing legislation.

Vaduz Castle (German: Schloss Vaduz) is the palace and official residence of the Prince of Liechtenstein. In 1984, Prince Franz Joseph handed over power and everyday duties of the monarch to Hans-Adam, with Hans-Adam thus becoming regent, while his father remained the nominal monarch.

Following his father’s death in 1989, Hans-Adam officially ascended to the throne. On August 15, 2004, Hans-Adam formally handed the power of making day-to-day governmental decisions to his eldest son Hereditary Prince Alois as regent, as a way of beginning a dynastic transition to a new generation.

Legally, Hans-Adam remains the head of state. Hans-Adam is no mere figurehead prince. He is much wealthier and much more powerful than Britain’s Charles III, with a fortune of $12.6 billion, according to Bloomberg. This is 25 percent more than the annual GDP of “his” country, over which his family exercises complete control.

German is the official language. The population is predominately Roman Catholic. You can explore the entirety of this tiny country by walking its 75-kilometre-long national trail from Balzers on the Swiss border to Schaanwald on the Austrian one if one were so inclined. Known for a strong banking sector and tax-efficient system.

The currency used in Liechtenstein is the Swiss franc. Industry (manufacturing and construction) accounts for 42.2% of the gross domestic product (GDP). The largest branches in Liechtenstein’s strongly export-oriented industrial sector are machine and tool engineering, plant construction, precision instruments, and the dental and food sectors. Liechtenstein disbanded its army in 1868, and has had no standing army since. It also does not have an airport; you normally reach this tiny principality by train and/or bus/ and car.

What’s more fun than looking at some of the tiniest pieces of art? Postal stamps. Like Liechtenstein, they are small but mighty, and you can explore a museum entirely dedicated to Liechtenstein’s unique stamps. This museum is small, so it won’t take a lot of your time, but it’s worth popping in to see Liechtensteinian postage stamps through time. The country began creating postage stamps in the early 20th century, and since then, hundreds of beautiful and meaningful designs have been created. It was part of my mission when I toured Europe to obtain some of these stamps for my brother who was a stamp collector (Philatelist). Sadly, I did not keep any for myself. If interested click on link for the postal museum.

https://www.landesmuseum.li/en/our-museums/postalmuseum

With no photos allowed and a relatively small collection, many visitors seem to find the Liechtenstein Treasure Chamber a bit of a let down. I didn’t find it that way though. While the room is small, it’s packed with unique treasures, including the Liechtenstein royal coronet, an ultra rare ‘Apple Blossom’ Fabergé Egg, and even a piece of moon rock from the Apollo 11 mission.

The 1901 Fabergé Apple Blossom Easter Egg is rumoured to be worth £30 million

For culture lovers, another must-see in Vaduz is the Kunstmuseum Liechtenstein, a contemporary art museum showcasing international and local talent in a striking, modern building. If you are not into modern art, however, it may not be for you. Even if you only get a stamp in your passport, Liechtenstein is worth a visit. Go explore and make memories!

Volkswagen – Punch buggy

by BJM Publishing, posted in Adventure, Art, classic cars

In the 1960s, Volkswagens—specifically the ‘Beetle’ and the ‘Microbus’—attained legendary status by serving as both practical transport (more miles to a gallon of gas) and powerful cultural symbols. Their popularity was driven by a combination of affordability (everyday working class and students), mechanical simplicity (easy to repair), and a revolutionary marketing campaign that resonated with a generation looking for an alternative to mainstream American consumerism. Check out “think small” campaign on youtube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8KQVjvmEGk

The car’s modest, unchanging design represented a rejection of “planned obsolescence”—the American trend of changing car styles every year to force new purchases. Young people today would know that term from the Apple and Samsung lawsuit for deliberately slowing down the performance of older models of their phones.

Many critics, consumer advocacy groups, and technology analysts consider the constant upgrading of Windows—specifically the transition from Windows 10 to Windows 11—to be a form of planned obsolescence. This perspective argues that Microsoft is employing a “design to die” approach, where functional hardware is rendered obsolete by software requirements, forcing consumers to purchase new devices.

 Ecclesiastes 1:9 says, “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun.”

The Beetle and Microbus were available, cheap, and relatively reliable by the standards of the 1960s. These were solid assets for a subculture that could be short on funds. Volkswagen managed to fulfill this niche despite its less than savory origins.

In the 1930s, Adolf Hitler commissioned Ferdinand Porsche to design an affordable, reliable car for the German masses—a “Volkswagen”. It was intended to represent Nazi Germany’s engineering superiority.

The production of the Beetle relied on forced labor, including prisoners of war and victims from concentration camps, to build the factory and the vehicles. The Nazis launched a program allowing workers to save for a car by buying stamps. Thousands of Germans paid into this scheme, but when war broke out, the factory pivoted to military production, and not a single civilian customer ever received their promised car, nor were they refunded. So a product of the usual political corruption and fraud that runs rampant today.

How then did the Beetle become a symbol of fun, freedom, and rebellion?

The Volkswagen Beetle became immensely popular in the United States and Canada during the 1960s and 1970s by offering a, reliable, and affordable alternative to the large, fuel-thirsty “land yachts” produced by Detroit at the time. Its success was driven by a combination of, clever marketing, superior engineering for its price point, and its eventual adoption as a counterculture symbol partly through movies like the ‘Herbie’ series, etc.

The punch buggy game involves players spotting Volkswagen Beetles and calling out “punch buggy!” (and colour) when they see one, earning them the right to deliver a (supposedly) gentle punch to a fellow passenger’s arm. And that’s really the whole game: The first person to spot a VW Bug and call it out gets to punch someone. Simple but possibly quite bruising to one’s arm. We still play it today but since volkswagens have all but disappeared around our area, we don’t play as frequently. I have heard though that the VW beetle is supposed to be making a comeback in 2026. Fingers crossed!