VIII. Переведите на русский язык следующие предложения, включающие фразеологические сращения. Прокомментируйте выбранные соответствия.

Putting on a Brave Face*. The Secret Diary of Mrs. A.

21st January, Friday

First day of the winter holidays. David came home all flushed and looking down in the mouth.* These are not the usual symptoms of my son rejoicing at the start of half term. He refused to go to the clinic. I sent him to bed. In the evening I made a call to my school friend, who acts as our most trusted doctor in all crisis situations. It turned out that the spots on David's face were not living proof that boys are resistant to Clearasil, which we'd been happy to think for the last couple of days, but were a sign of measles. He's heading for* at least two weeks in bed.

22nd January, Saturday

Spouse came back from his “extremely important business meeting concerning the future of the firm”. To say that he “came back” is a euphemism. He rushed straight to the loo, kicking off his shoes at full speed and knocking over the shopping bag that Julia had left by the telephone. I should have put my foot down* with my daughter and made her take the things to the kitchen. As it was, it was too late for recriminations against her or Spouse, so I held my tongue*, although the abstract painting being produced on the floor made my blood boil*: pure white (the yoghurt), tomato red (the ketchup) and clear primary yellow (smashed eggs), a combination worthy of Mondrian. I didn't lose my head*, despite the alarming noises coming from the loo. After a good ten minutes he staggered out and whispered in a barely audible voice: “Could you please make me some mint tea? I'm going to bed.” Late at night when he no longer felt he was going to die, he made a clean breast* of his predicament. The boss decided to celebrate his name-day and someone brought vodka obtained cheaply in the Russian market. That was a real knockout. Once Spouse got the full story off his chest* and the remains of the smugglers' moonshine out of his bowels, he slept soundly like a baby. I've always had a feeling in my bones* what his “business meetings” amount to.

23rd January, Sunday morning

At 7.30 Alina phoned. Why, if she needs a shoulder to cry on*, must she always choose me? And why do it first thing in the morning? And on a Sunday, too? She can be a pain in the neck* at times. Of course it was about Patryk, her latest boyfriend. Could I believe it? He's been given a role! A real speaking part in a new performance! I was all ears*. Apparently he's going to play the wolf in The Little Red Riding Hood story which his theatrical troupe is putting on next month. They'll be touring schools as soon as the winter break is over. At first I thought she was pulling my leg*. Patryk – the wolf! That undersized, undernourished weakling of a boy. I've only seen him once and from a distance. I know Alina and myself don't see eye to eye* on matters concerning masculine charm. But Patryk as the wolf? Patryk the eyesore*? I simply couldn't stomach* it. “Ask him if maybe they still have a vacancy for the Granny, that will suit you perfectly.” She slammed down the receiver. I realised that I must have really put her back up*. I immediately regretted my words. Sometimes when they wake me up too early I behave as if I had a chip on my shoulder*. I had to phone back and apologise and ask her what the problem was. In between her sobs, Alina told me Patryk had caught a very, very, very bad cold and wasn't able to attend rehearsals, so could I please let her have some of my dry raspberry bush twigs that work wonders and could I also make some of that delicious onion juice that cures sore throats in no time? I promised to ring her up later.

23rd January, Sunday afternoon

I arranged to meet Alina in front of the supermarket. Actually she wanted to pop in and collect the stuff but when I told her about David's infectious disease she changed her mind. After all why should she stick her neck out* if we could meet in a safe place? The supermarket was her idea. She needed to buy lots of fruit juice and heaps of bananas for her lover boy. I am rather short-sighted but could see her from a distance. She stuck out like a sore thumb* - dressed in a fur coat!

It made my hair stand on end*. How could she adorn herself in animal corpses for a meeting with a vegetarian? But I'm not that heartless, so I put on a brave face* and turned a blind eye* to her outfit. I could see how unhappy she was and didn't want to hurt her feelings. “How is he?” I asked. “He has not moved a muscle* for the last three days”, she said. I gave her half a gallon of onion juice (enough to cure a horse and not just that meagre body) and a bunch of raspberry twigs. “The twigs”, I said, “are not to be chewed or used as chopsticks or toothpicks. Let them brew for a couple of minutes and give the drink to your patient when it's still very hot”. “Who do you take me for?” she retorted, but I could see she was rather pleased with the amount. I had a little surprise for her - a bag of dry linden tree blossoms. “Make an infusion of this and let him drink it a couple of times a day. The combination of onion juice, the linden blossom and the raspberry potion will get him on his feet* soon.” So we were friends again. I kissed her cheek catching a whiff of Chanel No 5. Surely not a Christmas present from that penniless gigolo? To be honest, I think she really deserves a pat on the back* for all that love and devotion, even if it is so badly located.

2nd October, Monday

Rain again. The first month of teaching under the new reforma rules has gone by without any big disasters. Today the Head unexpectedly called a staff meeting. There were two main points on the agenda: introducing a new Deputy Head and choosing the school patron. The new Deputy, a geography teacher, will also replace Mrs Johnson, who has had her sick leave prolonged till the end of the month. It seems that there will be all chiefs and no Indians*. Do we need three Deputy-heads for a staff of 18? With two of them real tartars it's going to be miserable. But choosing a patron was a laugh. There's going to be a big celebration in May so we'd better start getting ready. He knows it will be a bit of a Herculean task*, but he's absolutely convinced it will prove a great success. It all went very fast and before you could say Jack Robinson* we were given little slips of paper on which we had to write our suggestions for the school patron. No preparatory talk, no short list - off the top of our heads we were to write the names of the people deserving the honour. We are to hear the results tomorrow.

3rd October, Tuesday

More rain. During personal social instruction my class debated the issue of the approaching Teacher's Day. They want to prepare a surprise for the teachers – “dishes from the four corners of the world”. Apparently the new extra-curricular cookery course introduced in September by Mrs Smith, our new biology teacher, is bearing fruit. They decided who would do what and they agreed to go Dutch* on the expenses. Helen will make Scotch eggs* and Scotch broth*. (It is rather a relief she's not planning to serve Scotch on the rocks*). Claudia will prepare French fries* with French beans*, French bread* and French dressing*. (A high risk combination. For a moment I was tempted to take French leave* through our French window*). James opted for a Spanish omelette*. And to finish off Jeorge suggested some Turkish coffee* and Turkish delight*. (I'm afraid they will need a Turkish bath* after all that). There were some alternative proposals, like Chinese take-away*, Ukrainian borsch*, Welsh rarebit*, Danish pastry* and English breakfast*, but they fell through, either because they were too difficult to make (Danish pastry) or because they were considered yukky (English breakfast). When everything had been agreed upon and the kids had started to make a list of ingredients with possible calculations of prices, Mike, the class doubting Thomas*, sombrely declared that it was a Utopian scheme*. And, anyway, as far as his geography was concerned, our “dishes from the four corners of the world” represented mostly Europe, so where were the other three corners? Must he always be such a smart Alec?*

5th October, Thursday

Another rainy day! In the morning, at breakfast, Julia put on the table the latest issue of Filipinka and, pointing to a photograph of a skinny teenager demanded: “I want these clothes for my birthday next week.” I looked at the picture and added up the prices in my head. A Bennetton T-shirt and cardigan - more than 350, knee-length trousers - 200, shoes - 180, a thin belt - 60 and a short jacket - 280, the total - 1070! My monthly salary! “Forget it”, I said, “We can't afford it. I know there are people who will rob Peter to pay Paul*, but I'm not that kind of person.” “All my school friends wear designer clothes and that doesn't mean their parents are robbers.” Evidently she had taken me literally. “Girls,” snorted David, “they always want to keep up with the Joneses,*” and he surreptitiously exchanged his half empty glass of orange juice for his Dad's full one. Spouse, engrossed in his paper didn't notice anything. I tried to reason with Julia. “Surely you realise that clothes advertised in glossy magazines are only for well-off people and not for every Tom, Dick and Harry*. Even if I worked like a Trojan* and taught evening courses on every weekday, we wouldn't be able to afford such expensive stuff.” Without a word she left the table, went to her room and slammed the door. Spouse snapped at David. “Why must you always take the attitude of 'I'm all right Jack*?” Can't you see she's suffering? One would think a teenage girl might expect some sympathy from her teenage brother.” The rest of the day did not improve.