Take two: It's worse than I thought
An dàrna turas: Tha e nas miosa na bha mi 'n dùil
Let's have a look at this conversation again.
Tha e nas miosa na bha mi 'n dùil.
It's worse than I thought.
A bheil? Iain bochd. Ciamar a tha e?
Is it? Poor John. How is he?
Bhris e a ghàirdean, an dà làimh, tè de na glùintean aige agus tha bris(t)eadh beag bìodach na chnàimh–droma.
He broke his arm, both hands, one of his knees and he has a tiny fracture in his spine.
O mo chreach! Iain bochd. Dè thachair?
Oh my goodness! Poor John. What happened?
Chan eil mi deiseil fhathast!
I'm not finished yet!
Siuthad, ma–thà.
Go on, then.
Rinn e droch sgochadh air adhbrann agus tha gearradh mòr air a bhile. 'S cinnteach gum bi sùil–dhubh aige a–màireach.
He sprained his ankle badly and he has a big cut on his lip. He'll surely have a black eye tomorrow.
An truaghan! Dè thachair?
Poor soul! What happened?
Bha e a' tilleadh dhachaigh bho phàrtaidh aig obair, an latha mu dheireadh aige, agus thuit air a' chabhsair.
He was coming back home from a party at his work, his last day, and he fell on the pavement.
An robh an deoch air?
Was he drunk [lit. was there a drink on him]?
Cha robh. Ach bha an oidhche fuar, bha an cabhsair sleamhainn, agus dìreach mar siud thuit e. Agus a bheil fhios agad? Thachair seo dìreach às dèidh dha PC NicFhionghain fhaicinn.
He wasn't. But the night was cold, the pavement was slippery, and just like that he fell. And do you know? This happened right after he saw PC MacKinnon.
PC NicFhionghain, an tè seo a chuir stad oirnn air an rathad nuair a bha sinn a' falbh chun a' Mhòid?
PC MacKinnon, that woman who stopped us on the road when we were heading for the Mòd?