Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...

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Semicolon Organisations such as Extinction Rebellion think human beings are about to become extinct (which just proves they’re idiots). It is, of course, reasonable to worry about the possible extinction of the bilby or the red-throated tree frog. But when it comes to possible extinctions I am more worried about the semicolon. Two recent studies suggest that it is in its death throws. According to research by the language learning software Babble, the use of the semicolon is in steep decline—back in the year 2000 it appeared once in every 205 words, but in 2025 it only appears once in every 390 words. And research by Lisa McLendon, author of The Perfect English Grammar Workbook, found that more than half of British students didn’t know or understand how to use a semicolon. In a survey sent to the London Student Network’s 500,000 members, 67 per cent of respondents admitted to never or rarely using one. Why is this happening? Why is the poor, harmless little semicolon under such threat? Part of the answer is texting—in which any sort of punctuation marks are rare, especially among the young (and the same is true, to a slightly lesser extent, of their emails). The other reason is because of the education system which spent 40 years not teaching grammar, and regarding all punctuation marks as pointless little black marks. I am a member of the Boomer generation, and, as such, I was taught punctuation (and the rest of English grammar) in school. No so the more recent generations who have been cheated by the system. And the semicolon is a useful little mark that it would be sad to lose. It seems to have been invented by Italian scholar and printer Aldus Pius Manutius the Elder in 1494. The semicolon is defined by the Oxford as: ‘A punctuation-mark consisting of a dot placed above a comma (;)’ to which the Oxford helpfully adds this comment: ‘In present use it is the chief stop intermediate in value between the comma and the full stop; usually separating sentences the latter of which limits the former, or marking off a series of sentences or clauses…’ If that’s a bit baffling, think about it this way. If you are making a series of statements on a topic, you can make them separate short sentences. But to show how those short statements link together to paint a picture, you make them one longer sentence in which each statement is marked off by a semicolon. Never use a semicolon between phrases (groups of words without a verb); only between clauses (groups of words that include a verb). So, let’s stop the semicolon from going the way of the dodo; let’s think about how we can use this delightful little mark (even in texts and emails), celebrate it as the beguiling grammatical gift that it is—and so stop it being written out of existence! (Here’s your challenge—look for ways to use semicolons more often; even in the emails you send me.)

Call My Bluff—the answers Yesterday we talked about the old BBC word game Call My Bluff—in which competitors have to consider three possible definitions of a rare or obscure word—two of them false and once of them true. You score a point if you pick the true definition. And before I give the answers, in response to several readers, yes, the Readers’ Digest did run their own version of this which they called “It Pays to Increase Your Word Power.” However, they used words worth adding to your vocabulary—in the Call My Bluff version (which we are playing) the words are so odd they will never be of any use to you at all (and you’ll never come across them in your reading). It’s just meant to be fun. Okay, having go that out of the way, here are the answers:

Rumpty—means ‘one thirty-second part of a pound sterling’. It’s recorded as a London stock exchange term from 1887. A ‘rumpty’ could also be called a ‘tooth’. But why anyone ever needed a name (let alone two names) for the thirty-second part of a pound sterling it’s impossible to guess. 

Numms—means ‘an artificial shirt front’. It’s recorded from 1699 in a dictionary of slang, and only ever existed as a slang word. That early dictionary gives the meaning of ‘numms’ as ‘a Sham, or Collar Shirt, to hide the t’other when Dirty.’

Trollibobs—means ‘the entrails and intestines of an animal’. This is recorded from 1824. According to some accounts it only ever applied to inedible entrail and intestines, but other sources say these were bits of offal that were cooked and eaten with tripe (the lining of the stomach).

Toggy—means ‘a kind of overcoat for the arctic regions. This seems to be a word that had a very short life—from 1742 to 1771. The garment it names was usually made of beaver skin.

Hippocampus—means ‘amythical creature with the head, neck, shoulders, and forelegs of a horse, and a body ending in the tail of a fish or dolphin’. The Oxford adds the helpful explanatory note that: ‘In classical Greek and Roman art and literature, hippocampi are frequently described or depicted as pulling the chariot of, or being ridden by, the god Poseidon or Neptune, and other sea gods, nymphs, etc.’

Dibble—means ‘a small hand implement used to make holes in the ground for plants, seeds, or bulbs’. This one is very old, going back to 1450.  In its simplest form, a stout pointed cylindrical stick with or without a handle; but it may also have a cross bar or projection for the foot (in which case it was called a foot-dibble)

Curch—means ‘a piece of cloth worn to cover the head’. Another old one (from the 1300s) this is chiefly Scottish and is a variation on a Middle English word. The Scottish National Dictionary records this odd word as still being in use in Aberdeenshire in 1941.

How did you go? If you got seven out of seven (without cheating and using Google) I am staggered—well done. If you got two of three (again, without cheating) then I am very impressed, you did very well! Your prize is a cup of coffee (mind you, you’ll have to make it yourself). 

Call My Bluff There have been many word games over the years—from Scrabble to Wordle to cryptic crosswords and countless others. But one of the most fun word games was Call My Bluff—a BBC panel show that ran from 1965 to 1988 (more than 500 episodes) and then again from 1996 to 2004 (another 469 episodes). The word game comprised two teams of three—each with its own captain—and a referee as chairman. Each team in turn would read out three possible definitions of a rare or obscure word—two of them false and once of them true. The other team had to guess which was the true definition. The longest lasting team captains included Frank Muir, Robert Morely, Alan Coren, Sandi Toksvig and Rod Liddle. The longest serving chairman/referee was Robert Robinson. I’ve explained all this to gives you a chance at playing the Call My Bluff word game. Below are a seven rare and obscure words—against each word are three possible definitions, two false and one true. Can you guess (or, better still, work out) which is the true definition of these odd words?

Rumpty— (1) drunken, playful affection; (2) one thirty-second part of a pound sterling; (3) a character in very early Disney cartoons.

Numms— (1) a tingling sensation in the feet and hands; (2) very bad old jokes; (3) an artificial shirt front.

Trollibobs— (1) the entrails and intestines of an animal; (2) very small mythical Norwegian creatures (3) frills and decorations on children’s clothing.

Toggy— (1) a cat of uncertain breed and origin; (2) a kind of overcoat for the arctic regions; (3) a hot drink based on milk and rum.

Hippocampus— (1) an organ in the human body that regulates body temperature; (2) an officer with the powers of a magistrate in ancient Rome; (3) A mythical creature with the head, neck, shoulders, and forelegs of a horse, and a body ending in the tail of a fish or dolphin.

Dibble— (1) a small hand implement used to make holes in the ground for plants, seeds, or bulbs; (2) drinking coffee or tea in very small sips; (3) a fast game of marbles.

Curch— (1) a church service held at lunch time; (2) a piece of cloth worn to cover the head (3) a Scottish term for the smallest lamb in the flock.

Answers tomorrow. 

Woke Words Some time ago I mentioned Dr Kevin Donnely’s book The Dictionary of Woke (Wilkinson Publishing, 2022, still in print if you’d like to buy a copy). He first published this as A Politically Correct Dictionary and Guide in 2019, then revised and expanded it in 2022 with its present title. I have known Dr Donnelly for some years, and have often interviewed him on my radio show. He is a distinguished educationalist, and well worth listening to. So I thought I’d give you a small taste of some of the entries in his book. This following is a very small sample:

Doomscrolling—Refers to those addicted to surfing the net and checking the media even though the news, events and issues are depressing, unsettling and guaranteed to promote negativity and bad karma.

DWEMs—The 1992 American publication title the Official Politically Correct Dictionary & Handbook defines DWEMs “dead, white, European males” responsible for all the evils and sins committed by Western Civilisation.

Esky—In Australia “Esky” is a brand name for a famous portable cooler that has been condemned as an example of “cultural appropriation” (because it’s an abbreviation of ‘Eskimo’).

Fat Shaming—In You Have the Right to Remain Fat Virgie Tovar argues fat people are unfair ostracised and made fun of because of fatness. (Not to be confused to ‘obesity epidemic.’)

Gender neutral toilets—Used by women with a constant fear that at any moment a man may walk in on them.

Hate speech—Anything said by someone who disagrees with you.

Identity politics—Instead of individuals being part of a broader community with common interests they identify as one of the numerous ‘victim groups’ oppressed and marginalised by capitalism and Western Civilisation.

MAPS–Stands for ‘Minor Attracted People’ (also known as paedophiles).

No-platforming—Refers to the practice of denying politically incorrect speakers to right to speak publicly at events because their views are deemed offensive and unacceptable.

Offendarati—A word coined by Anthony Dillon to label those activists who take offence at anything and everything, and are always on the lookout for something new to be offended by.

Pets—The claim that the word “pets’ is offensive because it demeans and commodifies animals.

Race shifters—People who were born white, and identified as white all their lives, until they discover a distant relative who was (or might have been) indigenous, when they suddenly shift their identity to Indigenous.

That’s enough. The book is meant to be a bit of fun—as so many of the small, specialist dictionaries are. In the case, Kevin Donnelly has been quite inventive, and has done a lot of thinking about current Australian culture. See if your local library has copy you can browse.

Sub-kakistocracy This is a new expression that says our government is almost as bad as it could be—but not quite; that there is one level worse than the one we have. The ‘kakistocracy’ part of this new, compound word, is familiar (certainly to the wordies who are part of the Ozwords gang!) and has been with us for some time. ‘Kakistocracy’ has been with us since at least 1644. The earliest citation the boffins at the Oxford English Dictionary have found is from a sermon peached in Oxford in that year, in which the preacher decried the drift from ‘our well-temperd Monarchy into a mad kinde of Kakistocracy.’ Officially the definition of ‘kakistocracy’ is: ‘government by the worst.’ It comes from a Greek source word κάκιστος (‘worst’) and is a play on all the ‘-ocracy’ words (‘aristocracy’, ‘democracy’ and so on). All that is familiar. But where does the notion of a ‘sub-kakistocracy’ come from? Well, from the sad state of many democracies at the moment. Often in an election in one of the western democracies there is (realistically) only a choice between two—two major parties that might be able to form government or two major party candidates for the presidency and so on. But what happens if there is a choice between two, and you don’t like either of them? You can always choose not to vote. Even in Australia where voting is compulsory you can take your ballot paper and ‘spoilt’ it (that’s the technical term) by not numbering any of the squares, just scrawling across it ‘none of the above’! But most of us feel a sense of responsibility so we try to exercise a choice between the pathetic candidates (or parties) on offer. That means we settle for the least worst—and we end up with a ‘sub-kakistocracy.’ That, I suggest, is what happened at our federal election on May 3. It was a very negative election. Most Australians didn’t vote for anyone or any party—most voted against that person or party they disliked the most and settled for whatever second worst result they got out of it. So, most Australians looked at a Labor Party that had given them three horrible years, but decided that the Liberal-National coalition wasn’t ready to govern, so shrugged their shoulders and voted against the coalition—even though this meant the Labor idiots getting another three years. Then, after the election, the Liberals and Nations fell out and squabbled showing the voters were right—they were not ready to govern: no leadership, no policies, and no agreement between them. As John Howard famously said: ‘The voters are never wrong.’ Hence, we live in a ‘sub-kakistocracy’—a compound expression we need to get used to, and employ often! 

Apotropaic This one is definitely a Weird Word—but possibly a useful one to revive. ‘Apotropaic’ (pronunciation guide: ap-uh-troh-PAY-ik) means ‘Having or reputed to have the power of averting evil influence or ill luck’ (Oxford). The good folk at the Merriam-Webster have let themselves go on this and given us a fairly complete explanation. They write: ‘Apotropaic is a charming word, and not just because of its cadence. You see, this term is a literal descriptor for things believed to protect against evil. Apotropaic motifs can be found throughout history, from carvings of Greek Gorgons to charms worn to repel the evil eye. The word apotropaic comes from the Greek verb apotrépein, meaning “to turn away from, avert,” combining apo- (“away”) with trépein (“to turn”). The magic of apo- doesn’t end there: its influence is evident in many English words, including ‘apology’, and ‘apostrophe.’ But what sort of things will ‘turn away evil’ or ‘protect us from evil’? What can we do when faced by evil? Go to the police? Or a good lawyer? Complain to our local member of parliament? All good steps, perhaps. Often people who are battling an evil inflicted on them by government go to the media—and media exposure of government behaviour has often (not always, but often) won the battle in these cases. However, some evils seem impervious to any resistance. Those of us living in cities have no idea how much of outback Australia is being destroyed by Chris Bowen’s renewables industry—with fertile farming and grazing land being taken over by tens of thousands of acres of solar panels. And vast swathes of Aussie bushland being slashed down to make way for giant wind turbines. And the farmers who are told that giant power distribution pylons will stride across their land are simply ignored when they protest. What they need is something that will be ‘apotropaic’—that will resist and repel this evil destruction of our landscape. Much of the mainstream media is just ignoring this destruction, but (surely) if they got on board and protested this evil could be resisted? Ah, well, we can but hope. What else is there to resist evil? Well, some people would say that prayer is a powerful way to resist evil. I mention this because my next book is about prayer. It’s called Pray Like This and will be out in August. (More details as August gets closer.)

Put a sock in it One way to tell someone to stop talking is to say, ‘put a sock in it!’ The image is of someone stuffing a sock in their mouth to stem the flow of words.  They may be prattling on in a boring, repetitive way, or they may be endlessly complaining and whinging. Whatever the endless prattle is about, ‘put a sock in it’ is a way to tell them to stop. But where does it come from? Well, the delightful Nigel Rees, in his book A Word in Your Shell-like, says it comes from the very earliest record players. You may remember that these did not use electricity at all. Their motor was clockwork—and the machine had a handle at the side to wind it up. And there was no amplification (as such)—instead the sound was acoustic, coming from the vibrations of the needle in the grooves of the disc and made loud enough to hear by a large, trumpet-shaped horn that rode above the needle. But what could you do if the sound coming out of this primitive machine was too loud? You couldn’t turn down the volume knob, because there was no volume knob! The solution (according to Nigel Rees’ research) was to stuff a sock (or some other small item of clothing) into the gramophone’s horn. This would work in much the same way that a mute is used by a trumpet player to soften the sound of his instrument. It’s a nice story, and it makes a lot of sense. However (there’s always a ‘however’ isn’t there?) Nigel is not satisfied that this is the last word on the subject. The experts at the Oxford English Dictionary have tracked down the earliest use of ‘put a sock in it’ to an issue of the Athenaeum magazine in August of 1919. So, does that fit in with the period of the gramophone? Well, yes, I think it does. Thomas Edison invented sound recording using cylinders in what he called his ‘Phonograph’—which was commercialized by 1877 (I had no idea it was so early!). Then ten years later, a German immigrant to American named Emile Berliner (who settled in Washington DC in 1884) came up with the flat disc for recorded sound. So the gramophone has been with us since 1887—and could easily have given rise to the expression ‘put a sock in it’ by 1919. Mind you, at the end of all this research Nigel Rees is still not convinced, and writes: ‘Why shouldn’t a sock inserted in the human mouth be the origin?’ And he may well be right.

Tidsoptimist Yesterday’s word (‘tintinnabulation’) may or may not count as a Weird Word—that is open to dispute. But there can be no dispute about today’s word— ‘tidsoptimist.’ This is (without doubt) both rare and extremely weird. This word ‘tidsoptimist’ means a particular sort of optimist. It means someone who is optimistic about time. Toby Young alerted to me to this word through his column in The Spectator. In fact I met Toby not so long ago at a Spectator lunch (a delightful man) and the surprising thing is that he turned up on time for the lunch—because a ‘tidsoptimist’ is someone who always thinks they have plenty of time, but is (in reality) being over optimistic and often underestimates how long tasks will take, and therefore is often running late. And, according to his own confessions, Toby Young is one of those—often arriving fifteen minutes late for any important event. It seems it was the Norwegians who first coined a word for this ‘always-late, time-optimistic’ person. The Norwegian word is Bokmal—and since I know nothing of the Norwegian language, that’s about all I can tell you (except to say that it seems to come from Old Norse—probably to label that annoying member of the crew who was always late for each burn and plunder raid). But the English version is more interesting—because it takes the familiar word ‘optimist’ and adds a prefix of ‘tids-’. And this something we can get our linguistic teeth into. It seems that this preface is related to the familiar word ‘tide’—and that the first two letters (‘ti’) turn up in a number of Germanic words related to ‘time.’ In fact, the word ‘tide’ in Old English (a thousand years ago) actually meant ‘time’—or more precisely ‘aportion, extent, or space of time; an age, a season, a time’ (Oxford). In fact, up until around the 1400s ‘tide’ could be used to mean ‘one hour.’ It sometimes meant a particular time of the day—as in ‘eventide’ or ‘noontide.’ From the 1500s it came to mean ‘the flowing or swelling of the sea’ (Oxford) which is the meaning we attach to ‘tide’ today. And this makes sense, given that the sea tide rolls in and out at more-or-less regular times. From about the 1700s the short form ‘tid’ was used to mean ‘the right time’ or ‘the favourable time’ (especially for planting crops). And the chap who thinks he always has buckets of the ‘right time’ will be a ‘tidsoptimist’ and is quite likely to miss his train. 

Tintinnabulation I’m not sure if this counts as a weird word or not. I have certainly heard it from time to time, but not often. The meaning of the word is simple enough – it just means ‘the ringing of bells.’ And where it comes from is also clear enough. It comes from a Latin source word to which an English element has been added. The Latin word is tintinnabulum—which, in classical Latin, means ‘bell.’ In fact, this Latin word is also linked to ‘tinnitus’—that bell-like ringing in your ears, which is so irritating, and is (so far) incurable. It has always been a rare word, although it has occasionally popped up in odd places. For example, in Charles Dickens’ Dombey and Son (a good read!)—an 1845 novel in which we find these words: “It was drowned in the tintinnabulation of the gong, which sounding again with great fury…” A few years later it was used by Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849) in a poem called ‘The Bells’ published in the year of his death. His poem begins with these words:

Hear the sledges with the bells —
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!

And Poe then goes on to say:

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
       From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
               Bells, bells, bells—
  From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

And in the statutes of Oxford University (full of Latin) there was a person called a ‘tintinnabularius’ meaning a ‘bellman’—someone responsible for ringing the bells in various colleges. Presumably this included the most famous bell in Oxford, ‘Old Tom’, hung in Tom Tower in Christ Church College. This seven-ton bell is rung 101 times every night at nine o’clock (marking the time when students should all be within their college walls). And it was 101 times because that was the original number of students in Christ Church College when it was founded by King Henry VIII in 1546. There is also the most famous bell in London—Big Ben. This is the great bell in the Great Clock of Westminster (and, yes, it’s the name of the bell, not the clock!) All such bells produce a great ‘tintinnabulation’ when they are rung. And although this word was rare, and it was around for some time before Edgar Allan Poe, it was Poe’s poem that made the word well known. So, does it count as a weird for you? Or not?

Book reading Are you a book reader? Do you like to pick up an object that gives you a bunch of words bound between covers and settle down to enjoy a good book? It has been suggested that in this age of screens and digital content it is easy for books to be neglected. But are they? It appears not. The numbers from the publishing industry tell us that books are selling as well as ever—which certainly cheers me up no end. Yes, I know that e-books and audio books are growing as well—but it’s the survival of the real book, the one you hold in your hands and turn over the pages, that pleases me. Of course, it’s not necessarily doing well with everyone, or with every age group. I was told recently about a young man who is perfectly literate—who can read extremely well—but who never picks a book from one year’s end to the next. Is this the fate of Gen Z? If it is, we can only feel sorry for them—because books add so much to our lives. Research suggests that traditional book reading can significantly benefit cognitive functions, lower stress levels and even lead to a longer life span. That’s pretty powerful stuff! Here’s is a list of what books (so they tell us) will do for us:

Boost Brainpower and Intelligence—Reading regularly provides the brain with a workout, much like physical exercise strengthens the body

Enhance Empathy and Emotional Intelligence—Literary fiction, in particular, has been found to improve a reader’s ability to understand and connect with the emotions of others. 

Support Better Comprehension and Learning—Unlike digital screens, which can cause cognitive overload, the tactile nature of paper books provides context, making it easier to absorb and recall information.

Lower the Risk of Alzheimer’s Disease—Keeping the brain engaged with stimulating activities such as reading, solving puzzles, or playing chess may reduce the risk of neurodegenerative diseases like Alzheimer’s or dementia.

Act as a Stress Reliever—Reading has been shown to lower stress levels by as much as 68%, making it an effective relaxation technique. 

Improve Sleep Quality—Unlike electronic screens, which emit blue light that disrupts melatonin production and delays sleep onset, reading a physical book before bedtime promotes relaxation and better sleep quality. 

It May Even Extend Lifespan—Research suggests that individuals who regularly read books—particularly printed ones—have a longer life expectancy. Those who engage with books for at least 30 minutes a day show a lower risk of premature death, possibly due to the cognitive and emotional benefits associated with reading.

That’s seven reasons to be a book reader. So, what conclusion should we reach? The first is obvious: keep on reading! And that means encouraging a lifelong reading habit. We should read to our children and our grandchildren to get them started. And they should see us reading books often. Lots to gain and nothing to lose by reading more books!

Out of sorts We use this familiar English idiom to mean a range of things. It’s older than I would have thought—recorded from 1621, and covers a multitude of conditions both physical and mental. The Oxford says it means: ‘not in the usual or normal condition of good health or spirits; in a low-spirited, irritable, or peevish state, especially through physical discomfort; slightly unwell.’ But why ‘sorts’? Where does that come from? And what, exactly does it mean? One theory, the most widespread theory, is that this goes back to the days when printing was from metal type that was set by hand. In those days the type-setters had two cases of individual metal letters—one case (the top) for upper case letters, and below that the box or case for lower case letters (which is where we get those terms ‘upper case’ and ‘lower case’ from). But each box could only hold a limited number of each letter, so sometimes the printing would run out—perhaps in the middle of type-setting a page. Now the technical name they used for these metal letters was a ‘sort’, and when they ran out, then they were ‘out of sorts’ (and had to go and restock the cases so they could continue). But is that really the origin of ‘out of sorts? It’ a nice story, so it would be lovely if it were true. The problem with this story is that the figurative expression ‘out of sorts’ is recorded much earlier than the printers’ term; the very earliest recorded use of it for printers’ type in the big Oxford English Dictionary is from 1784, from in a jokey letter by Benjamin Franklin: “The founts, too, must be very scanty, or strangely out of sorts”. It would seem he was attaching an already well-known idiom to the printer’s trade, not the other way around. The Latin original of our word ‘sort’ was applied to a piece of wood that was used for drawing lots. But ‘sort’ soon evolved another meaning in English that related to rank, order, or class. It was used to describe people, especially their qualities or standing. We know what it means when we say that someone is ‘not our sort of person.’ That’s using ‘sort’ to rank or classify people. This is using ‘sort’ in its general sense of a type or category. And it may be that ‘out of sorts’ started from the notion of not being the ‘sort’ of person we should be—not well enough to be the real us, hence, ‘out of sorts.’

Eighty-six A photo was shared on social media by James Comey—former head of the FBI (and a Democrat and supporter of Joe Biden). The photo showed the numbers “86 47”. This is now being investigated by the US Department of Justice as a possible call to assassinate President Donald Trump. How can the numbers mean that? Well, the meaning of ‘47’ is uncontroversial, since Trump is the 47th president of the United States (and is often referred to as ‘47’ in the American media). It all hinges on what ‘86’ (or ‘Eighty-six’) means. There are some who say it means ‘death’ or ‘assassination.’ However, it may be more complicated than that. ‘Eighty-six’ is an expression unknown to Australians but quite familiar in America where it is used in restaurants and bars to mean one of two things: either (1) ‘the supply of an item on the menu is exhausted’ or (2) ‘a particular customer is to be refused service (and, perhaps, told to leave)’. Why should the number ‘eight-six’ mean these things? There is no clear answer. The Oxford suggests that it is rhyming slang for ‘nix’—meaning ‘no’ or ‘nothing’ in American slang. And that’s the simplest possible source. But there are other suggestions: from Delmonico’s Restaurant in New York City where item number 86 on their menu, their house steak, was often unavailable during the restaurant’s early years; or from the address of Chumley’s Bar and restaurant at 86 Bedford Street in Greenwich Village, New York City; or from article 86 of the New York state liquor code which defines when bar patrons should be refused service. But all three of those look to me like a real stretch—so I think the rhyming slang source is the most likely. And that’s why people are up in arms over ’86 47.’ It appears to mean: ‘nix Donald Trump’—and that’s why some are saying it really means ‘assassinate Donald Trump.’ Shifting from ‘nix’ to ‘assassinate’ might be a bit of a leap—or it might be on the money, since Trump has already faced two assassination attempts. But at least we can understand why some people are so upset over this particular social media message—and why James Comey might be in a heap of trouble.

Petiquette I do like the idea of coining new words. From time-to-time readers contact me with words they have coined—often very clever new words. For instance, Geoff O’Brien (of Eltham, Victoria) has coined the word ‘tarriffied’—a combination of ‘tariff’ and ‘terrified’—as a way of describing the world’s reaction to Donald Trump. Now Flip Shelton (writing in The Daily Telegraph) appears to have coined this word ‘petiquette.’ It is, as you’ve already worked out, a combination of ‘pet’ and ‘etiquette.’ Her word refers to how people behave with their dogs in public places—and how people respond to dogs and their owners. For example, she reports on person who, at a dog park, complained about her two little puppies playing with each other “because it’s giving my dog anxiety.” Well, in that case don’t take your dog to a dog park! Then there were the idiots who had a dog birthday party at a dog park, including a picnic rug loaded with dog food, and got upset when ‘uninvited’ dogs crashed their party. Or the man sunbathing on the grass at an off-the-leash dog park who wacked a small white dog when it got close to him. The owner asked the sunbather if the dog had hurt him, and reply was “No, I just don’t like dogs.” Then what was he doing sunbathing in a dog park? These are the sorts of things that Flip Shelton says are very poor ‘petiquette.’ The source word, ‘etiquette’, came into English in 1737—obviously from a French source word (in fact, an identical French word). The original French word (going back to the days of Middle French) meant ‘ticket’—in fact, you can see the resemblance between ‘ticket’ and ‘etiquette’! And the sort of ticket being referred was originally a label or note attached to an object detailing its contents. Apparently, this ‘ticket’ or 'list' came to mean ‘a prescribed list of rules of protocol, hierarchy, and ceremony at a royal court. This occurs earliest with reference to the courts in Vienna and Madrid. The French word was also borrowed into many other European languages. In Portuguese it was used to mean protocol and court ceremony—and it meant much the same in Italian, German, Swedish and Danish—while in Dutch it meant a list of witnesses in a courtroom. And now there is this new Aussie variation on that widely used word—in ‘petiquette.’ Flip Shelton says that people who fail to display proper ‘petiquette’ behave as if they are ‘barking mad’—which is a bit of relatively modern British slang. The idea behind the saying is most likely that the person referred to is so deranged that he or she barks like a dog, or resembles a mad dog, or one that howls at the full moon.

Conservative Having focussed on the word ‘liberal’ Peta Credlin now wants me to turn the linguistic microscope onto the word ‘conservative.’ We can start with the history of the word. ‘Conservative’ appears in the English language from the very late 1300s or early 1400s. It came from Latin via French. The Latin source word means ‘to save or keep from danger, to preserve, to keep intact or unharmed, to keep unchanged.’ The 18th-century Anglo-Irish statesman Edmund Burke, who opposed the French Revolution but supported the American Revolution, is credited as one of the forefathers of conservative thought in the 1790s. According to Quintn Hogg, the chairman of the British Conservative Party, speaking in 1959: "Conservatism is not so much a philosophy as an attitude…” I think that if the key word for Liberalism is “freedom’ then the keyword for ‘Conservatism” is “tradition.” This becomes clear if it’s contrasted with its opposite: Progressivism. The starting assumption of Progressives is that they are the smartest generation to have lived. As such the traditions of earlier generations need to be discarded completely (or, at the very least, regarded with deep suspicion and doubt). On the other hand Conservatives believe they are standing on the shoulders of giants, and traditions should not be discarded lightly. In the Anglosphere that usually means traditions such as the family, faith, the rule of law, the freedom of the individual, the sacredness of human life and so on. It has been suggested that Conservatism is the only political philosophy that take human nature seriously—that faces the reality of human nature, and includes this reality in its thinking. Conservatism does not assume that all human beings are good or well intentioned all the time. It accepts that humanity is capable of being of misguided, corrupted, selfish, or evil. This is why Conservatism places and law and order, and the rule of law generally, very high on the list of its priorities. Liberal conservatism is a variant of conservatism that is strongly influenced by liberal stances. It incorporates the classical liberal view of minimal economic interventionism, meaning that individuals should be free to participate in the market without government interference—but at the same time liberal conservatives believe that a strong state is necessary to ensure law and order, and social institutions are needed to nurture a sense of duty and responsibility to the nation. How am I going? If you have any thoughts on Conservatism let me know before next Wednesday.

Swifties—part two Yesterday I wrote about ‘Swifties’—meaning the language Taylor Swift includes in her song lyrics. In response a reader has reminded me that there is an older meaning for this word ‘Swifties’. This older word comes from the name ‘Tom Swift’ who was a character in a series of books published in America from 1910 onwards. There were more than 100 books in the series—and have sold some 30 million copies. Most of the series emphasized Tom’s inventions. Tom Swift has been cited as an inspiration by various scientists and inventors. And his name was borrowed as the label for a particular type of corny joke in which a statement is tuned into a pun by the adjective describing how Tom made the statement. If that a bit unclear, here’s an example: “If you want me, I shall be in the attic,” said Tom, loftily—because ‘loft’ is another name for an attic. Yes, I know they’re not very good jokes, just bad puns—but they are called ‘Swifties.’ Here’s a whole bunch of corny ‘Swifties’. See what you think:

“I'm freezing!” Tom remarked icily.

“Don't ask me why I was at the mausoleum,” Tom said cryptically.

“Pass the shellfish,” said Tom crabbily.

“Get to the back of the boat!” Tom said sternly.

“I forgot what I needed at the store,” Tom said listlessly.

“I'd like my money back, and then some,” said Tom with interest.

“I love hot dogs,” said Tom with relish.

“Another martini would be fine,” said Tom dryly.

“I'm wearing a ribbon around my arm,” said Tom with abandon.

“Baa,” said Tom sheepishly.

“There’s no more room in the hay barn,” said Tom balefully.

“I have a split personality,” said Tom, being frank.

“We just struck oil!” Tom gushed.

“Stay away from that turtle!” Tom snapped.

Yes, I quite agree—they are terrible jokes. But they are ‘Swifties’. And they are a type of ‘Swifty’ that has nothing to do with Taylor Swift—which gives us a bit of a break from that ubiquitous pop singer/songwriter!

Swifties As a Baby Boomer all I know about Taylor Swift is what I read in the newspapers. 

To the best of my knowledge, I have never heard a Taylor Swift song—although I suppose as I walk though Coles that background music they pipe in might contain a bit of Taylor Swift (not that I would have recognised it). 

So, all I know is that her ‘Eras’ tour attracted millions of people and made billions of dollars (well, a lot anyway) and that she is the leading pop star of this era (the Elvis and Beatles of today). 

Taylor Swift is, it appears, a songwriter as well as a singer and performer. 

And it’s her songwriting that might be interesting. 

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary people tell me that there are words being looked up by young people just because they appear in Taylor Swift song lyrics. 

And the words she is introducing the kids to are slightly out-of-the-way words that would baffle the average 13 or 14-year-old. 

Here is a sample (you’ll know all these, but look at them from the kids’ point of view):

Clandestine— “And that’s the thing about illicit affairs / And clandestine meetings and longing stares”; meaning done in a secret or private way, from the song ‘Clandestine Affairs.’

Machiavellian— “I’m only cryptic and Machiavellian ‘cause I care”; means being secretive and deceptive, from the name of the Italian political philosopher Nicolo Machiavelli (song: ‘Mastermind’)

Incandescent— “In from the snow / Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow”; means bright and radiant (song ‘Ivy’)

Altruism— “Did you hear my covert narcissism / I disguise as altruism”; means lack of selfishness (song ‘Anti-Hero’). The kids probably also looked up ‘covert’ and ‘narcissism’ as well!

Antithetical— “Bet I could still melt your world / Argumentative, antithetical dream girl”; means being opposed (song ‘Hits Different’)

Mercurial— “Take the words for what they are / A dwindling, mercurial high”, meaning quick and lively, from the name of the ancient Roman god Mercury, the messenger to the gods (song ‘Illicit Affairs’)

Elegy— “Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?”; an elegy is a sad song or poem, just as a eulogy is a about someone who has just died (song ‘The Lakes’)

Cardigan— “… I felt like I was an old cardigan / Under someone’s bed…”; do the kids really not know this? It means, of course, a knitted jacket open down the front, and is named after the 7th Early of Cardigan who provided jackets of this type for his miliary regiment (song ‘Cardigan’)

Albatross—meaning a problem that hangs around your neck, and you can’t get away from; from the song ‘The Albatross’. This is a reference to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner in which the storyteller kills an Albatross, which is seen by his fellow sailors as something that brings bad luck, so they hang it around his neck,

I don’t know what the music is like, but I am impressed that these enthusiastic young fans are having their vocabularies extended (and are having to consult a dictionary). That can’t be a bad thing! (Meanwhile, I’ll stick to the songs of Paul McCartney and Paul Simon.)

Liberal—third thoughts Tonight on the ‘Credlin’ program on Sky News I’ll respond to the challenger that Peta set me last week—what does the word ‘liberal’ tell us about what the Liberal Party could and should be? As you know I’ve been wrestling with this for a week now, and here is the answer I would like to share with Peta tonight (make sure you’re watching for Peta’s contribution!): The word ‘liberal’ has been part of the English language since at least 1384. Behind it is a classical Latin word liberalis which means ‘freedom’—and ‘freedom’ is the core meaning behind all the uses of ‘liberal.’ For instance, it can mean ‘generous’—that is freedom from selfishness. If someone talks about a club having a ‘liberal’ attitude to rules—it means ‘freedom from restrictions or discipline.’ Freedom is the core notion. And that’s why the word ‘liberal’ was used by British philosophers such as John Locke in the 1600s, Adam Smith in the 1700s and John Stuart Mill in the 1800s to formulate a liberal political philosophy built on freedom—freedom from excessive government interference in the lives of citizens, free speech, free markets, free trade and so on. And ‘liberal’ as the political philosophy of freedom has always included the notion of responsibility, which is the other side of the ‘freedom’ coin—a free people are people who take responsibility for themselves, their families and their communities. The opposite is dependence on government, and handing over responsibility to government to make decisions about our lives—which means loss of freedom. This is what Menzies’ political philosophy consisted of, and why he called the party he formed in 1944 the Liberal Party—as an embodiment of freedom and responsibility. The essential principles found in his book The Forgotten People were the principles of individual freedom, personal and community responsibility, the rule of law, parliamentary government, economic prosperity and progress based on private enterprise and reward for effort. Perhaps we should stop using the word ‘conservative’ and switch to talking about freedom and responsibility? Perhaps if the shattered Liberal Party switches from debates between conservatives and moderates and gets back onto the path of freedom and responsibility that would give it a road back to government?