Kel's previous Ozwords of the day...
Beautiful words The Macquarie Dictionary folks have been collecting what they call “beautiful words”—meaning words that have a beautiful sound, and (at least to some extent) a beautiful meaning. Here’s the list they’ve collected so far:
· Embouchure—meaning the mouth of a river or creek (from a French source word for “mouth”). Mind you it once also meant “shaping the mouth to produce a musical sound”, and according to Gove’s musical dictionary it can also mean the part of a musical instrument “applied to the mouth” (the bit you blow into).
· Cornucopia—meaning “an overflowing supply” from a bit of late Latin meaning “horn of plenty”.. fabled to be the horn of the goat Amalthea by which the infant Zeus was suckled; hence the symbol of fruitfulness and plenty.
· Dazzle—meaning “to outshine or eclipse with a bright light”. Mind you it also once meant “to lose the faculty of clear vision”, and from this it went on to mean “becoming mentally confused or stupefied. (How are we going so far? Is this all beautiful stuff?)
· Celestial—“pertaining to the sky and the heavenly regions” (And this one I admit rolls of the tongue sweetly).
· Imbroglio—“a state of great confusion and entanglement” (hardly a beautiful meaning).
· Curlicue—“a fantastic curl or twist.”
Years ago I asked a colleague at work this same question: What is the most beautiful word in the English language? He thought for a moment and replied: “Linoleum”… because, he said, it is a “liquid sound that rolls off the tongue.” So, this business of “beautiful words” can get a bit complicated to judge!
Fulsome A reader of this website has written to me about the misuse of the word “fulsome” saying: “Recently I have seen several instances of the word ‘fulsome’ incorrectly used by politicians, TV presenters and even our chief health officer.” So, for Gerry of Banora Point (and the rest of us) I will try to unpack this complex word “fulsome.” The misuse that Gerry (and many others) point to is based on the leading definition in the Macquarie Dictionary which says: “offensive to good taste, especially as being excessive; gushing; insincere: fulsome praise.” When someone offers someone else “fulsome praise” are they being sincere, or are they putting on a performance of over-the-top grovelling? The problem here is that “fulsome” has a complicated history—as the Macquarie’s second definition makes clear—the word can also mean: “comprehensive; expansive.” “Fulsome” is recorded as part of the English language since 1325. Its earliest meaning was the literal one of “full” (of some commodity or material; abundant; plentiful). By 1447 it was being used to mean fat: “full and plump; fleshy, corpulent; oversized, overfed.” By the time of Shakespeare “fulsome” was also being used to mean: “Offensive to the sense of smell, foul-smelling, rank. Also: strong-smelling, pungent.” Then it came to mean (and sometimes still means): “Offensive or objectionable owing to excess or lack of moderation; esp. excessively effusive or complimentary; too lavish, overdone.” While in the 20thcentury it has been used to mean “lavish; wholehearted.” With a complex history like that, my best advice is—don’t use the word. It is so easy to misuse it, or abuse it, or confuse it—so just drop it!
Uberise It was Will Self (writing in The Spectator Australia) who drew my attention to this new word “uberise.” He says he found it in the Larousse Dictionnaire, which offers the following definition (in French, of course, helpfully translated by Will Self): “The challenging of an economic model by a new player offering the same services at lower prices, carried out by self-employed persons, most often via internet reservation platforms.” This new word is not yet listed by either the Oxford or the Merriam-Webster, but it is found in our own Macquarie Dictionary, which offers a rather puzzling (at first sight) definition: “to reshape (a business or organisation) into a disintermediated system”—which means you then have to look up “disintermediated”, which is defined as “the removal of intermediates in a supply chain, seen as streamlining processes and decreasing costs.” That doesn’t sound to me much like ordering an Uber on your smart phone! But then the Collins Dictionary makes the same point, and makes it a bit clearer: “to subject (an industry) to a business model in which services are offered on demand through direct contact between a customer and a supplier, usually via mobile technology.” All this, of course, comes from the successful Uber business model that came close to wiping out the old taxi industry. “Uber” by the way is a German word meaning “over” or “above.” The company with that name was launched in 2009 under the name Ubercab. Now it has become a business model and has found a place in the dictionaries (well, some of them—the others will catch up).
Woke words This is by way of being a book review. Kevin Donnelly’s book The Woke Dictonary has just become available, and I am in the middle of reading my copy now. (When I finished reading, I’ll write a full-length review for The Spectator Australia.) This is a fully revised and expanded edition of Kevin’s earlier book A Politically Correct Dictionary and Guide (2019). It contains 352 definitions of very trendy, with-it, Woke expressions from “Abelism” to “Zie.” Kevin gives us definitions that let us know how the Woke warriors themselves understand these words, thus enabling us to see the real claims they are making—often hidden underneath their jargon words. The book also contains seven short articles by Kevin telling us where this movement came from, the sort of thinking that lies behind it, what it says about race and gender, the role played by the thinking of Karl Marx, and (most importantly) what we can do about it. To give you a flavour of the book, here is what it says about the word “Woke” itself: “(Woke) Refers to being able to define oneself and see others and the wider world through a politically correct prism. The Urban Dictionary defines this as ‘A reference to how people should be aware in current affairs.’ As in ‘While you worried about whether you should order a decaf, free-trade, almond milk latte—China was building over 100 coal fired power stations, stay WOKE.’” This is a helpful book, warmly recommended.
You can find the book on Kevin Donnelly’s own website. Here’s the link: Books | Kevin Donnelly
Probable cause This is an expression we’ve heard on TV crime shows for years. The police say they cannot apply for a search warrant for a suspect’s property unless they can show “probable cause.” The meaning of this phrase is: “reasonable cause or grounds… reasonable grounds to believe that a particular person has committed a crime, especially to justify making a search or preferring a charge (now chiefly an American legal expression).” That’s from the Oxford English Dictionary. Although it’s now an American term, it was once part of British English. The Oxford has a quote from 1536: “Without reasonable and probable cause nothing (can) be changed…” It’s been in newspapers because of the FBI raid on Donald Trump’s property Mar-a-Lago in Florida. Webster’s Legal Dictionary has a go at explaining this, but ends up sounding just like a lawyer: “The Fourth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution stipulates that ‘no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause’… Probable cause is an objective standard rather than… subjective opinion or suspicion not grounded in fact or circumstance.” Which is why Trump is demanding that the FBI show the evidence they had for “probable cause.” And next time you watch a TV crime show you’ll know that when they say “probably cause” what they mean is “That’s not just my opinion, your Honour, I’ve actually got a bit of evidence!”
Niggle On the letters to the editor page of the Australian is a single column, on the right-hand side, devoted to very short letters—often just a sentence or two. That is where I found the following, intriguing, question (from John of Maylands, WA): ‘There’s a phrase appearing with regularity, generally in the sports pages—“picked up a little niggle.” What is a little niggle?’ Good question, I thought, so I did some digging. It turns out that, used in this way, ‘niggle’ is a gerund—a verbal noun. It’s a noun constructed from the verb ‘to niggle.’ This means ‘To cause slight but persistent annoyance, discomfort, or anxiety.’ It appears to have had this meaning since around 1796 (it turns up in one of Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s letters from that year). But it existed even earlier than that, albeit with a different meaning. With the sense of ‘To do something in a painstaking, finicky, fussy, or ineffective manner; to trifle, fiddle” it is recorded from 1599. What unites both the earlier and the current meanings of ‘niggle’ is the notion of smallness—of doing something small, or of being inflicted with something small. The Oxford says the origin is uncertain, but adds that it might come from a Swiss (German) word niggele , niggle to moan, carp, annoy, irritate. Does that mean that whenever sports writers talk about a player having a ‘niggle’ they are speaking Swiss? At least it gives you an excuse, next time you get a cramp, to say ‘I’m suffering from what the Swiss call a “niggle’.”
Archaeology Those of us who love the English language sometimes feel like archaeological relics. So I thought you’d be interest in a short list of archaeological terms put together recently by lexicographer Rachel Quinn from the Collins Dictionaries site.
· Artefact— an ornament, tool or other object that is created by humans, especially one that is historically or culturally significant.
· Bogman— a term used in archaeology to describe the body of a person found preserved in a peat bog.
· Cairn— a mound of stones typically built as a monument or a landmark, and often in memory of someone. The word comes from the Gaelic carn, which literally means a pile of stones.
· Henge— henges are a Neolithic or Bronze Age monuments typically found within the British Isles, which consist of a circular bank or ditch marked by upright stones or wooden pillars. Stonehenge is one of the most famous henges and landmarks in the UK
· Relic— What’s the difference between an artefact and a relic, you might ask? Generally, an artefact is an item created by humans, whereas a relic is any item which has survived from the past. Relic finds it roots in the Old French relique, which comes from the Latin relinquere, which means to leave behind.
And that’s us! We are relics from the age that loved the English language, and worked hard at using it well!
Dinkum Dictionaries A new edition (or at least a re-printing) of The New Dinkum Aussie Dictionary has just appeared. But to be honest, the one thing it is not, is new. The first edition (written by Richard Beckett under the penname of “Crooked Mick of the Speewa”) first appeared in 1987. It was then frequently re-printed. After Beckett had passed on (to the Great Sheep Station in the Sky) a second edition was produced with additions by Anne Matthews in 2000. And the second edition also went through half a dozen re-prints. Now it’s been re-printed again—and it’s worth it. This is an entertaining catalogue of distinctively Aussie terms. The style of the book is not to dig back into the source of expressions (as I do here). If you want to know origin of “Fair Dinkum” this book won’t tell you, but it will tell you what all those expressions mean—in an entertaining (and often humorous) way. It’s great book to give to anyone you know who is puzzled by the way Aussies talk—that visitor or overseas family member. But it’s also fun for you to have on your shelves to dip into from time to time. By the way, Richard Beckett’s penname comes from one of the great characters of Aussie folklore—Crooked Mick (sometimes called Big Mick) of the Speewa. Here’s what this Dinkum Aussie Dictionary says on the subject: Crooked Mick is “a home grown mythical Australian bush hero. In keeping with the Australian male tradition, Crooked Mick, apart from being able to do anything better than anyone else, was also a sometime thief, drunkard and a liar. The Speewa itself was a mythical sheep station on the Murray River, although it was sometimes moved to Queensland to add authenticity to the yarn.”
Here's a link to the book on the Booktopia site: Booktopia Search Results for 'the new dinkum aussie dictionary'. We sell books, hardback, paperback, audio, CDs.
Empleomania Yesterday I gave you what I said was the Weird Word of the Week—and then I came across this one. It’s new to me, and so bizarre I wanted to share it with you. “Empleomania” is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “a mania for holding public office.” Given all the flack that politicians receive (and poisonous vitriol on social media) it is astonishing that anyone would have a mania for holding public office these days, but apparently, some people do. It comes from a Spanish word (probably from the 1820s) empleo meaning “employ” and is first recorded in English in 1845. It is, clearly, a rare word, with only a handful of citations (short quotations) listed in the full Oxford. But it is not an obsolete word, since the most recent of those citations is from 2002. When Merriam-Webster wrote about this word recently, they then hastily protected themselves by adding: “This word is presented solely for purposes of education and/or amusement, and should not be interpreted as an endorsement or condemnation of any political figure.” But that need not stop us from using it to describe those politicians who stand for election not for any reasons of principle, but just from a mania to get into parliament. It probably describes those politicians with no experience of the real world outside of politics—who go from university to a job on the staff of a politician to winning their party’s nomination for a seat, to a lifetime as a party hack. And, sadly, there are far too many of them!
Backspang This is our Weird Word of the Week. And what is especially weird about it is—how few dictionaries have heard of it. It is certainly in the big Merriam-Webster dictionary, where they give the following definition: “A trick or loophole that enables one to retreat from a bargain.” To be honest, I find that definition confusing. If it really is a bargain why would you want to retreat from it? But I assume the intention is that you are contracted to buy something or do something that (however much it might be bargain) you want to get out of, and a “backsprang” is a clause in the contract that allows you to “spring backwards” and get out of the deal. The Oxford has a similar word, but with a hyphen, with a related but not identical definition: “a trick or legal quirk, by which one takes advantage of another, after a bargain has been adjusted”. So the Oxford thinks its about “taking advantage” not “getting out of.” But when I search in other dictionaries for some clarity, it’s not there. There is no entry for “backspang” in the Macquarie, the Collins, the Chambers, or the Cambridge. (Maybe it “sprang backwards” and leaped off their pages?) If you’ve ever encountered this Weird Word in real life I’d love to hear from you.
Cuppa The former editor-in-chief of Collins Dictionaries Jeremy Butterfield has written about all the words and phrases that are connected to habit of tea drinking. Here are some of them:
· “tea caddy”—a small cabinet that could keep the precious tea leaves under lock and key. The “caddy” part comes from the Malay word “kati” (a unit of weight) and has nothing to do with a golf “caddy” (his name comes from “cadet” as in a cadet in the army).
· “Boston tea party”—when 342 chests of over-taxed tea leaves were dumped in Boston harbour in 1773 by American revolutionaries.
· “not for all the tea in China”—an idiom expressing an unwillingness or a refusal to do something. This one is ours: a 20th century Australian coinage.
· “storm in a tea cup”—is a way of saying that a fuss is about something trivial—the American version is “tempest in a teacup” (which has a nice bit of alliteration).
· “cha”—means “tea” in the Mandarin dialect of Chinese.
· And “cuppa” is one of those compound words (like “gotcha” and “gunna”) that people often say but which belong in written English only in dialogue in that novel you’re planning to write one day.
So, there you are—Jeremy Butterfield’s list of “tea” words. Time to put the billy on and make a nice cuppa!
Brummie With the Commonwealth Games continuing in Birmingham I have been asked why the residents of that noble city are called “brummies.” The reason is that the city of Birmingham is itself called “brum” which (in turn) is an abbreviation of “brummagem.” In fact, the city is still (occasionally) called “brummagem” (but “brum” is more common). Upon investigation it turns out the ‘brummagen” was an ancient name for Birmingham. The Oxford has a long list of variations on the name over the years. So let me take you way back in time to where all those variations began. The various spellings and pronunciations are all thought to have begun as variations on “Bromwich-ham.” And “ham” used as a suffix in this way derives from the Old English word for “home.” “Bromwich” comes from the time when the Anglo-Saxons ruled England and started out as a family surname: “brom” was a kind of bush (broom or gorse) and “wich” meant a farm on which this broom (or gorse) grew. The owners of the farm were given the same name so it became a family surname. And either because of a farm with lots of broom (or gorse) or because lots of people with the surname lived there, the area that is now Birmingham was named “Bromwich-ham” in the years after the Romans left Britain. Then it went through all those variations until (only in the 20 century) “Birmingham” was locked in as the settled name of the place. (In 1901 it was still being referred to in some newspaper reports as “Brummagen.”) The result is that the locals (and their distinctive accent) are called “brummie.”
Deadname I didn’t know there was such a word as “deadname” until the lexicographers at the Merriam-Webster dictionary drew it to my attention. They say that a “deadname” is: “the name that a trans-gender person was given at birth and no longer uses upon transitioning.” That’s the noun. There’s also (according to the same reliable source) a verb “to deadname” someone. They say that the verb means: “to speak of or address (someone) by their deadname.” The Merriam-Webster people say that the noun form is generally written as a single word, although (they add) it is occasionally found as an open compound (“dead name”); the verb is typically only found as a single word. We live in a free society, so the reality is that if someone born with a normal, healthy, male body wants to live using the cultural appearance and manner of someone born with a female body (or vice versa) they can do so. And, our language can reflect their choice with such new expressions as “deadname”. What our language cannot do is deny the reality of such existing words as “male” and “female” / “man” and “woman.” These words have been part of English for over a thousand years—and if we lose them we have no way of naming the physical reality they label.
Treason The word “treason” is back in the news because of Jaswant Singh Chail. He’s the 20-year-old young man found in the grounds of Windsor Castle last Christmas Day armed with a crossbow (a lethal weapon). He has been charged under Section 2 of Britain’s Treason Act of 1842 (I guess the Act hasn’t been updated because this sort thing doesn’t happen very often). The words in the Act cover “discharging or aiming firearms, or throwing or using any offensive matter or weapon, with intent to injure or alarm Her Majesty.” That old Act was passed because of assassination attempts on Queen Victoria (something we can easily forget). The word “treason” came into English in the 1200s. Behind it lies an Old French/Anglo-Norman word. Basically “treason” comes from the “betray” word group with the “be-” removed. This dropping of a prefix is what the great James Murray called the “affective” form of a word. An “affix” is either a prefix or a suffix, and dropping such an affix gives you the “affective” form of the word. “Betray” became other words in a similar way in the distant past—words that have since disappeared from English. Our language once had the verbs “to tray” or “to traise” someone—both meaning “to betray” (and both now helpfully classified by the Oxford as “obsolete”, although we might have worked that out for ourselves). Those of us who are impressed by Queen Elizabeth’s devotion to duty forget that there will always be someone bent on “betrayal” (on “treason”). Back in 1981 a gun was repeatedly fired (six blanks, in fact) at the Queen during the Trooping of the Colour—invoking the 1845 Act. And now Mr Chail has activated that old Act again.
Scrabble I’ve been hearing for some time that Scrabble® is being censored—and that certain words that may have offensive meanings but which are allowed in the dictionary are being banned from competitive Scrabble games. I’ve written about this in my language column in The Spectator Australia—and more recently English writer Jonathan Maitland has taken it up again in the same magazine. He says the ban on hundreds of words has left many players seething. He reports that author Darryl Francis quit the World English-Language Scrabble Players’ Association, saying: “Words in dictionaries and Scrabble lists are not slurs. They only become slurs if used with a derogatory purpose or intent or used with a particular tone and context. Words in our Scrabble lists should not be removed for PR purposes disguised as promoting some kind of social betterment.” Some of the now banned words strike me as nonsensical. For instance, it is now illegal to use the word “Jew” in competitive Scrabble—presumably because some people at some time have used it as a slur against an ancient and noble people. But the people still exist! And they are still entitled to their name! So why ban the word from Scrabble? It makes no sense. What the Woke Warriors who are doing this fail to understand is the difference between “employing” a word and “referring” to a word. If you “employ” an offensive slur then you are being offensive, but if you “refer” to an offensive word (in a dictionary or a Scrabble game) you are not employing it, you are just recording its existence. No offence intended—and none given. That difference between “employing” and “referring” is obviously beyond the comprehension of Woke idiots of this world.
New words The clever folk at the Macquarie Dictionary have a list of new words that came to light during the month of July. Will any of these words catch on? Will any of them end up in the dictionary? Judge for yourself. Here’s the list:
· Drip—meaning “a stylish bearing.” Apparently instead of saying of someone “She has style” you can now say “She has drip.” (Does that seem as unflattering to you as it does to me?)
· Gigafire—meaning “a fire of between 1000,000 and one million hectares.” To my mind “out of control bushfire” sounds more threatening.
· Phone bone—meaning “a phone spur on the back of the skull caused by the posture associated with phone use.” And since the world now seems to spend every waking hour glued to a smart phone, I assume a “phone bone” will soon be a normal part of human anatomy.
· Skin hunger—meaning “desire for loving or friendly physical contact with another.” Given how normal it is for young children to be “hug hunger” this seems to be part of being human.
· Tuxedo cat—meaning “a cat which is mostly black in colour with white markings on its chest and paws.” I assume this must refer to feline stars on You Tube.
Well, lots of trendy words appear, have their 15 minutes of fame, and then disappear into the fog of the past. Which of these (if any) will survive? Wait and see!
Big Kahuna While talking to John Stanley (on 2GB, 4BC, 2CC and the Nine Radio Network) a little while back I made a mistake. (Cries from the back of the room: “No! No! Kel you don’t make mistakes!”) But I do—and it’s good to correct our mistakes. I was asked about the word “Kahuna”—as in the “Big Kahuna.” For some reason (did I mishear the word? Did the wrong synapses in my brain misfire?) I mistook this for another American/Irish word and went into the story behind that word, not this word. So, let me put the record straight. “Kahuna” is a Hawaiian word that originally referred to a “Hawaiian priest or minister; an expert or wise man” (Oxford English Dictionary). It’s recorded in this sense from 1886. Its first appearance in print was in a book called Paradise of the Pacific: Hawaii by H. H. Gowen. Later it was adopted by the surfing community—because, of course, board surfing was invented in Hawaii. Among surfers “Kahuna” was used to mean the best of the best of board riders in the big waves. (It’s first recorded in that sense in the Australian Women’s Weekly in 1962—back in the days when the Weekly really did come out weekly.) But then it took on a further, metaphorical, life to mean “the person in charge” or “the most powerful person in the organisation.” When used like that it commonly took the adjective “big”—hence, “Big Kahuna.”
Plausible monster Just a few days ago (on July 28th) London’s Independent newspaper ran the following headline: “Existence of Loch Ness monster plausible after fossil discovery.” We all know what Loch Ness means in this context: the Scottish lake (or loch) which some claim contains a living creature unknown to science—possibly a survivor from the ancient world. I must admit that I have driven around the shores of Loch Ness—and, sorry, no… not a glimpse of a monster. So how can the word ‘plausible’ be used in this context? Well, ‘plausible’ came into English from a Latin source word originally meaning ‘deserving applause.’ It's recorded with this meaning from 1541. But that old meaning is now officially categorized as ‘obsolete.’ The Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English says ‘plausible’ now means: ‘reasonable and likely to be true.’ But I’m not sure that’s how the word of often used today. When a politician explains away a mistake or a scandal we might say his explanation is ‘plausible’ when what we mean is: ‘it sounds good, he’s tried to make it convincing and reasonable, but I still don’t believe him.’ And the Oxford captures this understanding when it says that a common use of ‘plausible’ is to mean: ‘having a false appearance of reason or veracity.’ Then the Oxford goes further and says it can mean: ‘Of a person: convincing or persuasive, esp. with the intention to deceive.’ If a con man was not plausible he would never succeed in conning people out of their money! So, it is right to be sceptical of ‘plausible’ fossils from Loch Ness.
Good sports With the Commonwealth Games now begun in Birmingham, the always entertaining lexicographer Rachel Quinn has tracked down the origins of some of the names of some of the sports on the Collins Dictionaries websites. Here are some examples:
· Aquatics—from the Latin for “water” has been part of English since at least 1490, but has been used of sporting events in the water only since c.1865.
· Badminton—apparently comes from the name of Badminton House (one of the great English country houses), and apparently because the game was played there (the word is recorded from 1863). The Oxford says the rules are derived from the children’s game of “battledore and shuttlecock”—the latter was, apparently, originally “shuttlecork” because it was a feathered cork that was “shuttled” backwards and forwards over the net.
· Cricket—it’s nice to see cricket back in the games, and the word (Rachel Quinn says) “originates from either the Old French croquet, meaning goal post or stick, or the Middle Flemish cricke, meaning stick or staff.”
· Gymnastics—comes from a Greek source word meaning “skilled in bodily exercises,” behind which is gymnos the Greek word for “naked”, because young men trained and competed naked in the days of ancient Greece.
You can find Rachel’s complete list here: Let the games begin: Tracking the etymology of the Commonwealth Games - Collins Dictionary Language Blog
Zeitgeist Yes, it is an odd looking word, isn’t it? That’s because it’s been borrowed from German without any changes. There are very few words in English that are such direct borrowings from German. In fact, the only other one I can think of is “gesundheit”—the word Americans in particular say when someone sneezes (it is the German word for “health”). But this word “zeitgeist” is even more unusual. It is a compound of two German words: “zeit” means “time” and “geist” means “ghost” or “spirit.” So, the combination means “the spirit of the times.” It’s been part of English since 1848 (although it remains rare) and the Oxford defines it’s meaning like this: “The defining spirit or mood of a particular period, esp. as reflected in the prevailing ideas, beliefs, and attitudes of the time; the social or cultural trends prevalent at a particular time.” I first encountered this in the writings of that great Oxford and Cambridge don C. S. Lewis who warned us against becoming a “prisoner of the Zeitgeist.” And, sadly, that’s what so many people are today. They have no idea of where our civilisation has come from, of what heritage is available to us from the past, and instead they are locked like prisoners (or like slaves) into the latest faddish ideas and trends with no ability to think critically about what they’re being told. Another quote from C. S. Lewis tells us what we should do about this: “keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds.” In other words, read old books! (And watch the History Channel and talk about our heritage.) We need to avoid the prison of the latest fad or obsession—and this word “Zeitgeist” warns us of that.
Tense Do you remember being taught the tense of verbs in English classes all those years ago? We came to understand that we should be clear about using a verb in the past, present, present continuous, or future tense. I’m sure you remember that. But it appears there are people around us who have forgotten (or possibly never knew). On the Q and A page of this website I ran a letter complaining that on British TV shows it is common for people to say “sat” instead of “sitting.” And then I found same complaint in a British magazine (The Oldie). James, writing from the town of Battle in East Sussex (so called because it’s where the battle of Hastings was fought ion 1066) said this: “Why do people say ‘sat’ when they mean ‘sitting’? And, likewise, ‘stood’ when it should be ‘standing’?” You’ll remember (I’m sure) that the basic (or infinitive) form of the verb was ‘to sit,’ This became (past tense) ‘sat’, (present tense) ‘sit’, (present continuous tense) ‘sitting’, and (future tense) ‘will (or shall) sit’. It’s not all that hard to get this right. Perhaps if us pedants keep drawing it to their attention they will finally notice and fix their language. They could get the tense right without getting too tense about it!
Crapulous This a word that can surprise people. They often expect it to be related to the semi-impolite word “crap” meaning “excrement” (and metaphorical extensions of this). But no—it’s a separate and distinctive word. “Crapulous” means either (1) “gross excess in drinking or eating” or (2) the result this produces “suffering from the effects of intemperance in drinking”. So, it means a hangover or gluttony or the result of gluttony. It is a largely forgotten word that perhaps need reviving. It would certainly describe how some feel on Boxing Day—waking up knowing they had consumed far too much food and booze the day before. And it might have wider, metaphorical, usage to describe those people who “over consume” the nonsense on social media, and suffer as a result. By the way, this is probably a good place to dispel a myth about that other word “crap”. People will sometimes tell you it comes from Thomas Crapper—the man who invented the flush toilet. It would be nice if this were true, but it’s not. Here’s what the authorities at the Oxford Dictionary say about the source of the word “crap”: “Of uncertain origin. Probably partly a borrowing from French. Perhaps partly a borrowing from Dutch.” And it didn’t always mean what it means now. There was a time when it meant left over rubbish and scraps. An old colleague of mine, Clive Robertson, was reluctant to use the word “crap” on radio, so he used to spell it out using radio call-sign language, saying: “That’s a load of Charlie Romeo Alpha Papa.”
Frunk What you call the storage space at the back of a car depends on where you are. In America it is called the ‘trunk’ while in Australia (and Britain) it is the ‘boot.’ Both of those words go back a long way. ‘Boot’ started in the days of stage-coaches to name a protruding area, first at the side then at the back, of the coach. This was once used as an extra seat but became a covered luggage area. The source of its name is uncertain, quite possibly because it stuck out from the coach like the toe of a boot. As for ‘trunk’—many (most?) very early cars had no built-in luggage space so customers used an old fashioned trunk (like a steamer or travelling trunk) held to the back of the car with heavy leather straps. But now there is a third word: ‘Frunk.’ This, according to Rory Sutherland (writing in The Spectator) is the name for trunk space located in the front of the car under the hood (or bonnet—another changeable word depending on where you are!) So, cars with rear engines can have a ‘frunk’ rather than a ‘trunk.’ And in his article Rory says that all EVs have front luggage space—hence, they all have a ‘frunk.’ This is called a "portmanteau word". "Portmanteau" is an old name for a suitcase, so this expression names a word which packs things in together—in this case the "fr-" from "front" and the "-unk" from "trunk" are packed together into the portmanteau word "frunk." (The expression "portmanteau word" was coined by Lewis Carroll in his "Alice" books.)
Race and language Some little time ago I passed on a report that had appeared in the Daily Mail newspaper in the UK making the claim that the English language (and I guess that means the whole English language) is racist. Clearly if the language you and I use is inherently and unavoidably racist this should concern us. Here is what the report said: “A ‘woke’ anti-racism Open University training course is teaching academics that the English language upholds ‘white superiority’.” Now, I don’t know about you, but that strikes me as an extraordinary claim to make about the English language—the most widely used language around the globe, by all peoples, of all ethnic backgrounds. The report went on to say: “Course material claims that ‘white superiority’ is ingrained in the ‘cultural psychology of the English language’.” However, the Critical Race Theory academics making this claim—are making it in English! They are teaching their course about the “racism” of the English language—in the English language! Does that mean every time they open their mouths they committing a race crime because they are speaking English? And to avoid the “racism” of the English language, which language do they suggest we use instead? French? Spanish? German? All those countries had overseas conquests and colonies so I assume they must be racist languages too. What about a dead language? Would it be safe for them to teach their course in Latin? Well, no, because the Roman Empire conquered and colonised much of the known world in their day. So Latin is off the list. A bit of problem for these people, isn’t it? What language can they use in order not to be complicit in racism? Lithuanian? (That is what is called a “reductio ad absurdum” argument—pushing a ridiculous claim or argument to its logical conclusion to show how absurd it is.)
Wine words Lexicographer Rachel Quin has written recently about wine words on the Collins Dictionary website. She tells us about “Dornish” wine. If you haven’t come across it that’s because it is a fictional wine (or was… more on that in a minute). It was invented by George R. R. Martin for his Game of Thrones epic series of fantasy novels. In those books Tyrion Lannister was very fond of a tipple of the strong red wine that came from the southern kingdom of Dorne. This is described by Martin (more than once) as being “‘dark as blood and sweet as vengeance”—a distinctly Game of Thrones description! And Rachel goes on to say that a French fan has developed their very own “Dornish” wine in Saint-Emilion, Bordeaux. She also draws our attention to the wine drinking habits of the Count of Monte Cristo (in Alexander Dumas’ classic novel). The count likes sipping on “Alicante”—by which, Rachel says, Dumas means Alicante’s finest, Fondillón, deemed to be one of the most prestigious wines in the world. It is, apparently, a semi-sweet red wine. Dumas’ novel was published in 1844 (which may have been a very good year for Alicante). She also notes that the only wines Sherlock Holmes stocked appear to be Chianti and Tokay. She quotes from The Sign of Four—the novel by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle published in 1890, in which Holmes says: “May I offer you a glass of Chianti, Miss Morstan? Or of Tokay? I keep no other wines.” Tokay is a very sweet wine (not unlike port) while Chianti is a red blend from Tuscany.
Wire fraud This is an American expression I’ve been hearing for years. I suppose I had a vague idea (or a guess) as to what it meant, but I was never exactly clear. It came back into my mind recently when a former Tallahassee mayor and Democratic nominee (a bloke named Andrew Gillum) was charged with “wire fraud.” I decided the place to go for a clear explanation was an American dictionary, so I went to the top one: the Merriam-Webster. This is their definition of “wire fraud”: “any act, expression, omission, or concealment calculated to deceive another to his or her disadvantage”—which is, itself, a fairly legal jumble of words—without any mention of “wire” in there at all. However, the Merriam-Webster people then go on to note that wire fraud is “a misrepresentation or concealment with reference to some fact material to a transaction that is made with knowledge of its falsity or in reckless disregard of its truth or falsity and with the intent to deceive another and that is reasonably relied on by the other who is injured thereby.” But, hey, where does the “wire” part come in? Surely that’s just a definition of plain fraud? Then I tracked it bit more data, which said that wire fraud is “financial fraud involving the use of telecommunications or information technology.” That’s more like it. In other words, if you con someone out of their money face to face that’s just plain “fraud” but if you call them on the phone (or, I presume, use the internet and whatever) it becomes “wire fraud.” I still think it’s odd (and very American) to have different names for fraudulent activity depending on how you do it. Perhaps one of my American readers can explain why this is so?