Your comments and questions:

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Q: Pamela asks about the expression 'up to putty.'

A: It means not up to the usual or required standard. It's an Australian coinage, first recorded in 1909 (in a newspaper called the Sydney Sportsman). It probably comes from the fact that putty is soft and malleable and will not reliably keep its shape. It's clearly related to other expressions such as 'up to scratch' or 'up to snuff.'

Q: John asks for the history and meaning of the word 'wry'?

A: These days 'wry' means 'Dryly or obliquely humorous; sardonic, ironic.' (Oxford).  In other words, it suggests that you find a difficult situation slightly amusing. That meaning has only been with us since about 1923. The word 'wry' is a shortened (or aphetic) form of the word 'awry' which means 'turned to one side' or 'twisted.' So, perhaps a wry sense of humour is a slightly twisted sense of humour?

Q: Jennifer writes: ' Something I've been thinking about, is the word Quixotic. What's the correct pronunciation? And is there a parallel between Don Quixote and Chris Bowen?'

A:  The correct pronunciation is  kwick-SOT-ik. As for the name of the noble knight at the centre of Cervantes' novel, his name has been (and still is) pronounced in a variety of ways  -- either highly anglicized, or slightly less so. The common pronunciation I hear these days is ' ki-HOH-tee'. Mind you, Dr Johnson (and similarly highly educated people) would once have pronounced his name as 'KWICK-suht' (and some still do).  The French pronounce his name as kee-SHOT. Make of that what you will. I think it means that no one except the Spanish can properly do a Spanish accent! Is Chris Bowen like him? Well, in the sense that Bowen is 'tilting at windmills' (that is, engaging in pointless activity) there is a resemblance (and Bowen certainly has a windmill obsession).

Q: Robert writes: ' My query is about the use of ‘this’ and ‘next’, specifically in the use of events. When does ’next weekend’ become ’this weekend’? This always seems to create confusion within our family. For example, on Wednesday our daughter asked if we could look after her dog next weekend. This created a flurry of texts as to which weekend she meant. It seems the meaning of next weekend gradually changes as the week progresses, but there is no defined cutoff. Hope you can help with this important topic. '

A: Here's the rule -- 'this Wednesday' and 'next Wednesday' are exact synonyms: they are saying exactly the same thing. 'Next Wednesday' always (and only) means the next Wednesday to arrive (regardless of whether it is two days away or five days away). Next Wednesday NEVER means skipping the next Wednesday and go to the one after that.  It always means the next one that comes. And if you think about it 'this Wednesday' must have exactly the same meaning. 'Next Wednesday' NEVER means the Wednesday of the week after next -- it always means the one you will encounter next. If you want to talk about a Wednesday that is further away you could 'Wednesday of next week' or something of that sort. 

Q:  Jason writes: 'One thing that really gets my goat is when reporters say, "an historic." It really grates on my ears. What's the correct use of "an" before a word that starts with "h"?'

A: This is an excellent point. The rule is that we use "a" before any word that begins with a consonant sound, and "an" before an initial vowel sound. So 'honour' begins with 'h' but spoken aloud it starts with a vowel sound -- so it takes "an" as its indefinite article. But words such as historic, or historian, or hotel definitely start with a consonant sound. Admittedly it is the soft aspirant consonant "h" -- but it is still a consonant, nevertheless. It is correct to say 'a historic' and incorrect to say, 'an historic.' Pam Peters in her definitive style guide discusses this and says there should be a problem as long as you take care to pronounce the 'h' sound carefully.

Q: Scott writes: ' My father used this expression quite often: "That's enough from the peanut gallery!"  Any idea where it originated?'

A:  The 'peanut gallery' was (from 1876) the nickname for the top gallery in a theater (or, later, cinema), usually the cheapest seats and hence the location of the most vocal and rowdy crowd (who might eat peanuts and throw the shells at patrons in lower seats). 

Q: Geoff asks for the origin and meaning of 'dribs and drabs.'

A: This expression is recorded from 1809, and means supply coming in small, irregular amounts -- like irregular drips falling from a leaking tap. 'Drips' is an abbreviation of the word 'dribble' -- and 'drabs' is added as the sort of alliterative repetition that is common in English (e.g. spick and span).

Q: John writes to tell us about a new expression he has heard -- the 'compensation economy.' This (he says) is when government grants go to activists based on their claim of victimhood. He adds: 'The recipients then contribute to the next group's coffers and so the cycle continues.' He wants to know if this is now in any dictionaries.

A: No, this one is so new that the dictionaries are yet to catch up. I have been unable to trace the origin of 'compensation economy' (and John doesn't supply it) but it is clearly not part of the productive economy -- simply a way of labelling what happens to some of our taxpayer dollars.  It's an interesting compound noun, and research continues. (This may come out of an academic background, rather than a political background -- if any reader can supply any further information that would be very welcome.)

Q: Matt says that his father often said: 'What's that got to do with the price of fish?' and wants to know here it comes from and what it means?

A: "What's that got to do with the price of fish?" is a sarcastic expression denoting annoyance at the irrelevance of what has just been said.  Linguist Pascal Tréguer has traced variations of the phrase back to at least 1832. And it sometimes used commodities other than fish -- sometimes it's eggs or cheese or bread. One of the early versions was "What's that got to do with the price of tea in China?" So, just a popular bit of sarcasm, and nothing more.

Q: Veronica writes: 'What are the origins of: "Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite." I was told that this originated in Elizabethan times. Children were tied in bed so that (a) they did not fall out and (b) to prevent bugs getting under the bed clothes!!'

A: A complete myth from beginning to end. For a start, 'sleep tight' is not recorded, until 1790, long after Elizabethan times. Secondly, it always meant 'be tightly bound to sleep' -- that is, an old-fashioned way of saying 'sleep well.' The second part of the expression (about the bed bugs) is much later still (probably early 20th century) and is just a playful rhyme to amuse small children.   

Q:  Cath writes about the pronunciation of the great French art museum in Paris -- from which the French crown jewels were stolen. She says she's heard so many pronunciations that she is now confused -- what is correct please?

A: The French definitely pronounce it with two syllables as LOOV-RAH. But I believe there is an established English pronunciation which is only one syllable -- LOOV and because we are speaking English, I believe that's the one we should stick to. 

Q:  Callum writes: 'Given we've just marked Remembrance Day I have wondered about the word 'cenotaph.'

A:  'Cenotaph' literally means 'an empty grave' -- that is, a symbolic grave that represents the deaths of many people. It comes from an ancient Greek word -- the first half of 'cenotaph; comes from the Greek word for 'empty' and the second part from the Greek for 'tomb.'

Q: Peter writes: 'Can you please explain the meaning, and origin, of the term “to second guess”. I think it means to “know with hindsight” but today seems to have the literal meaning of having a second guess.'

A: Actually, it is the very opposite of hindsight. To 'second guess' someone is to guess what they will do before they do it. Or as the Oxford puts it: 'To anticipate the action of (a person), to outguess (them).'  And I don't think that meaning has changed over the years. 

Q: John asks: 'What is the origin of the phrase " between a rock and a hard place "?'

A:  It’s believed that the idiom ‘between a rock and a hard place’ originated in the United States. According to The Phrase Finder, the earliest known citation of this expression comes from the year 1921. It seems to have originally meant "bankrupt' and to have changed by about 1930 to mean having no good options -- the only choices available being unattractive. 

Q: Peter writes: ' One word kept popping up in the n was recently: "nepo baby" -- is this a new expression and what is its origin and meaning?'

A: It is fairly new -- appears to have emerged just before 2010. It is short for 'nepotism baby' --meaning the son or daughter of a famous person who follows their famous parent into the same career and is seen to have unfair advantages because of their family name and their parent's fame.   It is usually used pejoratively to indicate a celebrity or politician whose fame and success are unearned or undeserved. And first half of this compound noun 'nepotism' came into English from the Latin word for 'nephew'.  The term originated in the Middle Ages with the assignment of nephews, sons, or other relatives to important positions by Catholic popes and bishops. 

Q: Dough writes: 'I've noticed recently people finishing a comment, usually one that could be controversial or even offensive, with the expression "Just saying". I'm not sure what to make of this.'

A: It seems to be designed to soften a possibly offensive remark. The remark is made and then the phrase is uttered as if to say, "I'm not having a go, I'm saying (by implication) what a lot of people would say).' It seems to have been around for a long time (the Oxford thinks since 1925) but it took off in the modern sense from 1990 when it started to be used by comedians such as Eddie Murphy and Paul Reiser.  It became a common catchphrase from around 2011.

Q:  Catherine asks: 'Where did the expression "Happy as a sand boy" originate? My Irish mother would often say this.'

A:  The sand boys of the expression actually sold sand. Boy here was a common term for a male worker of lower class (as in bellboy, cowboy, and stableboy). There was once a substantial need for sand. It was used to scour pans and tools and was sprinkled on the floors of butchers’ shops and pubs to take up spilled liquids. The long hours and hard work involved in carrying and shovelling sand, plus the poor returns, meant that sandboys didn’t have much cause to look happy in the normal run of things, improving only when they’d had a pint or two. So the sandboys were happy because they were drunk.  

Q: Rohan has two questions: 'Why are the notes taken at a meeting called "minutes"? And why when we sleep do we have"40" winks?'

A: (1) The "minutes" of a meeting are, as we know, "a record or brief summary of events or transactions; the record of the proceedings at a meeting" (Oxford). As far as I can work out, these notes are called minutes because they are brief (the "minimum" record of events). (2) "40 winks" all hinges on the number 40. The "winks" part is clear enough -- closing the eyes for a brief period. But the addition of 40 means "more than just a moment." For a long period 40 was used as a symbolic number for 'quite a lot'. There was a time when we would have used 100 in the same way (but with the mathematical inflation of the age we live in it might 1,000 today!) But back in medieval times 40 meant "an imprecise number, but quite a bit." 

Q: Malcolm asks why in 'deep fake' the word 'deep' is used on the compound noun.

A: 'Deep' is being used here as what is called an 'intensifier'. It is used to mean 'a lot' or 'a great deal' or 'very substantial.' It is used in the same way in other combinations, such as 'deep thinking' or 'deep trouble.'

Q: Samson writes: 'It seems, in the past year or two, we are "backing each other in". In the past, at least in Australia, we used to "back each other up". The only backing in was done in the car. Your thoughts?'

A: I think they are two different metaphors or images: (1) 'backing each other in' comes from gambling and refers to wagering that you and I together will have shorter odds than either of us alone; (2) 'backing each up' comes from combat where two soldiers standing back-to-back can facing a surrounding foe. Despite using different images, both metaphors mean roughly the same thing -- mutual support.

Q: Neil asks what "bated breath" means.

A: 'Bated breath' means 'subdued or restrained breathing under the influence of awe, terror, or other emotion' (Oxford). Here 'bate" is shortened (or aphetic) form of the verb 'to abate' -- which came into English in the 1300s from a French source word meaning 'to cut down.' 

Q: Tony writes the Jeremey Clarkson calls his Cotswold farm 'diddly-swat' as asks where this comes from.

A: Strangely this is American in origin, not British. It's recorded in this form from 1963 as what the Oxford calls "a counting noun" meaning something of little value. The original form, in the 1930s, was 'doodly-squat' where 'doodly' was a vulgar Americanism for what we tell our little toddlers is 'poo.' 

Q: Following the brazen theft of the French crown jewels from the Louvre I've had several requests for the origin of 'heist.'

A: It began life (in the 1930s) as an American slang variation on the word 'hoist.' And 'hoist' is an ancient word (of Germanic origin) and just means 'to lift.' When someone steals the French crown jewels, they 'lift' them and carry them way -- they 'hoist' them -- making their theft a 'heist.'

Q: Beverly asks for the origin of 'rank outsider.'

A: It comes from horse racing, first recorded in 1869, to mean 'an outsider at very long odds.' It comes from the much older verb 'to rank' meaning to put things in order, in a series of lines or rows (which in turn is a military expression of French origin and more than 500 years old).

Q: Mervyn asks where does saying "sure as   eggs" come from?

A: It means something that is certain. The reason it sounds baffling these days is that people have forgotten the whole proverb which began by saying "as sure as eggs is eggs." In other words, a thing is always itself. Eggs are always eggs; they don't suddenly become broccoli or roast beef! It's just pointing to an obvious truth. It's a British idiom from the late 1600s, recorded in a book called Proverbs and Epigrams by John Ray in 1668.

Q: Warren writes: 'my students' question is where does the line “through the wringer come from?'

A: They are baffled because this primitive technology no longer exists. In the days before spin driers washing machines (and before them washing tubs) had a hand wringer attached at the top -- two rollers that could be turned by hand with each piece of clothing going through in turn having the water squeezed out of it.  That 'squeezing' process is what is meant by being put "though the wringer." The idiom "through the wringer" comes from early 20th century America.

Q: David asks, where does the term “keen as mustard” come from? 

A: From the past, is the first thing to notice. It's recorded from the 1650s -- making around 375 years old. It is part of a group of expressions that use the spiciness of mustard as a comparison or compliment. This expression plus the phrase 'as hot as mustard' seem to come from the same period -- which seems to be a time when the English had discovered mustard and used this condiment whenever they ate roast beef. So, it was very much in favour. So, it appears to be nothing more than a complimentary metaphorical comparison.

Q: Glenn writes "I have just finished reading the new Richard Osman novel which uses the word 'grass' in the sense of 'dob'. I am curious about the origin of the word used in this sense. Also, am I right in assuming that 'dob' is of Australian coinage?"

A: 'Grass' is recorded from 1929. It began as rhyming slang--because 'grasshopper' rhymes with 'shopper'. So, someone who 'shopped' (sold out to the police) their criminal friends was a 'shopper' then a 'grasshopper' then just a grass. 

'Dob' is Australian, from the mid 1950s. It began as a variation on 'dab', One meaning of 'dab' was to put someone one down -- perhaps with a swift hit or blow. And to 'dob' on someone is certainly to put them down.

Q: Helen asks, where did the phrase "to get the monkey off your back" come from?  

A:  'A monkey on your back' means that you’re burdened by a problem, obligation, or some kind of addiction. Think of it as that pesky little critter who won’t let go, no matter how much you try.  Its origin comes from the image of a person carrying an unshakeable amount of anger around, but it’s evolved in usage today. Idioms like this one aren’t meant to have literal meanings. They’re metaphorical expressions we use to communicate in more visual ways. 

Q: Callum asks: 'In the phrase " run the gauntlet " what does gauntlet mean exactly?'

A: It is a corruption of a 17th century expression which originally was 'run the gantlope' or 'pass the gantlope.' This expression (from 1646) referred to a military (occasionally also naval) punishment in which the culprit had to run stripped to the waist between two rows of men who struck at him with a stick or a knotted cord.  In that phrase the really interesting thing is that this rare word 'gantlope' is thought to be a corruption of 'gauntlet' -- perhaps from the belief that there was a similar medieval punishment in which the victim had to run between rows of knights who struck him with the metal glove (or gauntlet) that was part of their armour.

Q: On media cliches Elizabeth writes: 'My most annoying phrase is “let me be clear” so many politicians say this annoying phrase when they are not being clear at all.'

A: Good one!

Q: Also, on media cliches Helen contributes 'climate crisis' (since when has warmer weather been a crisis?) and 'lived experience' (what's the alternative? An 'unlived' experience?) 

Q: Paul says he is especially annoyed by 'unacceptable, which he says really means: ' "It's not very nice but we'll let you get away with it this time" (...and the next time as well!)."

Q: Bob writes: ' annoying contemporary cliché for me is “moving forward”. Another thing is the misuse of the word “entitled” when the word “titled” is intended.'

A: Yes, if a book or movie has a name, it is 'titled' so and so. You're quite right.

Q: Martine notes that: 'The cliché that irritates me the most is "nuance", particularly when it's used to preface a blatant lie. '

A: A very sharp observation.

Q: Peter writes: 'The cliche that annoys me most is 'tight-knit community.' Whenever a TV journalist (usually young and probably city-bred) goes to a regional town to cover a bushfire, flood, accident, crime event etc, they usually describe it as a tight-knit community. I wonder if they know what tight knitting is as compared to loose knitting?'

A: Will we ever hear of a 'loose-knit community?'

Q: Philip joins a large number of people irritated by people beginning answers with 'Well.'

A: I have often been interviewed and have never felt the need to mumble 'well' before I began my answer.

Q: Graham writes, 'I could add "unprecedented", "world-class", "game-changer" "breakthrough", and an old favourite of left-wing politicians: "let me be clear" 

A: An excellent list -- all of them well passed their use-by date!

Q: Gordon writes: ' In the UK, "Worcestershire sauce" is commonly pronounced "WUH-stuh-sher sauce" or simply "Wuss-ter sauce". The pronunciation of "Worcestershire" omits several syllables, with "Worcester" pronounced like "Wuss-ter" and "shire" shortened to "sher" or merged entirely.'

Q: Anne is irritated by people in the media who start almost every sentence with "So..."

A: And yes, this is another almost as irritating we "Well..."

A: The Oxford says the correct pronunciation is WUUSS-tuh-sheer (which is certainly how we've always said it in my family).

Q: James asks, 'Is there a difference between a "Valley" and a "Vale"? Is one larger than the other?'

A: Not according to the Oxford English Dictionary. They say that a "valley" is a low depression of or hollow lying between hills, while a "vale" is 'a tract of land lying between hills.' Much the same thing, wouldn't you say? The Oxford adds a usage note saying that except when it's part of a placename (as in the Vale of Severn in Wales) the use of "vale" is chiefly poetic, adding that it is employed as an ordinary prose word by American writers in the second half of the 18th century (but not, it appears, more recently). 

Q: Abigail asks for the origin of the word 'picnic.'

A: It came into English around 1748 from a French source word meaning a meal at which each person pays for his share or at which each person contributes a share of the food. It's closely related to our word 'pick' -- with the notion that everyone picks a b it of the food to bring.  And the source word was expanded from 'pick' into 'picnic' by the common English habit of alliterative repetition -- compare it with 'nicknack' or 'flip flop.' Only much later (perhaps early in the 20th century) did it come to mean an outdoor meal. 

Q: Diane asks for the origin of 'bought the farm.'

A: Coined by American military jet pilots and recorded from 1954. It means to die -- meaning you have 'bought' your own little patch of ground.  The Oxford speculates that it may have arisen from the notion that a farmer whose farm is damaged by a military plane crash would be compensated by the government.  

Q: Jill writes: ' I cringe whenever I hear "at the end of the day" -- this strikes me as a lazy expression and tired buzzword.' 

A: That's exactly what it is. It's now only used metaphorically to mean 'when it's all over' or 'when it's all said and done.' It's not that old -- only recorded from 1974. The Oxford labels it a 'hackneyed phrase'. And such tired and meaningless cliches are used when people are being lazy about their expression. This should be added to the list of banned words.

Q: John asks for the origin of 'gaffer' meaning an older man, especially one who is in charge,

A: The word goes back t the 1500s with the notion of an older man, especially one who is a foreman or overseer. The Oxford says it began as a variation on another lexical term -- as a contraction of either 'godfather' or 'grandfather.'

Q: Julie asks: 'What is the meaning of "a grass widow"?'

A:  The usual meaning given in British dictionaries is of a woman whose husband is temporarily away, say on business. This sense is known in other English-speaking communities such as Australia. It has long been used in the USA in the rather different sense of “a woman who is separated, divorced, or lives apart from her husband."  It’s slang from the British Raj for wives sent away during the hot summer to the cooler (and greener) hill stations while their husbands remained on duty in the plains.  

Q: Gerald asks: ' Where did phrase "hands down" originate?'

A: It is used to mean something that is done easily, with little or no effort. It is recorded from 1853 and comes from horse racing. When a jockey wins a race easily, he is not urging on the horse but is crossing the finish line with his 'hands down.'

Q: Kay has coined the expression "portal amnesia" to name that experience of walking through a door and then asking yourself 'Why did I come here?'

A: A brilliant coinage! Well done!

Q:  Carol asks: 'Where did the saying " your name is mud" originate from?'

A: There's a common and widely believed myth -- and then there's the truth. The myth is that it came from the name of Dr Samuel Mudd, who set the broken leg of John Wilkes Booth, Lincoln’s assassin, and who was subsequently convicted as a conspirator. That certainly is what happened. But it can't be the source of the expression 'your name is mud' because the dates don't fit. Lincoln was assassinated in 1865, but 'you name is mud' is recorded as early as 1823.  It’s not from the family name Mudd but from the wet sticky earth stuff.   Mud has long meant the lowest or worst part of something, the dregs. 

Q: Elaine writes: "Could you tell me what 'filibuster' means? I heard it in a discussion about U.S politics on Sky."

A: The word 'filibuster' came into English around 1590 from a Dutch source word meaning 'freebooter' (that is, a pirate). It came into American political language around 1850 meaning 'someone who obstructs progress in a legislative assembly. The most common form of obstruction is to speak at enormous length to exhaust the time limit to vote on a bill.  Both houses of the Australian parliament have strictly enforced rules on how long members may speak, but this is not the case in America, where House members or Senators have been known to stay on the feet speaking all night to 'run down the clock' on a bill they oppose.

Q: Will asks: 'Where and how did the word "sandwich: come from?'

A: Named after John Montagu, 4th Earl of Sandwich (1718–1792), who once spent twenty-four hours at the gaming-table playing cards without any other refreshment than some slices of cold beef between slices of bread -- supplied when he asked his servant for some food he could hold in one hand. 

Q: Pamela writes: 'I'm a huge fan of women's cricket and one commentator in particular, Mel Jones, often uses the term "early doors". Where did it originate?'

A: From the theatre, meaning early entry into the theatre -- originally paying a premium price for early admission (to avoid the later crush). Recorded from 1877. How it is being used by cricket commentators I don't know. Are they using to mean someone who is dismissed early in an innings?

Q: Phil asks: 'Where does the word "yonks" come from? As in -- I have lived here for yonks.'

A:  It comes from the earlier expression ‘donkey’s years’ (meaning a long time) – and that was a joke expression: because donkey’s ears are long, then donkey’s years must be long. This was then cut down – with ‘y’ taken from ‘years’ and the ‘onk’ taken from donkey to give us ‘yonks.’  

Q: Margaret asks: 'What is the origin of the phrase to ‘clock it ‘? 

A:  As far as I can work out, to 'clock it' means to notice something or to pay attention to something. This probably comes from the fact that your face can be called your ‘clock’ (or your ‘dial’) – since clocks have faces (with numbers and hands) then the wording can be reversed to say that your face is your ‘clock.’ And if you turn your face towards something – you notice it, you become aware of it.  

Q:  Hi Kel, just wondering where riff raff came from? John

A:  It goes all the way back to the 1400s, but the Oxford says 'of uncertain origin' -- possibly a clipped version of 'riff and raff' which meant everything, even the sweepings of rubbish, and 'riff raff' has from the beginning meant the lowest social class. 

Q: Stephen writes: 'Melania Trump used the word "deboarding". When did we start to use this in lieu of disembark? Is it new "new age" word or just lazy English and poor use of grammar?'

A: Sorry, 'deboarding' is in the dictionary--the big one, the Oxford English Dictionary. It is an American coinage from around 1960. It is not a euphonious word, but after 85 years I think we must accept that it belongs. It means, of course, 'getting off' (a plane, train, or ship). And perhaps we should remember that Melania Trump speaks five languages: Slovene, Serbian, English, French, and German.  Which is (probably) four more than you and me!

Q: Another of our (many) Johns writes to ask about 'duffer' and 'drongo.'

A: 'Dongo' is easy -- it just means 'bird brain'. The 'drongo' was a bird found on Madagascar. 'Duffer' is a softer word (often applied to small children). From the late 1800s a foolish person was a 'duffer'. This seems to come from the Australian word for a cattle rustler (as they were known in the Old West) -- here they were called 'cattle duffers.' This comes from an older English word family -- 'dud' and 'dudder' meaning false -- because cattle duffers altered brands to sell their stolen cattle. 

Q: Aileen writes: '"Larrikin" is a word that seems to be peculiarly Australian and just so descriptive. I wonder where it came from? I also don’t think we hear it very much anymore.  Are we losing our Australian quality of "larrikinism"?'

A: 'Larrikin' is an old word for a young bloke who stirs up a bit of trouble; a hundred years ago it meant a young hoodlum, a gang member. The Oxford English Dictionary says that larrikin is “chiefly Australian”. It’s recorded from 1868, and in those days it meant the violent members of the 19thcentury equivalent of bikie gangs. But over the years the term softened, so that by 1898 Edward E. Morris (in his Austral Dictionary) could say that it was often used to mean “a playful youngster”.There is a bunch of urban myths surrounding the origins of larrikin. One claims it comes from “larking” (as in “larking about”) as pronounced by an Irish-born policeman giving evidence in a Melbourne magistrate’s court. But as the Oxford English Dictionary notes: no trace of the incident has been found in the local papers of the time. So, that one’s a myth. Then there’s suggestion that it comes from the common male name “Larry” – the “kin” part being either a diminutive (referring to a “little Larry”) or a claim of kinship (“Larry’s kin”). Again there’s no evidence to support this notion. However, there is at least some evidence to support the idea that larrikin is another of those English dialect words that survived in Australia after it died out in its homeland. The English Dialect Dictionary records larrikin as a Warwickshire and Worcestershire word meaning “a mischievous or frolicsome youth”.

Q: Doug asks about the expression 'currency lads' that he came across in an article about the early years of Sydney town.

A: 'Currency lad' is recorded from 1822 and referred people born in the colony. (The expression 'currency lass' was also quickly coined.) Governor Lachlan Macquarie decided the colony needed its own currency -- so he imported 40,000 Spanish dollars and had a hole cut in the middle to double the number of available coins. The 'holey dollar' was worth five shillings and the 'dump' (the bit cut out of the middle) was worth one and threepence. Locals were derided as not being of 'sterling' quality (not coming from Britain), but a just being 'local currency.' (The word 'sterling' meant English money as opposed to foreign currency.)

Q: Jack writes: 'I have found myself wanting to use the word “snark” recently. Where does the word come from?  

A: It means being irritable or grumbling (the adjectival form is 'snarky'). It's recorded only from 1989. But it seems to be a variation on a much older word 'snork' -- a Germanic word which the Oxford describes as being 'An imitative or expressive formation.' In other words, the very sound of the word 'snork' captured the grumbling, mumbling sound of irritable people. 

Q:   John asks, ‘where does the expression “cut to the chase” come from?’

A:   From Hollywood. I think it goes all the way back to the era of silent movies. It was supposed to be the director's decision if a storyline was getting dull: 'cut to the chase.' 

Q: Gillian asks for the origin of the quaint old expression ‘bless your little cotton socks.’

A:   This is found in Britain and Australia and unknown in America. It’s recorded from 1905, and began to die out around the 1950s. The original full versions was ‘bless your little heart and cotton socks’—clearly coined as a jocular way to express affection for a small child, especially a child who deserved a reward. That’s the simple truth. But not satisfied with that the myth makers have been at it again, claiming it refers to George Cotton, Bishop of Calcutta in the 19th century who (supposedly) encouraged British women to knit socks for poor Indian children. In fact, he may have done. But since he was Bishop of Calcutta in 1858 and the expression did not appear until 1905, attributing it to him is sheer nonsense.

Q: Margaret writes, 'I am interested to know why money is called “dough”. '

A:   This started as American slang in the mid-1800s. It is simply because bread is the most basic food necessity for even the poorest in the western world. (In the east it's rice.) You need money for bread, or you starve, hence money is called 'dough.' And in the common saying 'bread is the staff of life' -- an expression which comes from a couple of references in the Old Testament part of the Bible.

Q: John asks about the word ‘noisome’? Does it (he asks) have anything to do with ‘noise’?

A:   Not originally. From the 1500s onwards ‘noisome’ meant a bad smell. If it really ponged it was ‘noisome.’ What makes it confusing is that in ‘noisome’ the first syllable is connected to our word ‘annoy.’ So from the earliest days (1300s) anything that was annoying or troublesome was ‘noisome’. But over the centuries this meaning narrowed down to refer to just one source of annoyance—and annoying smell. And this was the standard meaning from the 1500s until today (and for educated people it still is). But from 1925 it took on the addition meaning ‘an annoying noise’—imposed on it by people who were ignorant of its history and meaning. The secondary meaning was expressed in a 1927 novelty song ‘What Noise Annoys an Oyster?’ The answer, of course, was: a noisy noise annoys an oyster most. 

Q: Harvey asks for the origin of ‘from pillar to post.’

A:   Today it means going from one person or situation to another—sometimes referring to a pointless activity. It comes from the game of real (or royal) tennis (introduced into England by Henry V in the 1400s). It looks to our eyes like a cross between tennis and squash, because it’s played on a tennis sized court with a net, but in a court so the ball also bounces off the walls. If the ball ricocheted all over the place without scoring a point it was said to go ‘from pillar to post’ (or ‘from post to pillar’ which was an early variation). 

Q: Peter writes: ‘just wondering is it correct to call Charlie Kirk an “Activist", or is that too strong a word?

A:   It’s not a good word for Charlie Kirk. ‘Activist’ is used in this sense from about 1917. My judgement is that Charlie Kirk pursued thinking, talking, debating and discussion as a way ahead. It modern usage and activist is often someone who wants to shout down opponents, not engage with them—and that wasn’t Charlie Kirk. Setting fire to Teslas is activism, engaging someone in intelligent discussion is not.

Q: Margaret writes: ‘A fond memory of my year 6 teacher was of her saying "fiddlesticks!" in response to some random nonsense of mine. I just thought it was a rather funny word. Keen to know how this expression came about.’

A:   This usage is recorded from around 1625. It meant an absurdity in the sense of being a nothing. It seems to come from the notion that a violin bow on its own is useless—without the fiddle the fiddlestick is useless. So, ‘fiddlesticks’ means a nonsensical nothing.

Q: Bruce writes about weather reports that talk about ‘a month’s worth of rain’ and asks—are they using ‘worth’ correctly?

A:   The word ‘worth’ came into Old English more than a thousand years ago from a Germanic source meaning ‘a specified monetary or material value.’ Later it came to mean ‘something of importance, usefulness, or desirability’. But rain is always of questionable value, usefulness, or desirability.’ In those weather reports ‘worth’ is being used in a sloppy and redundant fashion. Why can’t they just say ‘A month of rain in three days.’ Using ‘worth’ in that sentence is meaningless padding

Q: John (another John—we have a lot of Johns!) asks for the source of the word ‘haphazard.’

A:   The prefix ‘hap’ is related to the word ‘happens’—meaning that which occurs. We still have this shortened form included in words such as ‘happenstance.’ Of course the ‘hazard’ means, as we know, ‘risk, danger, or jeopardy.’ Put them together—which happened in 1569—and you’re taking on punt on what will happened: will it be dangerous (hazardous) or not?

Q: Cheryl asks why we call someone who is off their rocker, ‘dotty’?

A:   Has had that meaning of being, shall we say, terminally confused (?) since around 1860. But before that it meant anyone who walked with an unsteady gait. That earlier expression seems to have come from the phrase used to describe people walking with the aid of a crutch, which was said to be a case of ‘dot and carry one’—the crutch being the ‘dot’ and the injured leg being the ‘carry one.’ How this old meaning changed to mean just plain bonkers is unclear. But perhaps there was a time when someone with an unsteady walk was thought to have an unsteady mind. 

Q: Carl writes: ‘I was watching football and the commentator said, "she was feeling a little ginger" What did she mean?’

A:   The problem is that ‘feeling a little ginger’ can mean two different things. (1) It can mean feeling ‘spiced up’ and lively—a metaphorical use of the ginger plant that makes meals a bit spicey and lively; (2) but it can also mean feeling cautious and careful—as a contraction of feeling ‘gingerly’. (which comes from a different Anglo-Norman source word and is unrelated to the spicey ginger).

Q: Helen asks, what does the expression ‘social licence’ mean?

A:   This expression is found in none of the major dictionaries I searched. But there is an expression found in the business community—some called SLO or ‘Social Licence to Operate.’ This seems to be the belief that companies do on just exist to produce a profit for investors and employment for the staff and products (or services) for customers—but they must also get permission from the communities they are in to operate. This especially means the noisiest elements in those communities. So if the noisiest elements are the climate alarmists, or Aboriginal activists, or the trans community or whoever then they are ones who must be placated in the name of SLO—Social Licence to Operate.

Q: Steve writes: ‘The PM wants companies to “lean in” to his 2035 emissions targets. Where is this confusing expression originate from?’

A:   This expression came from America, and is first recorded in 2001. It is a bit of ‘management jargon’ that means ‘To become fully engaged with something.’ It was popularized by U.S. business executive Sheryl Sandberg's 2013 book called Lean In, in which she encourages women to aspire to leadership in the workplace. But it remains a fairly empty bit of jargon.

Q: Mike wants to know why, if you have a fall, we say you have ‘come a cropper.’

A:   This comes from the days of horse riding—mid 1800s—and is a shorter version of ‘neck and crop’ meaning falling off a horse. In that expression ‘crop’ seems to be a dialect pronunciation of ‘croup’ meaning the back of the horse, so if you’ve fallen off a horse ‘neck and crop’ you’ve fallen off fore and aft.