Saturday Rave: A Modest Proposal.

It's February 29th, a day which can either be viewed as a extra day to achieve something, or the reason you are going to die a day earlier.

I'm not aware of any great works of Art based on the idea of a Leap Year. There are various bits of doggerel about it, and a strange Belgian proverb which says that in a Leap Year the weather changes on a Friday (though everyone knows that, whatever sort of a year it is, if it's going to rain it's as likely as not to save it for the weekend).

So I'm afraid that doggerel it must be. This is from Poor Sir Robin's Almanac of 1792. 

The leaping to which it refers involves getting up the courage and impetus to propose marriage.

This is Leap Year, and ancient proverbs say,
If lads don't leap this year, then lasses may.



Well, it almost scans, anyway.

Word To Use Today: Leap. This word comes from the Old English hlēapan.

Word To Use Today: tercel.

This isn't a very commonly-needed word, I must admit, but it happens to have a really unusual derivation.

Yes, it is something to do with the number three.

So: any guesses as to what a tercel might be?

No, it's not a type of fabric consisting of three types of thread, a tercel is a male falcon or hawk, especially one used in falconry.

So what has that got to do with the number three?

Well, male birds of prey tend to be considerably smaller than their mates (to the extent that they sometimes take different prey, which is neat if you think about it). In fact some females are a third bigger than the males.

But even so most people don't think that has anything to do with the word tercel.


Male Eurasian sparrowhawk: photo by Pierre Dalous - File:Accnis.jpg, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27184634

Most people think that the reason a male hunting bird is called a tercel is because of the belief that only one egg in three produces a male bird.

It doesn't seem to be true, but it's still rather wonderful.

Word To Use Today: tercel. This word comes from French, from the Italian terzetto, diminutive of terzo, third, from the Latin tertius.

Can you imagine a human society where the females were so much bigger than the males?

Okay. Now how about writing a book about it?

The oldest audience: a rant.

From the BBC Radio 4 headlines on their drive-time news programme PM, broadcast on 17/02/2020:

In Hereford, water levels have reached their highest levels for two hundred years. This woman says she's never seen anything like it...

Ah well. At least it made me laugh!


photo by Bob Embleton  CC BY-SA 2.0

Word To Use Today: flood. This word was flōd in Old English (yes, it's been raining here for a long time). The Greek word plōtos means navigable.

Nuts and Bolts: plano- prefix.

English words which begin plano- come from the Latin planus, which means flat or level.

Well, mostly they do, anyway.

A plano-concave lens has one flat side (the other one is scooped out); planography involves printing from a flat surface; planosol may sound like a medication for something unspeakable, but it's actually a layer of soil found in hot wet upland regions which is, typically, water-logged and flat.

And planogamete?

Well, a gamete is either an unfertilised egg or a sperm. One of each of the two kinds need to fuse together to start off the life of a new creature in very many species.

And so, are some gametes...flat?

Nope. Irritatingly, that plano- prefix comes from the Greek word planos, which means wandering. (It's what planets do.)

Sometimes I think these scientists are just trying to exclude and confuse people.

Word To Use Today: one beginning plano-. The word gamete comes from the Greek gamos, which means marriage. 

I think that's rather lovely.

Thing Not To Be Today: nugatory.

(British people, if they happen to say this word (which they hardly ever do) would say it NYOOgatorry, or NYOOgatree.)

Something that's nugatory is of little value. It's a trifling kind of a thing, and that's why this this word is hardly ever used. Nugatory is a formal, dignified kind of a word, and anyone who's being that formal and dignified isn't often going to lower himself (or herself, or themselves) to notice something so insubstantial.

Have you ever heard a bishop expounding on till receipts? Or a president speaking of pop corn? A monarch on paper tissues?

I think not, though if they did these might unkindly be termed nugatory remarks.

The only person who is really at all likely to use this word is a judge, because for him (or her, or them) a nugatory law is one which is not valid.

For the rest of us, then all we have to do to avoid being nugatory is to be worth something, or else to do something reasonably worthwhile.

And you are. You do. Every one of you. 


photo by Sérgio Valle Duarte

You're all marvellously, immensely valuable.

Not nugatory at all.

Thing Not To Be Today: nugatory. This word comes from the Latin word nūgātōrius, from nūgāri to jest, from nūgae, which are trifles.

Spot the Frippet: guilloche.

I chose to feature this word for the beauty of its sound, really: guilloche. It's such a French word, and after all the rain round here I feel in the need of a little continental warmth.

My Collins dictionary tells me to pronounce the word with a hard g: gee-LOSH, but to me gwee-LOSH sounds more French. I expect it's fine, either way.

What is a guilloche? It's a pattern made of interwoven curved lines:


photo by Bloger

It's the sort of thing you see decorating powder compacts, but guilloches are used in architecture, too:


detail of the portone of S Salvatore in lauro. Photo by Anthony Majanlahti

Even if you don't wear face powder, and even if you live in a place where the architecture is all modern, there's one other very common place to find a guilloche. 

Do you know where this pattern is to be found?


Ralf Pfeifer at Wikipedia

Yep. It's on a bank note.

So today is a day to stop and admire your money instead of just spending it.

Most British bank notes are plastic, now. They're a pain once they're creased, but at least they don't dissolve in all the rain.

Spot the Frippet: a guilloche. This word comes from a French tool used in ornamental work. Before that it may come from Guillaume, the French form of the name William.

Sunday Rest: janola. Word Not To Use Today Unless You're Talking To A New Zealander.

Some words, like some dogs, get dangerous as they get older.

Janola was a perfectly good word until we all started eating granola, but the similarity between the words does tend to suggest a similarity in meaning, and while granola might be a reasonably good breakfast choice no one could call janola a healthy option.

No, really, you couldn't: not even if you're too sleepy in the mornings to be fussy.

Especially if you're too sleepy in the mornings to be fussy.

Mind you, I'd avoid the granola, too. Unless you like the look of floor-sweepings.

Sunday Rest: janola. To a New Zealander, janola, I'm afraid, is household bleach. The word started off as a trade name.

Saturday Rave: The Pulley, by George Herbert.

The twenty second of February, as any ex-Girl Guide knows, is Thinking Day.

I always liked the idea of a Thinking Day, because thinking was viewed in my childhood home as foolish, self-indulgent, arrogant, and a threat, and therefore strongly discouraged. 

So, anyway, here's something to think about.

George Herbert wrote about man's relationship with God, but, as with all great Art, his work has a wider-than-literal application.

When God at first made man,
Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way;
Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said he)
Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts, instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,
But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.

***

Actually, come to think about it, I seem to remember Captain Kirk saying something rather similar about six hundred years later.

As I said, Great Art has a wide application.

Word To Use Today: weariness. This word comes from the Old English wērig. Entertainingly, it's related to the Old High German wuarag, drunk, and the Greek hōrakian, to faint.

Word To Use Today: timothy.

You will probably have heard of Little Jenny Wren, but no one expects there ever to have been an original small girl called Jenny who gave the wren its name.

You don't, either, expect there to have been an original Robin, who gave his name to so many red-breasted birds.

The same goes for the stuff called timothy grass. It's all over the place but it's only, well, grass, and so surely the origin of the name is lost in the mists of time, right?


photo by Blokenearexeter

Well, wrong. Probably.

Timothy grass is to be found more or less everywhere in Europe, where it's chomped up by, well, more or less anything that eats grass, including cows and deer and the caterpillars of the marbled white butterfly:




photo credit: By <a href="//commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Hectonichus" title="User:Hectonichus">Hectonichus</a> - <span class="int-own-work" lang="en">Own work</span>, <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0" title="Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0">CC BY-SA 4.0</a>, <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=61537215">Link</a>

Timothy grass is found all over North America, too, but it was originally brought there, by accident, by people. Again, as it was just, well, grass, it was ignored for a while until it was noticed that, if cut late, it made pretty good hay for horses. 

The man in North America who first noticed the stuff properly called it Hurd grass (guess what his name was (his first name, by the way, was John)), but soon after that a farmer called Timothy Hanson began to promote the stuff as horse and cattle fodder, and it's been called timothy grass ever since.

It now grows wild all over North America. 

I don't know if Timothy Hanson made a fortune from his championship of timothy grass, but I rather hope so. I'm glad he was called Timothy, too: rodney grass would have been nowhere near such a lovely name.

Word To Use Today: timothy. The first famous Timothy was one of St Paul's companions on his missionary journeys. Paul wrote him two letters which are now to be found in the Bible. The Greek word timao means to honour, and theos means god.

Balling out: a rant.

The ex-Speaker of the House of Commons, John Bercow, has annoyed and upset a lot of people in his time (as well as being rather a hero to quite a few).

While he was still Speaker there wasn't a lot the aggrieved could do about his behaviour (except complain bitterly); but now Mr Bercow is out of office the air is thick with feathers as a whole flock of chickens has come home to roost.

Poor Mr Bercow has three problems: first, the Speaker, upon retirement, is traditionally made a member of the House of Lords (so he'd be Lord Bercow of Edgeware, or something similar) and most of those now with the power of patronage detest him so much that they're doing everything they can to prevent such an appointment; second, his autobiography is attracting bad reviews; and, third, he is being investigated with great vigour by his enemies for allegedly bullying his subordinates when in office.

This account of Mr Bercow's angry outbursts appeared in the Telegraph online, 05/02/2020:

Discussing his treatment at the hands of John Bercow, Mr Leakey added that "he would be jumping up and down and balling out and shouting insults".

Hmm...yes, well, you can see that might be rather disconcerting, can't you.

Word To Use Correctly Today: bawl. To bawl means to shout loudly in anger. The word probably comes from the Icelandic baula, the noise made by a cow. 

The verb to ball means to make into the shape of a ball, which doesn't make sense in this context. 

So exactly what balls Mr Bercow was getting out I do not know - and certainly don't wish to enquire.

Nuts and Bolts: the double prefix.

I've always assumed that a binary prefix was something like the bi- in bicycle or the duo- in duopoly; basically, a prefix which indicates two of something.

But it's not.

A binary prefix is that rare thing, an entertaining computer term. You see, a binary prefix is a way of expressing a number where, until fairly recently, you couldn't tell what, er, the number actually was.

I do love it when nerdy people manage to make themselves look ridiculous.

A binary prefix is used to describe the size of a kind of computer memory (it's RAM). Examples, historically, of these binary prefixes are the kilo[byte], mega[byte] and giga[byte], and the number they represent will be a one calculated by multiplying a certain number of twos together. For instance, a gigabyte is 1073741824 bytes, that number being a row of ten twos all multiplied together.

If you're counting something other than RAM then the prefixes kilo- mega- and giga- mean more or less the same thing as they do if they are being the aforesaid binary prefixes, except rounded to the nearest thousand or ten thousand or few billion or so. 

A gigabit, for instance, consists of 1000000000 bits, as opposed to the 1073741824 in a gigabyte as mentioned above.

Rather sadly, computer people have now sorted this out. Kilo- mega- and giga- etc now always mean the whole thousands (so they are no longer binary prefixes at all). If you want a binary prefix, ie one based on a multiplication of the number two, then you are supposed to use kibi- mebi- or gibi-.

It's very sensible, and definitely needed.

But it's rather a pity, all the same.

Word To Use Today: kibibyte? Everyone will think you're talking about some sort of a dog biscuit, but that would be fun. 

Thing To Be Today: devoted.

Devotion is an odd thing. How does it begin? With a look, with a word, with some subtle biological chemistry, as perhaps between a mother and her child?

My husband went to his first football* game as a small boy. His dad took him to a match between Millwall, his family's local team, and Shrewsbury Town (an organisation with which you may not be familiar as it doesn't really feature all that much in the glorious annals of the history of sport).

Despite this, Millwall somehow managed to lose 1-2, and the poor little boy got so cold watching the game that on the way home his dad had to take him to an auntie's house to get him thawed out. She was a very kind auntie, and gave the little boy a tot of brandy to help warm him through.

The brandy made him feel warmer, but it can't have made him feel much better because when the little boy finally got home he was sick all over the kitchen floor.

He's been utterly devoted to Millwall Football Club ever since.

As I said, devotion is an odd thing.

Thing To Be Today: devoted. The Latin word dēvōtus means, well, devoted. Or solemnly promised. Dēvovēre means to vow.

*Soccer.

Spot the Frippet: film.

After the Oscars Awards Ceremony I thought I'd write about parasites, but when I researched them I quickly discovered that they were far too revolting, and so I'm going to write about films, instead.

Why is a film, as in the movie Parasite, called a film?

Well, long ago, the many photographs which go to make up a film used to be kept, not as data in a computer's memory, but on long strips of translucent tape. The photographs themselves came in the form of a very thin film of chemicals on this strip.

So, what we're looking for are very thin layers.

A bubble consists of a film, usually of detergent:


photo by Brocken Inaglory

and then you get what in Britain we call cling film, which keeps food moist:



There are also naturally-occurring living films, that is living things joined together to form a sort of thin community spread across a surface. You're destroying one every time you clean your teeth (eerghh!). 

That kind of a biofilm is also a heck of a nuisance on contact lenses.

Modern mirrors are coated with a reflective film. Spectacles are often coated similarly, too.

You might apply a film of oil to stop surfaces rubbing together.

Then there are thin-film solar panels, which are cheaper than the original kind because they use up so much less material.

Or, on the other hand, if you're feeling brave, you could just watch Parasite.

But I think spotting a solar panel or two will do for me.

Spot the Frippet: film. This word comes from the Old English filmen, membrane. It's related to the Greek pelma, which means the sole of the foot, and, rather distantly, to the English word peel.

Sunday Rest: zoonoses. Word Not To Use Today.

Zoonoses are infectious diseases which are transmitted to man from a different species of vertebrate (that is, an animal with a backbone).

Yes, some animal like a bat or a pig or a pangolin or a chicken.

The word zoonoses is a hundred per cent Greek, and there is, sadly, a strong current need for it. It's a good and necessary word.

So the only reason for disliking it is that it doesn't describe something altogether more lovable, like the snout of a tapir:


photo by Bernard Dupont https://www.flickr.com/people/65695019@N07

the trunk of an elephant:


photo by Rick Kimpel

 or the adorable snoot of a koala:


photo by Erik Veland

Still, the singular form of the word, zoonosis, looks fairly scary, and can in almost all circumstances be used as an alternative.

Thank heavens for that.

Sunday Rest: zoonoses. This word comes from the Greek zōion, animal and the Greek nosos, which means disease.

Saturday Rave: the Great and the Unready.

Alfred and Catherine were great, weren't they? 

In fact, they were better than great, they were Great. I refer, of course, to Catherine the Great of Russia, and Alfred the Great of those bits of England that weren't currently over-run by someone else.

It does help to have a single word to stick onto people so you can put them in a slot in you mind. The English king Æthelred the Unready,* is an obvious example, as is poor Bloody Mary (it wasn't that she had an over-fondness for cocktails, it was that she killed a lot of Protestants).

Then there was Ivan the terrible (well, you know not to invite him to tea) and Vlad the Impaler (don't even open the door!).

And then there are the people you can't help pitying, like the Scots Earl of Douglas Archibald the Loser, for instance. (He died in battle, yes, but he was Earl for twenty four years and it can't all have been a complete disaster. Can it?) Then there are the French King Louis the Unavoidable (who was actually in prison or in exile for most of his reign, so he was actually very easily avoidable indeed until the Emperor Napoleon was thrown out); the Norwegian Haakon the Crazy (who was sane enough (for a king, anyway) but tended to go berserk in battle); and the Bulgarian Ivaylo the Cabbage (who, remarkably, led a successful peasants' revolt and became king for a year or so. He must have been quite a guy.).

These are all remarkable individuals, but as for today, as it's their birthdays, I dedicate this post to Ivan the Young (1458 - 1490), son of Ivan III of Russia; and Piero the Unfortunate, Italian ruler 1471 - 1503.

I'm just hope they never knew what their chief claim to fame was going to be, that's all.

Word To Use Today: nickname. This started off as an ekename, but then the n went AWOL. Eke means addition.

*Æthelred means well advised, and Unready comes from unræd, which means poorly advised. 

Yes, people have been making bad puns for a long time.

Word To Use Today: spoil.

Yesterday, my husband received an email headlined:

How To Spoil Your Valentine

Luckily, the rest of the text referred to a list of gifts, not activities designed to ruin our day.


photo by Dawid Skalec

Word To Use Today: spoil. This confusing word can be a heap of earth excavated from a hole - so waste, more or less (the same sort of meaning turns up in spoiled food) - but on the other hand the spoils of crime are the valuable bits you want to keep.

The word comes from the Old French espoillier, from the Latin spoliāre, to strip, from spolium, booty.

Sorted! a rant.

On a display of bottles of pink gin:


photo by Dmusanhu


in my local Sainburys supermarket there is a notice which says:


Valentine's Day: sorted!

.....

and I really don't think that's truly in the spirit of the occasion.

Word To Use Today: sort. The Latin word sors means fate. 

Fate, as in fatal, is what might quite easily happen if you forget Valentine's Day.

So perhaps that notice has something to say for it, after all.

Nuts and Bolts: parentese.

Do you speak parentese? You almost certainly do if you're a parent, or if you have ever had anything to do with babies.

Parentese isn't a language so much as a speaking style. It has simplified grammar, a high pitch to the voice, and exaggerated sounds, especially on the important words.

It's a BAALLL! someone might say to a small child, the voice as full of wonder and delight as can possibly be managed.

Yes, it is quite hard work.

Parentese is used in nearly all the world's languages (I must try to find out in which languages parentese isn't used: if I succeed, I'll let you know). Anyway, parentese seems to be an instinctive behaviour when faced with an infant. Parentese has already been shown to be effective in fostering language acquisition in the baby, and now a new study published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences by the Institute for Learning & Brain Research, or I-LABS (I wonder how long it took them to come up with such a neat acronym?) has shown that giving parents parentese lessons leads to increased use of parentese, and this in turn leads to children acquiring more words more quickly than those in the study's control group.

Why does parentese work? Patricia Kuhl, I-LAB's director, says it's because the pattern of speech of parentese attracts the attention of the baby. It also makes the use of language a social and happy occasion, and invites a response.

(Well, it's always useful to have confirmation, even of the most obvious things.)

The great discovery of the study as far as I'm concerned is that if you tell parents that using parentese helps their baby, then parents will use it more, with measurable positive results. After all, parentese does make you look like a bit of an idiot.

So it's good news all round. Because, after all, life is much easier for everyone when a child can ask for something instead of having to do a lot of random bawling, isn't it.

Word To Use Today: parentese. The word parent comes from the Latin word parere, to bring forth.

The lead author of the study was Naja Ferian Remirez, and the co-author was Sarah Roseberry Lytle.

---

Thing Not To Be Today: abysmal.

According to my Collins English Dictionary (30th anniversary edition) the primary meaning of abysmal is "immeasurable; very great; abysmal stupidity".

Then it goes on to meaning 2, which it calls informal: "extremely bad; an abysmal film".

Well, the dictionary can say what it likes, but no one, no one, uses the word abysmal informally. 

As for abysmal's primary meaning, an abysmal performance is never, ever, a great one, however deep it is; and the height of the arch of a rainbow may be immeasurable but it cannot under any circumstances be described as abysmal.

Still, this is a good thing.

After all, there are plenty of things around that can be called abysmal, and it'd be a pity to overwork the word.

Thing Not To Be Today: abysmal. This word is linked to the word abyss, which comes from the Greek abussos, which means bottomless (though not in the catwalk model sense) from bussos, depth.

Spot the Frippet: cockscomb/coxcomb.

Clothes go out of fashion, as do styles of furniture, architecture, music, and literature.

So, less obviously, do personal failings.

It's not only that the words for personal failings go out of fashion (though they do); it's not just that sloth has become know as laziness, or that we don't covet things any more but feel envious of them. 

Coxcombs just aren't on anyone's radar any more - unless to describe a cock's comb:


photo by Žiga

Why has a word which describes the sort of conceited arrogance which so often leads to foppish dressing in the young (and occasionally the not-so-young) largely vanished from the world?

Perhaps it's something to do with our cultural trend of admiration for the wisdom of the young.

There are certainly coxcombs around. You might spot one by his expensive footwear or glittering gold jewellery, his impractical hair style or impudent swagger, his arched eyebrow or offensive snigger.

The poor loves will grow out of it, most of them, but until they do they can be quite annoying and intimidating. The cure is, of course, to call them coxcombs,* which will make them shrink back to their proper insignificant size and give us all a laugh.

Bless them.

Spot the Frippet: coxcomb. The Old English form of the word cock was cocc, (the bird). The word is basically an imitation of the sound such a bird makes. The word comb is also Old English, and used to be camb.

*Probably not to their faces, though.

Sunday Rest: celebocracy.

The word celebocracy may be an unconventional mixture of Latin and Greek (see below) but then so is the word television, and we've managed to get used to that.

The problem is that anyone who utters the word celebocrary will look pretentious (and in Britain pretentious = ridiculous) so it's unusable.

Still, it's a useful and interesting idea, isn't it.

Word Not To Use Today: celebnocratic. The word celebrate comes from the Latin celebrāre, which means numerous, crowded, or famous. The -cracy bit comes from the Greek kratos, which means power.

Saturday Rave: Le Genie by Jules Verne.

Jules Verne is the second-most translated writer in the world (he's between Agatha Christie and William Shakespeare).

In Britain we tend to regard Verne as a writer of light and perhaps juvenile adventure stories, but in his native France he is honoured as a writer of intellect and distinction.

The difference in perception seems to have been created by those many and often much-abbreviated translations.

Here's one of Jules Vernes' poems, Le Génie. 

Comme un pur stalactite, oeuvre de la nature
Le génie incompris apparaît à nos yeux.
Il est là, dans l'endroit où l'ont placé les Cieux,
Et d'eux seuls, il reçoit sa vie et sa structure.

Jamais la main de l'homme assez audacieuse
Ne le pourra créer, car son essence est pure,
Et le Dieu tout-puissant le fit à sa figure;
Le mortel pauvre et laid, pourrait-il faire mieux?

Il ne se taille pas, ce diamant byzarre,
Et de quelques couleurs dont l'azur le chamarré,
Qu'il reste tel qu'il est, que le fit l'éternel!

Si l'on veut corriger le brillant stalactite,
Ce n'est plus aussitôt qu'un caillou sans mérite,
Qui ne réfléchit plus les étoiles de ciel.


Translation has obviously not served Jules Verne well, but are there any excuses for this? 

Well, here's what Google Translate makes of his poem.

Genius

Like a pure stalactite, work of nature,
The misunderstood genius appears to us.
He is there, in the place where Heaven placed him
And from them alone he receives his life and his structure.

Never the hand of man bold enough
Cannot create it, because its essence is pure,
And the Almighty God did it in his face;
Could the poor and ugly mortal do better?

It is not cut, this Byzarre diamond,
And some colors including bedecked azure,
May it remain as it is, as the eternal did!

If we want to correct the brilliant stalactite.
It is immediately no more than a pebble with merit,
Who no longer reflects the stars in the sky.

**

Google's not done a bad job, I'd say. It's a pity that les Cieux is translated as Heaven instead of the heavens, and even more of a pity that le fit à sa figure comes out as did it in his face; but you can tell that this is serious stuff, and you can basically tell what he means. 

So I think we can say that there not really any excuse that poor Jules Verne's work is so diminished in translation.

Mind you, perhaps after all he'd not have minded too much being ahead of Shakespeare.

Word To Use Today: genius. This word comes from the Latin word gignere to engender.

Word To Use Today: chersonese.

(You say this word k-ss-NEEZ.)

Islands are the thing. I knew that quite well when I was working out my new kitchen layout, but there wasn't room for an island, so I had to made do with a peninsular unit, instead.

Yes, I love it, thanks. I really flipping love it.

But that word, peninsular...it's just slightly a sign of compromise, somehow, so I think I might be going to christen my peninsular unit the chersonese.


Well, I would if I wanted to show off, anyway. 

Sadly, though, as I don't, I think I'm going to have to carry on calling it a table.


The Golden Chersonese, drawn by Nicolaus Germanus in 1467 after Ptolomy's Geography. It's thought to be the place now known as the Malay Peninsula. Some have claimed it as the kingdom of Caspar, who brought gold as a gift to the infant Christ.

Word To Use Today: chersonese. This word turned up in English in the 1600s but never really caught on except with the more refined poets. They got it from Latin, but of course it's really a Greek word, khersonēsos, from khersos, dry (as in land) and nēsos, island.

Sentences: a rant.

An Islamist terrorist, Sudesh Amman, was shot dead by police on 02/02/2020 after he stabbed two members of the public in a busy London High Street. Amman was wearing a fake suicide vest. The incident occurred ten days after Amman's statutory early release from prison. 

From the Telegraph Online, 3rd February 2020:

Haleema Faraz [Amman's mother] today revealed that she visited her son at his bail hostel on Thursday after he was released from prison early for distributing terrorist documents.

As a writer, I can see how these things happen (it's probably from trying just a bit too hard). 

But surely someone checks this stuff before it's posted, don't they?

Um...that has to be a no, then.

Word To Use Today: terror. This word comes from the Greek word trein, to run away in terror.

Nuts and Bolts: chiasmus.

Chiasmus isn't nearly as difficult or complicated as it sounds.

Chiasmus is when you say something like, for instance:


I adore Belinda,

and then, to emphasise the fact, you say it again, only sort of backwards:

 she is my darling.

As you can see, it's not that the words are in reverse order, it's that the thing that was at the end of the phrase is now at the beginning, and vice versa.

As a classier example, the second line of this speech of Othello's is a chiasmus:

But O, what damnéd minutes tell he o'er

Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves.

Do chiasmi matter? Well, they're a useful way of emphasising something, so if you're trying to be persuasive it might be worth bearing in mind.

Mind you, if you're trying to be persuasive there'll probably be about a hundred more important things on your mind. 

So chiasmus is probably mostly a way of trying to make yourself look clever.

Thing To Consider Today: chiasmus. This word is from the Greek khiasmos, a cross-cross shape. Chi is the Greek name for the letter X.

Thing To Be Today: sublime.

Well, we all know that sub- means under, and that a lime is a fruit.

But what's so good about sitting under one of those?


This sort of lime tree, a Tilia species, doesn't actually bear limes, but, hey, it's still very beautiful. Photo by Rosser1954.

(If you're chuckling wisely and thinking about all the other meanings of the word lime then, yes, okay - but as it happens even those doesn't actually help very much. Or, indeed, at all.)

The trouble is that to be sublime is quite an ask. Sublime talent and sublime beauty may indeed elude us (elude us? As if I ever got within clutching distance!).

Still, we can all be sublimely unconcerned, I suppose, if only about our own deficiencies.

Personally, I'm going to have to go with that.

Thing To Be Today: sublime. This word is from the Latin sublīmus, which means lofty. That word might come from sub-, meaning up to, and līmen, threshold (or possibly lintel).

But what's sublime about a threshold (or a lintel) I have no idea at all.

Anyway, threshold to what, I wonder? 

Spot the Frippet: wicket.

I was writing about Ewoks the other day, and I remembered that Wicket is my favourite of all the ewoks. I love teh fact that he's so passionate about getting to be a warrior even though he's pretty much unable to pronounce the word.

I accept that we're unlikely to spot an Ewok as we go about our daily commute, but there are other wickets to be seen.

You play cricket on one (the wicket is the strip of very closely mown grass where the players run up and down). In England many villages have cricket pitches, recognisable at this time of year by the sight-screen and the pavilion (the game of cricket involves an official meal break). Just to confuse things, the wicket is also the name of each of the groups of three sticks which sits at each end of the mown-grass wicket. It's also a batsman's turn at batting, though the term is only used under certain very specific circumstances.

A wicket door is a small door or gate, especially one within a larger door:


photo Of All Saints Church (I'm afraid I don't know where it is) by Evelyn Simak

 In the USA a wicket can be small window used for selling tickets etc.

Then there's the wicket which is a small sluice gate which forms part of a lock gate, or a water-wheel system; or (again in the USA) a croquet hoop.

Wickets, wickets, everywhere, and all much closer than Endor.

Mind you, if you see a bus going that way, I'd seize the chance to take it.

Word To Use Today: wicket. This word comes from the Old Northern French wiket, which is related to the Old Norse vikja, to move.

Sunday Rest: whatever. Word Not To Use Today.

According to the USA-based Marist Institute for Public Opinion, the most annoying word in the English language is whatever.

It has held this position for over a decade.

To be fair, the purpose of the word whatever is very often to annoy people (the implication being that your concerns are of no interest or importance to me whatever) so we must at least admit that it's effective.

Perhaps we should mark this word as annoying but useful.

Saying whatever is probably safer and more polite than stating your position in a whole sentence, anyway.

Sunday Rest: whatever. Whatever, in its dismissive sense, has been around for some time. It was so used in an episode of Bewitched in 1965 (that use was by a rather cranky witch, so it was never presented as a model for good behaviour).

Whatever is sometimes now abbreviated to evs. 

Hmm...

...I think that whatever might just possibly have yielded its most-annoying crown to evs.

The Old English form of what is hwæt; the Old English form of ever is æfre.

Saturday Rave: Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms by Thomas Moore

You can lose a lot of happiness by being cynical.

Until now, I've always assumed that Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms was a song sung by some rotter trying to seduce a young lady. 

But then the other day I was walking in St Albans park, and at three o'clock the cathedral bells treated us to several verses, played with lovable clatteriness and only approximate tuning, of, yes, Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms. 

This seemed more than a bit random, so, finally, I've done some research and discovered that in my cynicism I've been missing something lovely.

In 1808 Elizabeth Moore became gravely ill with smallpox. The family were banished from her room, but after a period of great anxiety it finally became clear that Elizabeth was going to recover.

Sadly, though, the smallpox had scarred her face. She was convinced she was now unlovable, and refused to see anyone, not even her husband, or to leave her room.

Luckily her husband Thomas was both an affectionate, understanding man and an accomplished poet. He wrote these verses, and sang them at her door to an old Irish tune.

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away -
Thou wouldst still be ador'd as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And, around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still!

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheek unprofan'd by a tear,
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
Oh! the heart, that has truly lov'd never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close;
As the sun-flower turns on her god when he sets,
The same look which she turn'd when he rose!

**

Could any woman stand firm against that? Elizabeth couldn't. She emerged, reassured.

And they lived happily ever after.*

Word To Use Every Day: an endearment. The Old English form of dear was dēore.

*I'm not actually sure about this. But you can sometimes do too much research...