Strong Names

What connects the names Cathal, Ronald, Valerie and Walter? Let’s find out.

Where's Wally?
Where’s Walter / Wally?

The name Cathal comes from Irish Cathal [ˈkahəlˠ], from Old Irish Cathal, from Proto-Celtic *Katuwalos from *katus (battle) and *walos (prince, chief), from Proto-Indo-European *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong). The Welsh names Cadwal and Cadwaladr come from the same roots [source].

Names that also share the Proto-Celtic root *walos (prince, chief) include Conall – from *kū (dog, wolf) and *walos; Donald / Domhnall from *dubnos (world) and *walos, and (O’)Toole – from *toutā (people, tribe, tribal land) and *walos [source].

The name Ronald comes from Scottish Gaelic Raghnall [ˈrˠɤ̃ː.əl̪ˠ], from Old Norse Rǫgnvaldr, from Proto-Germanic *Raginawaldaz from *raginą (decision, advice, counsel) and *waldaz (wielder, rule), from *waldaną (to rule), possibly from Proto-Indo-European *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong) [source].

Names that also share the Proto-Germanic root *waldaz (wielder, rule) include Harold – from *harjaz (army, commander, warrior) and *waldaz; Oswald – from *ansuz (deity, god) and *waldaz; Gerald – from *gaizaz (spear, pike, javelin) and *waldaz, and Walter – from *waldaz and *harjaz (army, commander, warrior) [source].

The name Valerie comes from French Valérie, from Latin Valeria, a feminine form of the Roman family name Valerius, from Latin valere (to be strong), from valeō (to be strong, to be powerful, to be healthy, to be worthy), from Proto-Italic *waleō (to be strong) from Proto-Indo-European *h₂wl̥h₁éh₁yeti, from *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong) [source]. Names from the same Latin roots include Valentine, Valeria and Valencia.

Parts of all these names can be traced back to the Proto-Indo-European root *h₂welh₁- (to rule, to be strong) – the same is true for the names Arnold, Reginald, Reynold and Vlad(imir) [source].

Other words from the same PIE root include: ambivalent, cuckold, evaluation, invalid, prevalence, unwieldy, valour and value in English, gwlad (country, sovereignty) and gwaladr (ruler, sovereign) in Welsh, walten (to rule, exercise control) in German, vallita (to prevail, predominate, reign) in Finnish, vládnout (to rule, reign) in Czech, and власт (vlast – power, authority, influence, government) in Bulgarian [source].

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Hosting Hostages

Are the words hostage and host related? Let’s find out.

host
A host of daffodils

A hostage [ˈhɒs.tɪʤ / ˈhɑs.tɪʤ] is:

  • A person given as a pledge or security for the performance of the conditions of a treaty or similar agreement, such as to ensure the status of a vassal.
  • A person seized in order to compel another party to act (or refrain from acting) in a certain way, because of the threat of harm to the hostage.
    other meanings are available.

It comes from Middle English (h)ostage (hostage), from Old French (h)ostage, either from Old French oste (innkeeper, landlord, host), or from Latin obsidāticum (condition of being held captive), from Latin obses (hostage, captive, security, pledge), from ob- (in front of) and sedeō (to sit) [source].

A host [həʊst / hoʊst] is:

  • One which receives or entertains a guest, socially, commercially, or officially.
  • A person or organization responsible for running an event.
  • A moderator or master of ceremonies for a performance.
    other meanings are available.

It comes from Middle English hoste (host), from Old French oste (innkeeper, landlord host), from Latin hospitem, from hospes (host, guest, visitor, stranger, foreigner, unaware, inexperienced, untrained), from Proto-Italic *hostipotis (host), from Proto-Indo-European *gʰóstipotis (lord, master, guest), from *gʰóstis (stranger, host, guest, enemy) and *pótis (master, ruler, husband) [source].

Host can also refer to a multitude of people arrayed as an army (e.g. a Heavenly host (of angels)). This comes from the same PIE root (*gʰóstis) as the other kind of host, via Middle English oost (host, army), Old French ost(e) (army), Latin hostis (an enemy of the state, a hostile), Proto-Italic *hostis (stranger, guest) [source].

Another meaning of host is the consecrated bread of the Eucharist. This comes from Middle English (h)oist (a sacrificial victim, the Eucharistic wafer), from Old French hoiste, from Latin hostia ( sacrifice, offering, victim, sacrificial animal, the consecrated bread), from Proto-Indo-European *ǵʰostiyo-, from *ǵʰes- (hand, to take, to give in exchange) [source].

So hostage and host might be related, at least in the first two senses.

Other words related to host include guest in English, Gast (guest) in German, gäst (guest) in Swedish, and gjest (guest) in Norwegian [source].

In Old English, the word ġīs(e)l [jiːzl] meant hostage, and comes from Proto-West Germanic *gīsl (hostage), from Proto-Germanic *gīslaz (hostage), from Proto-Celtic *geistlos (hostage, bail), from Proto-Indo-European *gʰeydʰ- (to yearn for). So a hostage is “one who yearns for (release)” [source].

Words from the same Proto-Celtic root (*geistlos), include giall (hostage) in Irish, giall (hostage, pledge) in Scottish Gaelic, gwystl (pledge, pawn, hostage) in Welsh, gijzelen (to take hostage) in Dutch, and Geisel (hostage) in German, gidsel (hostage) in Danish and gísl (hostage) in Icelandic [source].

Another word from the same Proto-Celtic root is kihlata (to betroth) in Finnish, which comes via Proto-Finnic *kihla (pledge, bet, wager, engagement gift), and Proto-Germanic *gīslaz (hostage) [source].

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Satorial Tailoring

What links the word satorial with the words tailor in various languages? Let’s find out.

PenHaligon's Sartorial

The word sartorial means:

  • Of or relating to the tailoring of clothing.
  • Of or relating to the quality of dress.
  • Of or relating to the sartorius muscle ( a long muscle in the leg.

It comes from New Latin sartorius (pertaining to a tailor), from Late Latin sartor (mender, patcher, tailor), from Latin sarcire (to patch, mend), sarciō (to patch, botch, mend, repair, restore, to make amends, recompense), from Proto-Indo-European *serḱ- (to mend, make good, recompense) [source].

Words from the same roots include sastre (tailor) in Spanish, Tagalog and Chavacano, xastre (tailor) in Asturian, Galician and Portuguese, sarto (tailor) in Italian, sertir (to crimp, set, socket [jewellery]) and the surname Sartre in French, and the obsolete English word sartor (tailor) [source].

The English word tailor, which refers to a person who makes, repairs, or alters clothes professionally, especially suits and men’s clothing, comes from Middle English taillour (tailor), from Anglo-Norman tailloru (tailor), from Old French tailleor (tailor), from taillier (to cut, shape), from Late Latin tāliō (retaliation, to cut, prune), from Latin tālea (rod, stick, stake, a cutting, twig, sprig), the origins of which are uncertain [source].

Related words include tally (any account or score kept by notches or marks) in English, taille (size, waist) and tailler (to cut) in French, Teller (plate, dish) in German, táille (fee, charge) in Irish, talea (cutting, scion) in Italian, and taior (woman’s suit) in Romanian tajar (to cut, slice, chop) in Spanish [source].

I was inspired to write this post after learning that tailor in Spanish is sastre, and wondering where it comes from.

By the way, Happy New Year! Blwyddyn newydd dda! Bonne année ! ¡Feliz Año Nuevo! 新年快樂! 新年快乐! Felice anno nuovo! 新年おめでとうございます! Bliain úr faoi shéan is faoi mhaise duit! Bliadhna mhath ùr! Blein Vie Noa! Ein gutes neues Jahr! Feliĉan novan jaron! Поздравляю с Новым Годом! Šťastný nový rok! Godt nytår! Gott nytt år! La Mulți Ani! Onnellista uutta vuotta! 🎆🎉🥂🥳

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Sabhal Mòr Ostaig

Oban / An t-Òban
A sunny morning in Oban / Madainn ghrianach anns an Oban

The trip from Oban to Skye went smoothly, and I bumped into a couple on the bus who I met at SMO last year. There were several other SMO-bound people on the bus, but I didn’t know them at the time. We arrived safely at Broadford on Sunday afternoon, and got a lift to the college from there. Along the way, there was sunshine, lots of rain and some high winds, and the views from the bus were beautiful.

Tyndrum / Taigh an Droma
Changing buses in Tyndrum / Ag atharrachadh bhusaichean ann an Taigh an Droma

So far, the Gaelic song course has been a lot of fun. There are eleven of us in the class from Scotland, England, Ireland, Switzerland and Germany. Some are here for the first time, others have been here before. Most speak at least some Gaelic, and there’s one native speaker. For me, it’s my 10th time here doing Gaelic song courses, and the 7th course I’ve done with Christine Primrose – the other song courses were with Joy Dunlop, Margaret Stewart and Mary Ann Kennedy.

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig
Àrainn Chaluim Chille – the newer part of the college / Am pàirt as ùire den cholaiste

We learnt five songs on Monday, eleven yesterday, and another four today. Some of them I already know, or have at least heard before, which makes it easier to pick them up. Others are a bit more challenging with lots of verses, and complex melodies that change with every verse to fit to the words. Everything is taught by ear, and Christine likes to tell stories about the songs, the people who wrote them, and how life was at the time they were written. A lot of the songs are relatively old – from the 17th or 18th centuries, and have been passed on orally since then.

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig
Àrainn Ostaig – the older part of the college / am pàirt as sine den cholaiste

On Monday night there was a pub quiz, which was good fun. The team I was in didn’t win, but we were only one point behind the winning team.

The people who study here and work here come from many different places and speak a variety of languages. I try to speak as much Scottish Gaelic as I can while I’m here – that’s one of the reasons why I come here – and I’ve also had conversations in French, Irish and Mandarin Chinese, and spoken odd bits of Welsh, German, Portuguese, Japanese, and even a bit of English.

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig
The views from here are quite nice / Tha na seallaidhean às an seo gu math snog

Last night there was a concert featuring Eilidh Shaw and Ross Martin, a husband and wife duo – he plays the guitar, and she sings and plays the fiddle. They write interesting songs and lively tunes in a traditional Scottish style and sounded great. It was also a nice way to celebrate my birthday.

We have a bit of time off today, and there’s a music session in the bar tonight. I was planning to go for a walk, but it’s raining quite a lot, so I’m spending my free afternoon relaxing in my room, learning a bit more Gaelic, writing nonsense like this, and reading.

Giving Up

I have some news – I’ve had enough of learning languages and am giving up, throwing in the towel, putting the fiddle in the roof, throwing a spoon, and throwing the axe in the lake.

Giving up

This is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I like speaking other languages, at least sometimes, but the process of learning them can be a bit tedious. I already speak some languages reasonably well and don’t currently need to learn any more, so maybe my time would be better spent doing other things.

My other main passion is music – I like to sing, to play instruments, and to write songs and tunes. I’ll be spending more time doing this, and will maybe even focus on one instrument, at least for a while, and learn to play it better.

The question is, which instrument? I have a house full of them, including a piano, harps, guitars, ukuleles, recorders, whistles, ocarinas, harmonicas, melodicas, a mandolin, a bodhrán and a cavaquinho.

The instrument I play most often at the moment is the mandolin, so maybe I should focus on that.

If you’ve noticed the date, you may realise that this post is in fact an April Fool. I’m not giving up on learning languages, and actually do enjoy the process, most of the time, and while I do want to improve my mandolin playing, I also want to improve my playing of other instruments.

Incidentally, let’s look at some ways to say that you’re giving up.

In English you might say you quit, you’re calling it a day, you’re calling it quits you’re throwing in the towel or the sponge or the cards, or you’re throwing up your hands.

Equivalent phrases in other languages include:

  • hodit flintu do žita = to throw a flint into the rye (Czech)
  • jeter le manche après la cognée = to throw the handle after the axe (French)
  • leggja árar í bát = to put oars in a boat (Icelandic)
  • do hata a chaitheamh leis = to throw your hat in (Irish)
  • gettare le armi = to throw away your weapons (Italian)
  • 匙を投げる (saji o nageru) = to throw a spoon (Japanese)
  • подня́ть бе́лый флаг (podnjat’ belyj flag) = to raise the white flag (Russian)
  • leig an saoghal leis an t-sruth = to let the world flow (Scottish Gaelic)
  • baciti pušku u šaš = to throw a gun into the sedge (Serbian)
  • kasta yxan i sjön = to throw the axe into the lake (Swedish)
  • rhoi’r ffidl yn y to = to put the fiddle in the roof (Welsh)

More details of these phrases can be found on Wiktionary.

Do you have any others?

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Overflowing Vases

The French equivalent of the saying “the straw that broke the camel’s back” or “the last / final straw” is la goutte d’eau qui fait déborder le vase (the drop of water that makes the vase overflow). Which makes as much a sense, and no animals are harmed.

La goutte d'eau qui fait déborder le vase. it's the straw that breaks the camel's back

These sayings mean “The final additional small burden that makes the entirety of one’s difficulties unbearable.” The earliest known version in English appears in a debate between Thomas Hobbes and John Bramhall in 1677: ‘the last Feather may be said to break a Horses Back’.

It is thought to be based on the Arabic proverb: اَلْقَشَّة اَلَّتِي قَصَمَت ظَهْر اَلْبِعِير⁩ (al-qašša allatī qaṣamat ẓahr al-biʕīr), or “The straw that broke the camel’s back”.

Other versions in English include:

  • It is the last straw that overloads the camel (1799)
  • It was the last ounce that broke the back of the camel (1832)
  • The last straw will break the camel’s back (1836)
  • As the last straw breaks the laden camel’s back (1848)
  • This final feather broke the camel’s back (1876)
  • The straw that broke the donkey’s back
  • The last peppercorn breaks the camel’s back
  • The melon that broke the monkey’s back
  • The feather that broke the camel’s back
  • The straw that broke the horse’s back
  • The hair that broke the camel’s back
  • The last ounce broke the camel’s back

There is also “the last drop makes the cup run over”, and variations on that theme in English.

Versions in quite a few other languages also refer to overflowing cups or other vessels, for example:

  • German: der Tropfen, der das Fass zum Überlaufen bringt.
    the drop that makes the barrel overflow
  • Italian: la goccia che fa traboccare il vaso
    the drop of water that makes the glass overflow
  • Russian: ка́пля, перепо́лнившая ча́шу (káplja, perepólnivšaja čášu)
    the drop that made the bowl overflow
  • Turkish: bardağı taşıran son damla
    the last drop that makes the glass overflow

There are, however, quite different versions in some languages:

  • Scottish Gaelic: théid capall don choille ach brisidh aon uallach a chridhe
    the colt will go to the forest, but one burden will break his heart
  • Welsh: pennog gyda phwn dyrr asgwrn cefn ceffyl
    adding a herring to a load break’s a horse’s backbone (not sure of this translation)

Are there interesting equivalents of this saying in other languages?

Sources: https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/the_straw_that_broke_the_camel%27s_back#English
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Straw_that_broke_the_camel%27s_back
https://geiriaduracademi.org/
https://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/the-last-straw.html

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Gatekeeping / Geatóireacht

I’ve noticed that in discussion about minority and endangered languages, there is often some degree of gatekeeping. That is to say, there are people who believe that there is one true version of a language, and that anything else is a corrupt abomination that doesn’t deserve to be called X language. Or something along those lines.

The Gatekeeper

Acquiring a language as you grow up from your family or other people around you usually ensures that you speak it fluently and with a native accent. However, to become literate, and to be competent in using advanced vocabulary and grammar, you usually need to study the language in some kind of formal way. It also helps if you use it in a variety of situations. Such opportunities are not available to all.

People may use one language at home, and another at school, work or in other contexts. This is especially true with minority and endangered languages. So while they can speak the home language fluently, they may not have the vocabulary to talk about things that aren’t usually discussed at home.

For example, my Linguistics tutor at Bangor University grew up in a Welsh speaking family and speaks Welsh fluently. However, all his education was through English, and he does not use Welsh in his work. He told me that he speaks “Kitchen Welsh”, and just doesn’t have the vocabulary to talk about linguistics.

If you learn a language in school, or as an adult, it’s unlikely that you’ll learn it perfectly. You’ll probably speak it with a non-native accent, and you may not have as much vocabulary, or be able to use the grammar as well or as instinctively as a native speaker. This is one reason why languages change, especially when large numbers of people learn them as a second or foreign language.

People who really dedicate themselves to learning a language, can acquire native-like pronunciation, a comprehensive vocabulary and a high level knowledge and understanding of the grammar. They may even become more proficient in at least some aspects of the language than native speakers.

In the case of Irish, far more people learn it as a second or foreign language than speak it as a native language. There is a standard version of the language that is taught in schools and used in the media and official written material. However, there are variations within that standard that take into account dialect differences, and native speakers don’t necessarily use the standard.

There are people who complain that ‘school Irish’ has poor grammar, a relatively small vocabulary and non-native pronunciation, it’s influenced too much by English, and isn’t ‘proper Irish’. They might say the same about the Irish spoken by people who have learnt it as adults. While this may be true, it is not very encouraging for people trying to learn Irish. They might conclude that there’s no point, as they’ll never learn ‘real’ Irish.

Instead, it might be better to celebrate that fact that people are learning and using Irish, even if their Irish isn’t perfect. If they’re able to communicate effectively even with their imperfect Irish, then they are helping to keep the language alive.

Fortunately, such complainers are relatively rare, and the majority of Irish speakers I’ve met are very supportive of and welcoming to learners like me.

As they say in Irish: Is fearr Gaeilge briste, ná Béarla cliste – Broken Irish is better than clever English. The writer of this article agrees with this, and would add ach is í an Ghaeilge chliste is fearr (but intelligent Irish is the best) to this saying.

There’s a simliar saying in Scottish Gaelic: Is fheàrr Gàidhlig bhriste na Gàidhlig sa chiste. – Broken Gaelic is better than Gaelic in the coffin.

What is your take on gatekeeping?

Are there similar sayings in other languages?

In April I’ll be going to Sabhal Mòr Ostaig on the Isle of Skye to do a course in (Scottish) Gaelic Song, and in June I’ll be going to Oideas Gael in Gleann Cholm Cille in the northwest of Ireland to do a course in Irish Language and Landscape. I was planning to go to the Irish language and culture summer school at the end of July, as I have many times before, but it’s fully booked already.

Interlinguistic Conflicts

Is it a good idea to study two or more closely related languages at the same time?

dominance

Perhaps. If you can devote more or less the same time to each one, and are able to keep them separate in your head, then there are certainly advantages to doing so. However, if you spend more time with one of them, it might interfere with the other(s), and they could end up fighting for dominance.

Many years ago, I started learning Irish and Scottish Gaelic. At first, I listened to songs in them which I tried to sing, even though I didn’t understand most of the words. Later, I started studying the languages, on my own at first, then I took some classes.

From 2005 to 2019, I spent a week or two every summer studying, speaking and singing in Irish in Donegal in the northwest of Ireland. I’ve also taken part in short courses in Scottish Gaelic songs at a college on the Isle of Skye in Scotland quite a few times between 2008 and 2022.

Until recently, I felt more fluent and confident in Irish, and it was my default Gaelic language. When I spoke Scottish Gaelic, I tended to fill in any gaps in my vocabulary and knowledge with Irish, which often works, as the two languages are closely related.

Over the past year though, I’ve been learning more Scottish Gaelic, and now feel a lot more confident with it. When I started brushing up my Irish this month, I realised that Scottish Gaelic is now the dominant form of Gaelic in my head, and Irish feels like a slightly deviant relative.

This happens with my other languages as well. Especially with closely related languages like German and Dutch (Dutch is currently winning), Swedish and Danish (Swedish is dominating at the moment), and French and Spanish (they’re fairly evenly balanced, although I feel more confident with French).

I studied (Mandarin) Chinese and Japanese at university, and became fluent in Chinese during the 5+ years I spent studying and working in Taiwan. However, I only spent one semester studying Japanese in Japan, and didn’t become as fluent in Japanese.

When I tried to read Japanese texts, I could recognise many of the kanji (Chinese characters) and knew what they meant and how to pronounce them in Mandarin, but not necessarily in Japanese. Recently I’ve been learning more Japanese and am getting better at reading it and speaking it. When I see kanji know, the Japanese pronunciation often comes first rather than the Mandarin pronunciation. I haven’t forgotten my Mandarin, but it is not as dominant as it was.

Are there interlinguistic conflicts in your head?

Goosnargh

What does the word goosnargh suggest to you?

Gertie and Bertie
A couple of geese that I encountered unexpectedly when walking around Bangor.

When I first came across this word the other day, I guessed it might be an exclamation you make when encountering an unexpected goose. Goosnargh!

The Village, Goosnargh.

Somewhat disappointingly, Goosnargh [ˈɡuːznər] is in fact a village between Broughton and Longridge in the City of Preston district of Lancashire in the northwest of England, not far from where I grew up. It’s apparently famous for its Goosnargh cakes, a type of caraway seed shortcake biscuit traditionally sold at Whitsun (the seventh Sunday after Easter).

Here’s a recipe: https://bakingforbritain.blogspot.com/2005/09/goosnargh-cakes-from-lancashire.html

The name comes the Old Irish name Gosan or Gusan and the Old Norse word erg (hill pasture), which is thought to come from the Old Irish áirge (a place for milking cows). Alternatively, it might come from the Old Norse gudhsins hörgi (“at the idol’s (god’s) temple”). Goosnargh appears in the Domesday Book as Gusansarghe, and by 1212 it had changed to Gosenargh.

Áirge became áirí (milking-place, herd (of cows), ground manured in previous year; ground from which potatoes have been cropped) in Irish, àirigh [aːrʲɪ] (hill pasture, bothy, sheiling, pastoral summer residence, sheiling (knitting pattern)) in Scottish Gaelic, and eairee (hill pasture, shieling) in Manx. The Faorese word ærgi [ˈaɹt͡ʃɪ] (a pasture for cattle to graze over the summer with a hut where the people tending them live meanwhile; a shieling, saeter) also come from the same roots.

According to Douglas Adams in his novel In So Long, and Thanks For All the Fish, goosnargh is a Betelgeusian word used by Ford Prefect “when he knew he should say something but didn’t know what it should be.”

However, in The Meaning of Liff, in which Douglas Adams’ gives comic meanings to British place names, goosnargh is defined as “Something left over from preparing or eating a meal, which you store in the fridge despite the fact that you know full well you will never ever use it.”

I certainly have a few goosnarghs (leftovers) in my fridge. How about you?

Sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goosnargh
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/Goosnargh
https://www.teanglann.ie/en/fgb/áirí
https://www.faclair.com/

Snudging & Snuggling

Do you like to snudge?

Snuggling

To snudge is an old word that means to lie snug or quiet, to save in a miserly manner, or to hoard, and a snudge is a miser or sneaking fellow.

You might also snudge along, which means to walk looking down, with an abstracted appearance. Many people do this while staring at their phones. Or on a cold day, you might snudge over the fire, that is, keep close to the fire.

Snudge is related to snug, which apparently means tight or handsome in some English dialects, and possibly comes from Old Norse snoggr (short-haired), from Proto-Germanic *snawwuz (short, quick, fast).

Related words in other languages include snöggur (short, swift, fast) in Icelandic, snög (neat) in Danish, and snygg (handsome, good-looking, proper, nice) in Swedish.

Snug originally meant compact or trim (of a ship), and especially protected from the weather. Later it came to mean in a state of ease or comfort, then to fit closely, as in snug as a bug in a rug or as in snug as a bee in a box. It also means warm and comfortable, cosy, safisfactory, and can be a small, comfortable back room in a pub (in the UK).

Then there’s snuggle, which means an affectionate hug, or the final remnant left in a liquor bottle, and as a verb, it means to lie close to another person or thing, hugging or being cozy/cosy, or to move or arrange oneself in a comfortable and cosy position.

Instead of snuggling, you might prefer snerdling, croozling, snoodling, snuzzling or even neezling, which all mean more or less the same thing – being cozy and snug.

Do you know any other interesting words for snudging or snuggling?

How about versions of the phrase as in snug as a bug in a rug in other languages?

In Scottish Gaelic there’s cho seasgair ri luchag ann an cruach (“as snug as a mouse in a haystack”), and cho blàth ‘s cofhurtail ri ugh ann an tòn na circe (“as warm and comfortable as an egg in the backside of a hen”),

Sources:
https://www.scotsman.com/news/opinion/columnists/scots-has-more-than-400-words-for-snow-and-we-may-need-them-if-snowmageddon-descends-susie-dent-3959696
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/snudge#English
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/snug#English
https://www.etymonline.com/search?q=snug
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/snuggle#English
https://westcountryvoices.co.uk/weird-and-wonderful-words-week-3/