Month: February 2020

Edinburgh

By Simon

I am currently in Edinburgh for the Edinburgh Language Event, brought to you by the people behind the Polyglot Conference. It’s a smaller than other polyglot events I’ve been to, with only 100 or participants, and the main focus is languages of the Isles, or the British Isles and Ireland, if you prefer.

The Language Event, Edinburgh

I arrived earlier this evening, and eventually found the AirBnB I’m staying in after a few wrong turns. Then I discovered that my phone charger was no longer in my bag – it must have dropped out somewhere, probably on the train. So by the time I found my accommodation, it had only 3% charge. I hope to borrow someone’s charger tomorrow, or I might have to buy a new one.

I met up with some of the other participants at a large bar in the centre of Edinburgh. Some I know already from previous such events, and others I didn’t know before. Most of the conversations were in English, but I also spoke some Welsh, Russian, Swedish, Mandarin and Japanese.

The event starts tomorrow morning, and I’ll be giving a talk about connections between Celtic languages tomorrow afternoon. I know there are speakers of Welsh, Irish, Manx and Scottish Gaelic here, and there may even be some Cornish and Breton speakers.

More photos from Edinburgh:

Edinburgh / Dùn Èideann

Dangerous Nonsense

By Simon

In the Czech lessons I’ve been working on this week, some interesting words have come that I thought I’d share with you.

One word is smsyl [smɪsl̩], which means sense, purpose, meaning, effect, intent, and I just like its sound. It is used in the following sentences:

Nemá smysl poslouchat jeho nesmysl
It makes no sense to listen to his nonsense

Jaký to má smysl?
What’s the point?

Related words and expressions include:

  • smysl bytí = raison d’etre, reason or justification for existence
  • smysl pro humor = sense of humour
  • smysl pro věc = flair
  • smyslnost = sensuality, lust, voluptuousness, sensuousness
  • smyslná = voluptuous
  • smyslná žádost = lust
  • smyslný = sexy, erotic, sensuous
  • smyslový = sensitive, sensory, sensual
  • smysluplnost = meaningfulness
  • smysluplný= meaningful
  • nesmsyl = nonsense
  • nesmyslný = stupid, absurd, pointless
  • nesmsylnost = absurdity, nonsense
  • nesmysly = nonsense, rubbish, mumbo-jumbo

Another word is nebezpečný [ˈnɛbɛspɛt͡ʃniː], which means dangerous, hazardous, unsafe, reckless. It is a compound of ne (not), bez (without), péče (care) and the suffix -ný, which is equivalent to -ly in English. So you could translate it as “not-without-care-ly”.

Related words and expressions include:

  • nebezpečnost = dangerousness, hazardousness
  • nebezpečí = danger, risk, peril
  • bezpečný = secure, sure, save
  • bezpečnost = safety, security
  • péče = care, attention

Sources: bab.la, Wiktionary and Wikislovník

Pongiste Whiff-Whaff

By Simon

Yesterday I came across a wonderful word – pongiste – which is apparently what a table tennis player is called in French.

There is a simliar word in English – ping-pongist – which refers to “one who plays or is enthusiastic about ping pong”. It’s marked as dated and rare, and I’ve never come across it before. Have you?

Table tennis was originally played as an after-dinner game by the upper classes in the 19th century Victorian England. Versions of the game were also played by British military officers in India in the 1860s and 1870s.

The name ping-pong, which is of omomatopoeic origin, was trademarked in 1901 by J. Jaques & Son Ltd, a British manufacturer of table tennis equipment, and came to be used to refer to the game. They sold the rights to the name to Parker Brothers in the 1920s, and it was trademarked in the USA in 1930. Parker Brothers still own the trademark.

Another name for the game, whiff-whaff, was coined by Slazenger & Sons in 1900. Apparently whiff-whaff also means “the breathy sound of something rushing quickly; whoosh”.

In South Lancashire dialect, whiff-whaff can mean “nonsense, words or deeds of little import” or “unnecessary items or additions” [source].

IMG_7816_DxO

Sources: Wiktionary, Wikipedia

Myrtle Corner

By Simon

Yesterday I went to Liverpool for an MRI scan, which was a rather noisy and uncomfortable experience that seemed to go on forvever. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, as there’s not much space in the scanner. I amused myself by imagining that the sounds of the scanner were music, and tried to work how many beats each one had and its pitch.

The scan was looking at my hemangioma, the benign tumour that makes my lower lip and tongue rather misshapen and swollen, and extends elsewhere – the scan will show where exactly. Perhaps I’ll write / talk more about that at another time.

Anyway, part of my journey on the train took me along the Wirral Line, which runs between Chester and Liverpool, and there are some interesting placenames along there that I thought I’d investigate.

The Wirral is a peninsula between the River Dee and the River Mersey. The name wirral [ˈwɪɹəl], which was first recorded as Wirhealum / Wirheale in early 10th century, means “(Place at) the nook(s) where bog-myrtle grows” or “myrtle corner”. It comes from the Old English wīr (myrtle) + halh (corner) [source], and the area was apparently once overgrown with bog myrtle (myrica gale).

The name Mersey apparently means “boundary river”, and comes from the Old English mære(s) (boundary) and ea (river) [source]. While Dee, as in the River Dee, comes from the old Brythonic word dēvā (River of the Goddess / Holy River), which was also what the Romans called Chester. The River Mersey was possibly once the boundary between the Kingdoms of Mercia and Northumbria, and the River Dee marked the border of the Kingdom of Gwynedd.

Dazzle Ferry

Another place along the way is Wallasey, a name that comes from the Old English walha (stranger, foreigner) and -ey (island, area of dry land). The word Wales also comes from walha, so Wallasey could mean ‘the island of strangers / foreigners / Welsh people’.

40 Days

By Simon

I learnt last night that the word quarantine, as in “a restriction on the movement of people and goods which is intended to prevent the spread of disease or pests”, comes from Venetian word meaning forty, quarantina, which comes from quarantina giorni (forty days). Quarantina comes from quaranta (forty), from the Latin quadrāgintā (forty).

During the 14th and 15th centuries there were several outbreaks of the bubonic plague in Europe. At that time there was a practise of requiring ships to wait for a period of time before entering Venice or Ragusa (modern Dubrovnik in Croatia), which was ruled by Venice at the time. Initally the crew and passengers had to wait 30 days on their ships or on nearby islands. This period was extended to 40 days by the Venetian Senate in 1448.

Sources: Wiktionary & Wikipedia

Fish Kettles

By Simon

If you said that something was “a different kettle of fish” or “another kettle of fish”, you would mean that it’s something else altogether, and very different to what you have been discussing. At least in the UK.

This expression dates from the late 19th century, and is/was most common in Scotland and northern England. Before then, fish kettles featured in the phrase “a pretty kettle of fish”, which means “a muddle or awkward state of affairs”.

A fish kettle (see below) is type of long saucepan used since the 17th century to poach fish, especially large fish like salmon.

Fish Kettle

Appartently in the USA you might say that it’s “quite another story”, “a whole different story”, “a different ball game” or “a horse of a different color. Are there others?

Equivalents of these idioms in French include “c’est une autre paire de manches” (it’s another pair of sleeves”) and “c’est une toute autre histoire” (it’s a whole other story). Do you know of others in French or other languages?

Sources: Reverso, The Phrase Finder

The Secret Language of Basses

By Simon

I sing bass in several choirs, and quite a few of the bass parts involve us going dm dm dm, or do do do, or something similar. Until recently I thought it was just meaningless sounds we were making, and that maybe the composers / arrangers of the songs just couldn’t be bothered to write words for us basses.

Now I can exclusively reveal here that I have uncovered the Secret Language of Basses. They are not in fact meaningless sounds, but actually hidden messages in Morse Code.

Alternatively they might be in a secret constructed language known only to a few composers.