Omniglot Blog: Recent Episodes

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Adventures in the world of words and language

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz171124.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

What does the word kaput have to do with words like cape, chapter and cap? Let’s find out.

Kaput [kəˈpʊt] refers to something that is out of order or not working in English. It was borrowed from German kaputt (destroyed, broken, out of order, tired, exhausted), which comes from the French phrase être capot (not having won any trick in a card game). The origin of this phrase is uncertain, but capot (bonnet, hood) comes from Old French capote (hooded cloak) a diminutive of cape (cape), from Late Latin cappa (cape, cloak), possibly from Latin capitulāre (head tax, poll tax), from caput (head, top, summit, point, end), from Proto-Italic kaput* (head), from Proto-Indo-European káput- (head), from kap (head, bowl, cup) [source].

Cape, as in a sleeveless garment or part of a garment, hanging from the neck over the back, arms, and shoulders, comes from French cape (cape), from Old Occitan capa, from Late Latin cappa (cape, cloak), ultimately from PIE káput-* (head) – see above. Cape, as in a promontory or headland, comes from the same roots, via Middle English cape, Old French cap (cape, headland) and Latin caput (head, top, etc) [source].

Chapter (one of the main sections into which the text of a book is divided) comes from Middle English chapitre (chapter, passage, section of a book), from Old French chapitre (chapter), from Latin capitulum (a chapter of a book), a diminutive of caput (head, top, etc) [source].

Cap (a close-fitting hat, either brimless or peaked) comes from Middle English cappe (cap, hat), from Old English cæppe (hat, hood), from Proto-West Germanic kappā (covering, hood, mantle), from Late Latin cappa (cape, cloak), from Latin caput* (head, top, etc) [source].

So they all share a common root, the PIE *káput- (head) and arrived in modern English by various different routes.

Other words from the same root include cadet, capital and captain, chef, chief(tain) and head in English; hoofd (head, chief, boss) in Dutch; huvud (head) in Swedish; capo (head, boss, chief, leader) in Italian; cadeau (present, gift) in French, and capăt (termination, end, extremity) in Romanian [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz101124.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

If you need a clue, listen to or read the Omniglot News on Radio Omniglot.

These quizzes are normally published every Sunday, and the answers are given the following Saturday here in the comments.

Is the word kitchen related to the words apricot, pumpkin and melon? Let’s find out.

This is my current kitchen, which will soon be replaced with a new one, that I bought this week.

Kitchen [ˈkɪtʃ(ɪ)n / ˈkɪtʃ(ə)n] comes from Middle English kichen(e), from Old English cyċene (kitchen), from Proto-West Germanic kukinā (kitchen), from Late Latin cocīna (kitchen), from coquīna (cooking, kitchen, cookery), from coquō* (to cook, ripen), from earlier quoquō, from Proto-Italic kʷekʷō (to cook), from Proto-Indo-European pékʷeti* (to be cooking, to ripen), from pekʷ-* (to cook, ripen) [source].

Apricot was originally apricock in English, from Catalan abrecoc / abricoc (apricot), from Arabic الْبَرْقُوق (al-barqūq – plums), from Byzantine Greek βερικοκκία (berikokkía – apricot tree), from Ancient Greek πραικόκιον (praikókion – apricot), from Late Latin (persica) praecocia (“(peaches) which ripen early”), from praecox (ripe before its time, premature, precocious, untimely), from prae- (before) and coquō (to cook, ripen), from Proto-Italic kʷekʷō* (to cook), from PIE pékʷeti (to be cooking, to ripen), from pekʷ- (to cook, ripen) [source].

Pumpkin comes from Middle French pompon (melon, cucumber), from Latin pepō (pumpkin, large melon), from Ancient Greek πέπων (pépōn – large melon), from πέπων (pépōn – ripe), from πέπτω (péptō – ripen), an alternative form of πέσσω (péssō – to soften, ripen, boil, cook, bake), from Proto-Hellenic péťťō* (to cook, ripen), from PIE pékʷ-ye-, from pekʷ- (to cook, ripen) [source].

Melon comes from Middle English melo(u)n (melon), from Old French melon (melon), from Late Latin melonem (melon), from Latin melopeponem, from Ancient Greek μηλοπέπων (mēlopépōn – melon), from μῆλον (mêlon – apple, any fruit from a tree) + πέπων (pépōn – ripe) from PIE pékʷonts* (cooking, ripening), from pekʷ-* (to cook, ripen) [source].

So parts of them at least share a common root: PIE *pekʷ- (to cook, ripen).

Other words from the same root include biscuit, concoct, cook, cuisine, dyspepsia (indigestion) and precocious in English; keuken (kitchen, cuisine), kok (cook, chef) and koken (to cook, boil, seethe) in Dutch; and cegin (kitchen), cogydd(es) (cook), pobi (to bake, roast), poeth (hot, spicy) and popty (oven, bakery) in Welsh [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz031124.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

If you need a clue, listen to or read the Omniglot News on Radio Omniglot.

These quizzes are normally published every Sunday, and the answers are given the following Saturday here in the comments.

In English, you might say that you rent a house or a flat (apartment), but you hire a car or a boat. These words have similar meanings, but might be used slightly differently.

Rent [ɹɛnt] means

A payment made by a tenant at intervals in order to lease a property.
A similar payment for the use of a product, equipment or a service.
A profit from possession of a valuable right, as a restricted licence to engage in a trade or business.
To take a lease of premises in exchange for rent.
To grant a lease in return for rent.
To obtain or have temporary possession of an object (e.g. a movie) in exchange for money.

It comes from Middle English rent(e) (rent, income, revenue), from Old French rente (income), from Early Medieval Latin rendita (revenue, income), from Late Latin rendere (to give back), from Latin reddere (to give back, return, restore, deliver, provide) [source].

Hire [haɪə / ˈhaɪ.ɚ] as a noun means

A person who has been hired, especially in a cohort.
The state of being hired, or having a job; employment.
Payment for the temporary use of something.

It comes from Middle English hire/hyre (one’s salary, wages, a reward, recompense, payment, charge), from Old English hȳr (employment for wages, pay for service, interest on money lent), from Proto-West-Germanic hūʀiju* (payment, hire, interest), from hūʀijan (to hire, pay), from Proto-Germanic hūzijaną, from Proto-Indo-European *kewHs- (to pay, hire) [source].

Hire as a verb means:

To obtain the services of in return for fixed payment. (chiefly UK)
To occupy premises in exchange for rent. (chiefly UK)
To employ; to obtain the services of (a person) in exchange for remuneration; to give someone a job.
To exchange the services of for remuneration.

It comes from Middle English hiren/hyren (to hire, pay, accept employment), from Old English hȳrian (to hire) from hȳr (see above) [source].

So it seems that they can both be used to refer to payment for temporary or short-term use of something, and for longer term use. How would you use them?

I’m in the fortunate position of owning my own home, so don’t need to worry about paying rent. I don’t own a car, but if I needed one, I would hire one. If I needed some extra income, and/or wanted some company, I could rent out a room in my house. Last night was Halloween, and I saw a lot of people out and about in costumes that they might have hired.

Are there different words for short- and long-term hiring / renting in other languages?

A hat trick usually involves achieving three things in a row, and has little or nothing to do with hats. So where does this expression come from?

A hat trick (also written hat-trick or hattrick) can refer to

Any magic trick performed with a hat, especially one involving pulling an object (traditionally a rabbit) out of an apparently empty hat.
(sport) Three achievements in a single game, competition, season, etc., such as three consecutive wins, one player scoring three goals in football or ice hockey), or a player scoring three tries in rugby
Three achievements or incidents that occur together, usually within a certain period of time. For example, selling three cars in a day
Historically, it referred to a means of securing a seat in the (UK) House of Commons by a Member of Parliament placing their hat upon it during an absence.

The sporting senses of the expression come from cricket – in the past, a bowler who took three wickets in three consecutive balls would be presented with a commemorative hat as a prize. It was first used in this sense in 1858, when H. H. Stephenson (1833-1896) achieved such as feat in a game of cricket at Hyde Park in Sheffield. On that occasion, fans held a collection and presented Stephenson with a hat, or possibly a cap – I like to think it was a bowler hat, but haven’t been able to confirm this.

So in the magical sense, the sporting sense, and the political sense, hats were originally involved.

Hat trick has been borrowed into many languages. In Czech, Danish, Dutch, Faroese and Swedish it’s hattrick. In Portuguese, Romanian, Slovenian and Vietnamese it’s hat-trick, in German it’s Hattrick, in Japanese it’s ハットトリック (hatto torikku), in Korean it’s 해트트릭 (haeteuteurik), and in Greek it’s χατ τρικ (khat trik).

In Welsh, it’s hat-tric, camp lawn (in rugby and football), or trithro (in cricket). Camp means feat, exploit, accomplishment, achievement, game, sport, etc., and llawn means full, complet, whole, etc., so camp lawn could be translated literally as “a full feat”. Trithro also means three turns, three times or three occasions, and comes from tri (three) and tro (rotation, turn, lap, etc).

Are there interesting expressions in other languages with similar meanings?

Incidentally, the practise of awarding people caps for representing a team in a particular sport comes from the UK as well. In the early days of rugby and football, players on each side didn’t necessarily all wear matching shirts, and they started wearing specific caps to show which team they were on. From 1886, it was proposed that all players taking part for England in international matches would be presented with a white silk cap with red rose embroidered on the front. These were known as International Caps. This practise spread to other sports, although the caps in question are often imaginary rather than real.

Sources: https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/hat_trick#English
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hat-trick
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H._H._Stephenson
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cap_(sport)

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz271024.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

If you need a clue, listen to or read the Omniglot News on Radio Omniglot.

These quizzes are normally published every Sunday, and the answers are given the following Saturday here in the comments.

The Italian word panna looks like it could mean pan or something similar, but in fact means cream.

A lot of Italian words are similar to words in Spanish, French or English, so you can often guess their meanings, but sometimes you come across words like this that don’t mean what you might expect them to mean.

Panna [ˈpan.na] comes from panno, which means cloth, as cream covers milk like a cloth, from Latin pānnus (cloth, rag, garment), possibly from Proto-Indo-European peh₂n- (fabric). Or from Latin patina (a broad, shallow dish, a pan, a kind of cake, a crib, a manger), from Ancient Greek πατάνη* (patánē – a kind of flat dish) [source].

Types of panna in Italian include:

panna acida = sour(ed) cream
panna da cucina = long-life cream used for cooking, double cream (UK)
panna montata = whipped cream [source]
panna cotta = panna cotta – a northern Italian dessert consisting of flavoured double cream set with gelatine, often served with fruit sauce or caramel syrup.). Lit. “cooked cream” [source]

Other words that come from the Latin pānnus include (window) pane in English, pan (piece, part, side, face, flap, patch) in French, pano (cloth, rag) in Portuguese, paño (cloth, wipe) in Spanish, and πανί (paní – cloth, fabric, sail) in Greek [source].

Other words from the Latin patina and/or Ancient Greek πατάνη include pan, patina (a coat, film, glaze) in English, patena (paten – the plate used to hold the host during the Eucharist) in Italian, panela (a solid piece of unrefined sugar; a Mexican cheese) in Spanish, pan (pan, cooking pot) in Dutch, Pfanne (frying pan) in German, panna (forehead, brow, pan, boiler) in Swedish, pande (forehead, pan) in Danish [source].

The word crema [ˈkrɛ.ma] is also used in Italian for cream, particularly to cleaning creams, lotions, the colour cream or cream flavour. For example, crema solare is sun cream, crema per il viso is face cream, crema detergente is cleansing cream, crema da barba is shaving cream and so on [source].

Crema comes from French crème (cream, cool), from Middle French chresme (cream), from Old French cresme (cream), from Latin crāma, from crāmum (cream), possibly from Gaulish crama* (?), from Proto-Celtic krammen (?), from Proto-Indo-European (s)krama- (?) [source].

Related words include:

cremino = a chocolate truffle, a creamy cheese
cremoso = creamy
cremosamente = creamily
cremosità = creaminess
scremàre = to skim, to cream off

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz201024.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

This week I made some improvements to the Yurok (Puliklah) language page on Omniglot, and added a page about a related language, Wiyot (Soulatluk).

Yurok house

Both languages were spoken in northern California in the USA until fairly recently, and efforts are being made to revive them. They are classified as belonging to the Algic language family, which also includes the Algonquian languages. The Algonquian languages are spoken mainly in eastern and southern Canada, down the east coast, and in eastern and central parts of the USA. So it’s interesting that Yurok and Wiyot ended up so far away in California.

Recently, Sergei Nikolaev (Сергей Николаев), a Russian linguist, has proposed a link between the Algic languages and Nivkh, which is spoken in Sakhalin Island and along the Amur river in the Russian Far East, and also with the Wakashan languages of British Colombia and Washington state.

In the 1970s and 1980s, ways to write Yurok, and other Native American languages of northern California, with the Unifon alphabet were devised and promoted by Tom Parsons (1930-2018), the director of Humboldt State University’s Community Development Center. A number of Yurok books in Unifon were published, however the alphabet is no longer used, as far as I can tell. Do you know of any other constructed scripts that have been / are used like this?

Yurok is currently written with the New Yurok Alphabet, a spelling system using the Latin alphabet that was devised in 2020. It includes some interesting choices of letters, such as ee for [i], eee for [iː], ue for [u] and uue for [uː]. Digraphs (double letters) are common enough, but trigraphs (triple letters) are relatively rare. I’m not sure why they didn’t use i, ii, u and uu for these sounds, but if it works for them, great.

By the way, one way to say two in Yurok is nee’eeen – that’s a lot of e’s in a row! That is one of the forms of two you would use to count human beings, body parts, utensils, etc. If you’re counting round things, rocks or money, two would be no’oh, for worms, ropes, etc. it’s na’ak’, for plants it’s na’ak’wo’n, for days it’s na’amoyhl, and so on. Quite simple really 🙂 – see the Yurok numbers page for more details.

Are there any other languages you know of that have words with three or more of the same letters in a row?

One example I can think of is eeee ee [iː.iː iː], which means ‘she will eat’ in Manx. Another is jäääär [ˈjæːˌæːr], which means ‘the edge of the ice’ in Estonian.

Examples in Yurok include:

cheeek = money
Cheeek Cheeek ‘O’l = mythical home of money
cheeek mehl’ee’eekew = money snake
meeekee = both sides
‘o chweeegeen = place in the mountains where one regularly sits and prays, telephone
wee’eeet = this, that, those

Sources:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Algic_languages
https://linguistics.berkeley.edu/~yurok/lexicon.php
https://linguistics.berkeley.edu/~yurok/text-details.php

In my Italian lessons today, I learnt the word burro, which means butter. In Spanish, the same word means donkey, and I decided to find out more about these words.

Burro [ˈbur.ro] (butter) in Italian comes from Old French burre (butter), from Latin būtȳrum (butter), from Ancient Greek βούτῡρον [bǔː.tyː.ron] (butter), from βοῦς (boûs – cow) and‎ τυρός (turós – cheese) [source].

Words from the same roots include butter in English, boter (butter) in Dutch, buerre (butter) in French, and βούτυρο [ˈvu.ti.ɾo] (butter) in Greek [source].

Related words and expressions in Italian include:

burrificàre = to churn (cream, to make butter)
burroso = buttery
imburràre = to butter, grease with butter
butirro = butter (for cooking)
avere le mani di burro = to be butter-fingered [source]

The Spanish word burro [ˈburo] means stupid, pig-headed, donkey, racehorse, also-ran, stubborn fool, sawhorse or swing [source]. The same word with similar meanings is also found in Catalan, Galician and Portuguese [source].

It comes from borrico (donkey, a stubborn, lazy, or stupid person), from Latin burricus (small horse), from burrus (red, reddish-brown), from Ancient Greek πυρρός (purrhós – flame colored, red-haired, red, blushing), from πῦρ (pûr – fire, lightning, fever), Proto-Hellenic pāwər*, from Proto-Indo-European péh₂wr̥* (fire, spelt [grain]) [source].

Words from the same roots include burlap (a very strong, coarse cloth), fire, purge, pyre, pyromancy (divination by fire) in English; πυρ (pyr – fire) in Greek; vuur (fire, heater, lighter) in Dutch, and fona (spark) in Portuguese [source].

Related words and expressions in Spanish include:

burrero = horse-loving, race-going, mule/donley driver, coarse person, horse-lover
burro de agua = big wave
burro de carga = workhorse, dogsbody, beast of burden, drudge, pack mule
burro de planchar = ironing board
lomo de burro = speed bump
salto de burro = leapfrog
ponerse burro = to dig one’s heels in, be pigheaded
caerse del burro = to admit defeat
no ver tres en un burro = to be as blind as a bat
trabajar como un burro = to work like a dog / horse [source]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz290924.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

The other day I came across the word scimmia in my Italian lessons and wondered where it comes from. It’s rather unlike words for monkey in other Romance languages, such as mono in Spanish, macaco in Portuguese, maimuță in Romanian, and singe in French.

Scimmia [ˈʃim.mja] comes from Latin sīmia (ape, monkey, imitator), from sīmus (snub-nosed, flattened, splayed), from Ancient Greek σῑμός [siˈmos] (snub-nosed, flat nosed, steep, uphill, bent in, hollow, concave), the origins of which are uncertain [source].

Words from the same roots include simian (monkey-like, ape-like) in English, jimio [ˈxi.mjo] (ape) in Spanish, símio (ape, monkey, simian) in Portuguese, simi (simian) in Catalan, and singe (monkey, ape, foolish man) in French [source].

Related words and expressions in Italian include:

scimmiesco = monkey-like, ape-like, simian
scimmione = gorilla, ape, a clumsy and brutish person
scimmiottare = to mock, make fun of, mimic, ape
scimmiottamento = aping, mimicry
scimmiotto = small or young money, friend, pal [source]

Incidentally, the origins of the English word monkey are uncertain. It may come from monk, or from Middle Low German Moneke, the name of the son of Martin the Ape in Reynard the Fox, a collection of medieval Dutch, English, French and German fables.

Or it may be related to the Late Middle French monne (monkey), from Italian monna (monkey), from Old Spanish mona (female monkey, from mamona, from maimón (a type of monkey with a prehensile tail), from Arabic مَيْمُون (maymūn – baboon, mandrill). Mono in Spanish comes from the same roots, as does maimuță in Romanian [source].

An interesting Spanish word I learnt recently is hongo [ˈonɡo], which means fungus, fungal growth, mushroom, toadstool, bowler hat and derby. As this appears very different to words for mushroom in other Romance languages, such as champignon in French, I wondered where it came from.

Hongo comes from Old Spanish fongo (mushroom), from Latin fungus (mushroom, fungus, fungal infection, candle-snuff, dolt, idiot), from sfungus, from Ancient Greek σπόγγος (spóngos – spongue, tonsil), the origins of which are unknown [source].

Words from the same roots include sfungjer (sponge) in Albanian, սպունգ [spunɡ] (sponge) in Armenian, sponge in English, spugna (sponge, drunkard) in Italian, and сунѓер [ˈsuɲɟɛr] (sponge) in Macedonian [source].

Related words and expressions in Spanish include:

hongo venenoso = toadstool
nube de hongo = mushroom cloud
sombrero hongo = bowler hat [source]
valer hongo = worthless – colloquial, vulgar – used in Chile [source]

Other words from mushroom in Spanish include:

champiñón, which means (button) mushroom, fungus or mold, and was borrowed from French champignon (mushroom, fungus) [source]
seta, which is used in Latin America to mean mushroom, and possibly comes from Ancient Greek σηπτά (septá – lost things), from σηπτός (septos) [source]
callampa = mushroom or umbrella, and in the plural, callampas, shanty town. It’s used in Bolivia, Chile, Ecuador and Peru, and comes from Quechua qallampa or Aymara qallampa [source]

The French word champignon (mushroom, fungus, fungal infection, accelerator pedal), comes from Vulgar Latin campāniolus (mushroom, lit. ‘grows in the field’), from Late Latin campāneus (of or pertaining to the fields), from Latin campānia (plain, countryside surrounding a city, cultivatable land), from campus* (open flat level ground, a plain, a natural field), from Proto-Indo-European kh₂ém-po-s, from kh₂emp- (to bend, curve, smooth) [source].

Incidentally, the English word mushroom comes from Middle English muscheron (mushroom, fungus, toadstool, a surname), from Anglo-Norman musherum, from Old French mousseron / moisseron (mushroom), possibly from Old French mosse/moise (moss) [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz220924.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Yesterday I learnt that a French word for door knocker is heurtoir. I wondered if this is related to the English word hurt. Let’s find out.

Heutoir [œʁ.twaʁ] means door-knocker, knocker, (rail) buffer or bumper. It comes from heurter (to hit, collide with, upset, clash, strike, knock), from Middle French heurter, from Old French hurter (to ram into, strike, collide with), from Frankish hūrt* (a battering ram), from Proto-Germanic hrūtaną, hreutaną (to fall, fly, move quickly), from Proto-Indo-European *krew- (to fall, beat, smash, strike, break) [source].

Related words and expressions in French include:

heurt [œʁ] = collision, bump, clash
sans heurts = smoothly
heurté = jerky, uneven
heurter de plein fouet = to crash headlong
heurter qn de front = to clash head-on with sb
s’heurter (à) = to collide, crash into, bump, bang into, come up against
entreheurter = to hit one another [source]

Words from the same Proto-Germanic roots include rout (to beat, strike, assail) in Scots, hrjóta (to snore) in Icelandic, and aürtar (to knock, bump against) in Catalan [source].

So where does the English word hurt come from?

It comes from Middle English hurten (to injure, wound hurt), from Old Northern French hurter (to ram into, strike, collide with), either from Frankish hūrt (a battering ram), or from Old Norse hrútr (ram [male sheep]), from hjǫrtr* (stag), from Proto-Germanic herutuz (hart, male deer), which is related to the English word hart* (a male deer) [source].

So heurtoir and hurt might be related, but we can’t be sure.

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz150924.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Did you know that the Italian word rumore doesn’t mean rumo(u)r, as you might expect, but rather noise, rumble, sound or clatter. Is it connected to the English word rumo(u)r? Let’s find out.

Rumore comes from Latin rūmōrem (vague noises, rumours), from rūmor (rumo(u)r), hearsay, gossip, rustle, murmur, a murmuring, the voice of the people), from Proto-Italic roumōs*, from Proto-Indo-European h₃rewH- (to shout, to roar) [source]. A related word in Latin is rūmusculus* (idle gossip) [source].

Related words and expressions in Italian include:

rumoreggiare = to rumble, clamo(u)r
rumoreggiare = to rumble, clamo(u)r
rumorista = noisemaker, foley artist
rumoroso = noisy, loud
rumorosamente = noisily
antirumore = anti-noise, soundproof, noise-cancelling, noise-reducing
un rumore sordo = a thud
rumore bianco = white noise
rumore di sottofondo = background noise
la notizia ha fatto molto rumore = the news aroused great interest [source]

Words from the same Latin roots include rumoer (rumo(u)r, noise) in Dutch, rumo(u)r in English, rumeur (rumo(u)r) in French, rumur (rumo(u)r, continuous noise) in Portuguese, and rumor (rumo(u)r, murmur) in Spanish [source].

Words from the same PIE roots include řvát (to yell, roar) in Czech, реветь [rʲɪˈvʲetʲ] (to roar, bellow, howl, cry, weep) in Russian, and possibly ωρύομαι [oˈri.o.me] (to howl) in Greek, and rāvis (hoarseness) in Latvian [source].

So the English word rumo(u)r is related. It means “A statement or claim of questionable accuracy, from no known reliable source, usually spread by word of mouth.” or “Information or misinformation of the kind contained in such claims.”. It used to mean a report, new, information in general, fame, reputation, clamour, din or outcry [source].

It comes from Middle English rumour (rumour, gossip, hearsay; a report, tidings, news; loud shouting, noise, din; outcry of protest or disapproval; a disturbance, stir, tumult) [source], from Old French rimur (noise [produced by an army on the march]), from Latin rūmōrem [source].

In Old English, the word hlýd meant rumo(u)r or the noise made in discussing an event [source], and also noise, sound, tumult, disturbance or dissension. Another word for rumour was hlísa, which also meant sound, fame or glory [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz080924.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Do you ever walk into a room and forget why you’re there? Or have you ever opened the fridge or a cupboard and couldn’t remember what you were looking for?

This is a common phenomenon known as the Doorway Effect or location updating effect and can occur when you’re thinking about or trying to remember too many things, get distracted, and particularly when you move from one location to another that differs significantly. This apparently primes our minds to receive something new. So if you want to avoid this effect, it’s best to keep whatever you need to remember at front of your mind.

This morning, for example, I put my laundry in the washing machine, then forgot to start it. I did remember later, but before then, I got distracted preparing my breakfast. It’s time to hang up the laundry now. I’ll be right back, unless I get distracted and start doing something else, which is quite likely.

Right, where was I? I did get distracted and did some lessons on Duolingo (2,600 days today, by the way), Anyway, sometimes I put bread in the toaster, or a pan on the cooker, and forget to turn them on. These memory lapses aren’t the result of going through doors into other rooms, or passing through portals, but they involve thinking and doing too many things and getting distracted.

I came up with an alternative name for this effect today – doorgetting, a portmanteau of door and forgetting, inspired by a video on TikTok by Jess Zefarris about Words for Things That Don’t Have names. These are also known as word fugitives, a term coined by Barbara Wallraff, an author and editor at The Atlantic Monthly, or sniglets – any word that doesn’t appear in the dictionary, but should – coined by American comedian Rich Hall. If they don’t enter into common usage, they are also known as occasionalisms, protologisms or nonce words.

An example she gives is serenquipity, for when you accidentally say something witty and quotable, or in other words, come up with a serendipitious quip. Another is pandephonium, for the confusion experienced when a phone rings and no one nearby is sure if it is theirs.

More on this phenomenon:
https://www.sciencealert.com/scientists-find-the-doorway-effect-could-be-real-but-only-in-overloaded-brains
https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20160307-why-does-walking-through-doorways-make-us-forget
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-walking-through-doorway-makes-you-forget/
https://www.livescience.com/17132-forget-walked-room-doorways-blame-study-finds.html

Here’s a song I wrote about this some years ago called What Did I Come In Here For?:

What did I come in here for?
Something important I’m sure
Something to fetch or find
Oh what did I come in here for?

What did I come in here for?
I forgot as I came through the door
I cannot remember, I cannot recall
Oh what did I come in here for?

What did I come in here for?
This has happened at times before
I need a clue to get out of this stew
Oh what did I come in here for?

What did I come in here for?
What did I come in here for?
Just let me think and I’ll get it
Ah, that’s what I came in here for

Simon Ager · What Did I Come In Here For?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz010924.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

The Italian word stanza [ˈstan.tsa] means room or bedroom. I noticed it recently in my Italian lessons, and wondered where it came from. Today I realised that it’s related to the English word stanza (a part of a poem equivalent to a verse), and also has that meaning in Italian.

It comes from Vulgar Latin stantia (standing, stopping-place), from Latin stantem (standing, staying, remaining), from stō* (to stand, stay, remain), from Proto-Italic staēō (to stand), from Proto-Indo-European steh₂- (to stand) [source].

The English word stanza [ˈstænzə], which was borrowed from Italian, can also refer to:

An apartment or division in a building (architecture)
A segment or portion of a broadcast devoted to a particular topic (broadcasting)
A period or interval into which a sporting event is divided (sports)

It is also used in computing.

Words from the same roots include stance, stand, distant, estate, stable, stage, state, station, status and store in English, sawdl (heel) in Welsh, Staat (country, state) in German, and stam (tree trunk, stem, tribe, clan) in Dutch [source].

Other words for room in Italian include sala and camera.

Sala can also refer to a hall, living room or cinema (movie theatre), and was borrowed from French salle (hall, room), which ultimately comes from PIE sel-* (human settlement, village, dwelling), via Middle and Old French, Frankish and Proto-Germanic. The English words salon and saloon** come from the same roots [source].

Camera is a room, chamber, bedroom, assembly, parliament or camera. It comes from Latin camera (chamber, room, vault), from Ancient Greek καμάρα (kamára – a vaulted chamber, vault), from Proto-Iranian kamarā-* (something curved), from kamárati, ultimately from PIE kh₂em- (to bend, curve) [source].

Words from the same roots include camera, cabaret and chamber in English, قَمَرَة (qamara – berth, bunk, cabin) in Arabic, καμάρα (kamára – arch, instep) in Greek, chambre (room, chamber, bedroom) and cabaret (pub, tavern, cabaret) in French, and câmara (chamber, council, camera) in Portuguese [source].

Camera, as in a device for taking photos and/or videos, is an abbreviation of camera obscura (A darkened room in which the image of an outside object is projected and focused onto a surface – see above) from New Latin camera obscūra (“dark chamber”) [source].

In English, camera can also mean a vaulted room or a judge’s private chamber, where cases may be heard in camera (in secret, in private).

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz250824.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Albert Einstein supposedly said:

“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

It sounds like something he might have said, but there’s no evidence that he did. According to Quote Investigator®, the most likely source of this saying is a Narcotics Anoymous pamphlet published in November 1981, in which they say:

“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Here something that Einstein did actual say that has a somewhat similar meaning:

“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”

He also said:

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.”

Another quotation that I came across the other day that has a related meaning is:

“a foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds”

This appears in Self Reliance, an essay by Ralph Waldo Emerson that was published in Essays: First Series in 1841. Here’s a longer version:

“A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day.”

Apparently he meant this as criticism of a refusal to change one’s mind or adjust one’s position in light of new facts or different situations.

So what is an actual definition of insanity?

Here are a few:

The state of being insane; madness.
Unsoundness of mind or lack of the ability to understand that prevents someone from having the mental capacity required by law to enter into a particular relationship, status, or transaction or that releases someone from criminal or civil responsibility (law)
Extreme folly or unreasonableness
Something utterly foolish or unreasonable

Insanity is a combination of in- (not), sane and -ity (the state of). It comes either from Latin insānus (unsound in mind, mad, insane) and -itās; or from in- (lacking, without), sanitās (health, sanity). Insānus and sanitās both come from sānus (sound, sane, well, correct), possibly from PIE seh₂-no-*, from seh₂- (to satisfy), or from PIE swā-n- (healthy, whole, active, vigorous).

Incidentally, what is a hobgoblin when it’s at home?

A small, ugly goblin that makes trouble for humans. [from 1520s]
A source of dread, fear or apprehension; a bugbear.

From hob (elf, from Hob, a variant of Rob, short for Robin Goodfellow, an elf in German folklore), and goblin (a malevolent and grotesque diminutive humanoid).

In some of the stories I read, such as Wandering Inn, hobgoblins are larger varieties of goblins, and don’t always make trouble for humans, and are not a source of dread, fear or apprehension for those who get to know them.

Sources:
https://www.inc.com/kevin-daum/26-genius-quotes-from-albert-einstein-that-will-make-you-sound-smarter.html
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Emerson_and_Wilde_on_consistency
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/insanity
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/sanus#Latin
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/insanity
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/hobgoblin

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz180824.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

What does the word redundant have to do with surges and waves? Let’s find out.

Meanings of redundant [ɹɪˈdʌn.dənt / ɹɪˈdan.dənt] include:

Superfluous; exceeding what is necessary, no longer needed.
Repetitive or needlessly wordy (of words, writing, etc).
Dismissed from employment because no longer needed (mainly UK, Ireland, Australia & New Zealand).
Duplicating or able to duplicate the function of another component of a system, providing backup in the event the other component fails.

It comes from the Latin word redundāns (overflowing, abounding), from redundō (to overflow, abound, pour out), from red- (again, back) + undō (surge, flow, abound), from unda (a wave, billow) [source].

Words from the same roots include undulate (to move in a wavelike motion, to appear wavelike) and redound (to contribute, reverberate, attach, reflect) in English, and ridondare (to overflow, abound, overwhelm) in Italian, redundar (to redound, result) in Spanish, and ondoyer (to sway, undulate) in French [source].

The word superfluous (in excess of what is required or sufficient) has a similarly overflowing origin – it comes from Middle English superfluous (redundant, immoderate, excessive), from Latin superfluus (running over, overflowing, superfluous, unnecessary), from superfluō (to run over, overflow, be superfluous), from super- (over, above) + fluō (to flow, stream, pour) [source].

Another word from similarly flowing roots is mellifluous, which means sweet, smooth and musical, or pleasant to hear, and usually refers to a person’s voice, tone or writing style. It can also mean ‘flowing like honey’, and comes from Latin mellifluus (honey-dropping, flowing with honey, mellifluous), from mel (honey, sweetness, pleasantness) + fluō (to flow, pour, stream) [source].

If someone has a mellifluous voice, you might describe them as melliloquent, an old word meaning ‘speaking sweetly or harmoniously’, from Latin mel (honey, etc) + loquens (speaking, talking) [source].

Back in 2008, I was made redundant from my job as a web developer in Brighton. Or rather, my position was made redundant – that’s how they put it. They gave me a substantial redundancy payment and that was that. At the time, I couldn’t really afford to stay in Brighton, and fancied a change of scenery anyway, so I moved to Bangor and did an MA in Linguistics. I’ve been here ever since, working on Omniglot full-time, and am fortunate enough to make a living from it.

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz110824.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

What links the Italian word zaino (rucksack, backpack) with the English word mistletoe? Let’s find out.

Zaino [ˈdzaj.no] means rucksack, backpack, sack or bag in Italian [source]. It comes from Lombardic zainjā (basket), from Old High German zeina* (basket), from Proto-Germanic tainijǭ (wickerwork, wicker basket), from tainaz (rod, twig), the origins of which are unknown [source].

Words from the same roots include teen (twig, thin branch) in Dutch, Zain (rod, branch, whip) in German, tein (twig, offshoot, spindle) in Norwegian, ten (small stick or rod) in Swedish, and zana (a shallow, oval basket) in Italian [source].

Misletoe (a parasitic evergreen plant with white berries which grows on oaks, apple and other trees – see above) comes from Middle English mistelto, mistilto (misletoe), from Old English misteltān, misteltān (misletoe), from mistel (mistletoe, basil, birdlime) + tān* (twig, branch) [source].

This refers to European misletoe,Viscum album*. Other varieties of mistletoe are available [source].

Mistel comes from Proto-West Germanic mistil* (mistletoe), from Proto-Germanic mistilaz (mistletoe), from Proto-Indo-European me (with, mid) + sed-* (to sit) + -ilaz (diminutive suffix), so mistletoe is a little plant that sits on other plants – a good description. The English word mistle, as in mistle thrush (Turdus viscivorus – see below), comes from the same roots, and used to be used to mean misletoe* [source].

The Old English word tān (twig, branch) comes from Proto-Germanic tainaz* (rod, twig) [source], like the Italian word zaino, so there we have our connection. In Lancashire dialect, a tan used to refer to a twig or branch** [source].

Incidentally, mistletoe in Italian is vischio [vi.skjo], which comes from Vulgar Latin visclum, from Latin viscum* (mistletoe, birdlime), the origins of which are uncertain [source]. The Portuguese word visgo (viscosity, any viscous substance secreted by or extracted from plants, mistletoe) comes from the same roots [source], as do viscous, viscose and viscosity** in English [source]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz040824.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

What is a forest, and can cities such as London and Berlin by classified as forests?

There are hundreds of definitions of what constitutes a forest involving things like the number of trees, the height of trees, the land use, legal standings and ecological function.

According to the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), a forest is

“Land spanning more than 0.5 hectares with trees higher than 5 meters and a canopy cover of more than 10 percent, or trees able to reach these thresholds in situ. It does not include land that is predominantly under agricultural or urban use.”

Some people say that by this definition, cities like London and Berlin are technically forests as they have 20% or more of tree cover. However, as the land is predominantly under urban use, such claims do not really hold water. There are apparently almost as many trees as people in London, by the way, and over 40% of the city is made up of green spaces (see above), and about a third of Berlin is composed of forests, parks and gardens, rivers, canals, and lakes (see below).

Other definitions of forest include:

A dense uncultivated tract of trees and undergrowth, larger than woods [source].
A complex ecological system and natural resource in which trees are the dominant life-form [source].
A dense growth of trees and underbrush covering a large tract; a tract of wooded land in England formerly owned by the sovereign and used for game [source].
An extensive wood; a large tract of land covered with trees; in the United States, a wood of native growth, or a tract of woodland which has never been cultivated [source].

Historical, a forest in England was an area of land set aside as royal hunting ground or for other privileged use.

The word forest comes from Middle English forest (a forest, a wood, a preserve for hunting exclusive to royalty), from Old French forest (royal hunting ground, forest), from Early Medieval Latin forestis (a large area reserved for the use of the King or nobility, often a forest and often for hunting or fishing), possibly from Proto-West Germanic furhisti* (forest), from furhiþi (forest) +‎ hursti (thicket, grove) [source].

Proto-West Germanic hursti* is also the root of horst (an elevated land overgrown with shrub) in Dutch, Horst (the nest of a bird of prey, an eyrie; bush, thicket, small forest [literary]) in German, and hurst (a wood or grove) in English, which appears mainly in placenames such as, Hurstpierpoint, Lyndhurst, Sissinghurst and Woodhurst** [source].

Incidentally, in Middle English wode referred to forests and woods, as well as wood (material), and it also meant to hunt, to take to the woods, or to hide oneself in the woods. A forester or forest warden was a wodeward [source].

Sources and further information:
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/forest#English
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forest
https://www.timeout.com/london/things-to-do/did-you-know-that-london-is-the-worlds-largest-urban-forest
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berlin

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz280724.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

The other day I came across the Spanish word aguafiestas. I guessed it had something to do with water, (agua) and parties (fiestas), so could mean something like ‘water parties’.

In fact it means party pooper, wet blanket, spoilsport, killjoy or buzzkill, or in other words, a person who takes the fun out of a situation or activity. The fiestas part does refer to parties, but the agua part comes from the verb aguar (to water, water down, spoil, mar), so aguafiestas is someone who spoils parties by figuratively pouring water on them.

Related words and expressions include:

aguar la fiesta = to put a damper on things, spoil the fun, rain on sb’s parade
aguado = watery, flaccid, weak, boring, stale
aguadito = a kind of soup
desaguar = to drain

The opposite of una aguafiestas is el alma de la fiesta (the life and soul of the party).

If you’re neither una aguafiestas nor el alma de la fiesta, maybe you comes pavo (“eat turkey”) or eres la fea del baile (“are the ugly one at the dance”), or in other words, you’re a bit of a wallflower*.

*A person who does not dance at a party, due to shyness or unpopularity; by extension, anyone who is left on the sidelines while an activity takes place. Any person who is socially awkward, shy, or reserved.

I can be a bit of a wallflower at times, and even wrote a song about it called Two Left Feet:

Simon Ager · Two Left Feet / Dwy Droed ChwithAre there interesting equivalents of aguafiestas / party pooper, wallflower, etc in other languages?

Sources: https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/aguafiestas
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/aguar#Spanish
https://dictionary.reverso.net/spanish-english/aguar
https://dictionary.reverso.net/spanish-english/el+alma+de+la+fiesta
https://dictionary.reverso.net/english-spanish/wallflower
https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/wallflower

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz210724.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

One of the interesting words that was mentioned on the Words Unravelled podcast that I listened to today was taradiddle, which apparently means a little white lie.

According to Wiktionary, taradiddle (or tarradiddle) means a trivial lie, a fib, silly talk or writing, or humbug.

It possibly comes from diddle (to cheat, swindle, waste time, etc.), which might come from duddle, a dialect word meaning to trick, and/or diddle / duddle (to totter), from Middle English dideren (to shake, quiver, tremble) and bididren (to seduce, deceive), from Old English bedidrian, bedyderian (to trick, deceive) [source].

A diddle is also something that drummers do involving two consecutive notes played by the same hand. Related drumming terms include paradiddle, which involves playing four even strokes in the order ‘right left right right’ or ‘left right left left’ [source], and paradiddle-diddle, which involves playing six even strokes in the order ‘right left right right left left’ or ‘left right left left right right’ [source].

Another diddlesome word is diddle-daddle, which means to dilly-dally, shilly-shally, dawdle, waste time or procrastinate, something I’m quite good at [source].

Incidentally, shilly-shally is a reduplication of ‘Shall I?”, and used to be Shill-I-shall-I [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz140724.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

In one of the Spanish lessons I did on Duolingo this morning, I came across the interesting word muchedumbre, and thought I’d write a post about it.

Muchedumbre [muʧˈdumbɾe] means crowd, throng, multitude, mob, herd, or flock (of birds). It comes from Old Spanish muchedumne, muchidumne, from Latin multitūdinem (a great number [of people], multitude, numerousness, crowd, mob, throng), from multus (much, many), from Proto-Italic moltos (much, many), from Proto-Indo-European ml̥tós (crumbled, crumpled), from mel-* (to worry, be late, hesitate) [source].

Words from the same roots possibly include mejor (better, best), muy (very), mucho (much, a lot of, many) and multitud (multitude, crowd, a lot, loads) in Spanish, multitude in English, and mieux (better, best) in French [source].

Incidentally, if you’re keen on crowds, you might like to darse un baño de multitudes (to mingle with the crowd) [source], or darse un baño de masas (to go on a walkabout) [source]. Un baño de masas can also mean ‘to walk into the crowd (by a famous person)’ [source]. This might attract una muchedumbre de admiradores (a crowd of admirers).

I tend to avoid crowds, which isn’t difficult living in a small city in the wilds of north Wales. How about you?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz070724.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

In this post, we’re discussing things jentacular and prandial.

You may have heard of the words preprandial (occurring before a meal, especially dinner) and/or postprandial (after a meal, especially after dinner), how about prandial or jentacular?

Prandial means “Of or pertaining to a meal, especially dinner.” It comes from Late Latin prandialis, or from Latin prandium (late breakfast; lunch, any meal, fodder), possibly from Proto-Indo-European pr̥h₂mós* (first) and h₁ed-* (to eat) [source].

Words from the same roots include pranzo (lunch or dinner) in Italian, pranzu (dinner, lunch) in Maltese, and prânz (lunch, noon, midday) in Romanian [source].

Jentacular is an archaic word that means “Of or pertaining to breakfast; specifically, one taken early in the morning or immediately upon getting up.” It comes from Latin iēntāculum (breakfast), from ientō (I breakfast), a form of ieientō (to eat breakfast), from Proto-Italic jagjentō*, from PIE h₁yaǵ-* (to sacrifice, worship) [source].

Words from the same roots include diner, dinner and jejune (lacking matter, naive, simplistic) in English, jantar (dinner, to dine) in Portuguese, xantar (dinner, lunch) in Galician, déjeuner (to [eat/have] lunch, to have breakfast) in French [source].

Apparently in ancient Rome, the first meal of the day, which was eaten at about sunrise, was called iēntāculum. It usually consisted of bread, fruit or leftovers from the night before. At around noon, people would have a light meal called prandium, and at about sunset they had their main meal or cēna (dinner, supper). They may have had another light meal later in the evening as well. Originally, the main meal was eaten at midday, but later moved to later in the day [source].

Are there interesting meal-related words in other languages?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz300624.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

I spent last week in Donegal in the northwest of Ireland learning some more Irish, and learning about the area where I was, Glencolmcille (Gleann Cholm Cille in Irish). I had a great time, met some interesting people, and saw some beautiful places.

The course I did this time is called Language and Landscape: The Heritage of Gleann Cholm Cille / Teanga agus Timpeallacht: Oidhreacht Ghleann Cholm Cille. It involves Irish language classes in the mornings, and walks, talks, trips and other activities in afternoons and evenings. It’s run by Oideas Gael, an Irish language and culture centre in the southwest of Donegal which is celebrating its 40th year this year. I’ve been there for 16 of those years: every year from 2005 to 2019, and in 2024.

In previous years I’ve done courses there in Irish language, harp and bodhrán playing, and Irish sean-nós singing. I always enjoy my time there, which is why I keep going back. Most of the people there were from Ireland, and there were also people from the USA, UK, France, Canada, Portugal, Austria and Russia.

So, as well as practising my Irish, I got to speak other languages like French, German and Japanese. In class our teacher also taught as a few interesting words in Ulster Scots.

These include:

gollumpus = an ungainly person; a large, loutish, uncoordinated person
gomeral = a fool, simpleton lout
glype, glipe = a stupid and annoying person
clart = mud, mire; a lump or clot of something disagreeable or distasteful; a big, dirty, untidy person

Gomeral is a diminutive of Middle English gōme (man, warrior, husband, male servant), from Old English guma (male, hero), from Proto-Germanic gumô* (man, person), from Proto-Indo-European ǵʰmṓ* (man, person) [source].

Clart comes from Middle English clart, from biclarten* (to cover or smear with dirt) [source].

I’m not sure where the other words come from.

One thing we did in class was to come up with some new proverbs in Irish. Incidentally, the Irish word for proverb is seanfhocal, which literally means “old word”. So here are a few new old words:

Ní aon maitheas an chomhad a shabháil agus an riomhaire múchta agat.
There’s no good in saving the file when you’ve turned off the computer.
Ní léiríonn solas an scáileáin bealach éinne.
The light of the screen shows no one the way.
Is fearr traein amháin ná míle gluaisteán.
One train is better than 1,000 cars.

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz230624.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz160624.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

I’m off to Ireland tomorrow for a week of learning Irish and learning about the landscape of Glencolumcile (Gleann Cholm Cille) in Donegal. I’ve been there many times before – every year from 2005 to 2019, but this is the first since then. I’ll probably see quite a few people I know, and meet some new ones as well, and I’m looking forward to it.

I rarely get to speak much Irish in Bangor. There are a few Irish speakers here, and we conversations in Irish occasionally. Apart from that, I sometimes listen to Irish songs and Irish language radio, and have been brushing up my Irish on Duolingo recently.

While I’m there, I probably won’t have a lot of time to work on Omniglot. Normal service will resume after I get back.

Greetings fellow Earthlings and anyone else who might be reading this. Did you know that this word originally meant farmer?

These days in Science Fiction, an Earthling is “an inhabitant of Earth, as opposed to one of another planet; specifically, a sentient member of any species native to Earth.”

In the 17th century is referred to “A person who is materialistic or worldly; a worldling.” and in the 16th century, it referred to “An inhabitant of Earth, as opposed to one of heaven.” [source]

Going back further, it meant one who tills the earth, a farmer, a husbandman or a ploughman. It comes from Middle English erthling (farmer, ploughman), from Old English ierþling, eorþling (farmer, husbandman, ploughman), from eorþe (ground, dirt, planet Earth), from PIE *h₁er- (earth) [source]

Other interesting words suffixed with -ling include:

puffling = a young puffin
princeling = a minor or unimportant prince
sportling = a little person or creature engaged in sports or in play
shaveling = someone with all or part of their head shaved, notably a tonsured clergyman; a priest or monk (often derogatory).
wildling = a wild plant or animal
witling = a person who feigns wit, pretending or aspiring to be witty, a person with very little wit.
godling = a young god, a minor divinity, a local or inferior god, a.k.a. godlet, godkin

There’s also underling (a subordinate or person of lesser rank or authority), and it’s rare antonym overling (a superior, ruler, master) [source]

You can see more of these on: https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/-ling#English

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz090624.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Foods, and the words that describe them, can travel around the world. For example, tea comes from China, and so do words for tea in many languages. Similarly, avocado, chocolate, tamale, tomato come from Mexico (both the words and the foods).

Those words came to Europe from other continents, and I recently discovered some words that travelled from Europe, or Western Asia, to many other parts of the world.

It started with the Proto-Indo-European word *médʰu (honey, mead), which spread throughout Europe and Asia, and possibly as far as China, Korea, Japan and Vietnam [source].

Descendants of *médʰu include:

մեղու [meʁú] = bee in Armenian
мед (med) = honey in Bulgarian
mõdu [mjøːd] = mead in Estonian
Met [meːt] = mead in German
μέθη (méthi) = drunkenness in Greek
מותק (mótek) = sweetness in Hebrew
मॊदुर / مۆدُر (modur) = sweet, tasty, delicious in Kashmiri
medus [mædus] = honey, mead in Latvian
މީރު [miː.ɾu] = pleasant, sweet, agreeable, savoury in Maldivian
medveď [ˈmɛdvɛc] = bear (“honey-eater”) in Slovak
mjöd [mjøːd] = mead in Swedish
மதுரம் [mɐd̪ʊɾɐm] = sweetness in Tamil
medd [meːð] = mead, and meddw [ˈmɛðu] = drunk in Welsh

The Irish name Méabh (Maeve) also comes from the same roots, via Middle Irish medb (intoxicating) [source]. For more details of related words in Celtic languages, see this Celtiadur post: Honey Wine

It also reached China, where it became mīt (honey) in Tocharian B, and was possibly borrowed into Old Chinese as mit* (honey), which became 蜜 (mì – honey) in Mandarin, 蜜 (mat6 [mɐt˨] – bee, honeybee) in Cantonese, 蜜 (mitsu – honey, nectar, moasses, syrup) in Japanese, 밀 (mil – beeswax) in Korean, and mật (honey, molasses) and mứt** (jam) in Vietnamese [source].

Evolution of the Chinese character for honey (蜜)

See also: https://hanziyuan.net/#蜜

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz020624.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Someone who is supercilious is arrogantly superior, haughty or shows contemptuous indifference.

Supercilious comes from the Latin superciliōsus (haughty, supercilious) from supercilium (eyebrow, will, pride, haughtiness, arrogance, sterness, superciliousness) from super- (above, over) and‎ cilium ( eyelid), from Proto-Italic keljom*, from PIE ḱel-yo-m, from ḱel- (to cover) [source].

Equivalents of supercilious in other languages include:

hooghartig (“high-hearted”) = haughty, supercilious in Dutch
hochnäsig (“high-nosed”) = snooty, stuck-up, haughty, supercilious, arrogant in German
kione-ard (“high-head”) = arrogant, chieftain, haughty, presumptuous, supercilious in Manx
ffroenuchel (“high-nostril”) = haughty, disdainful, supercilious in Welsh

The word cilium also exists in English, and means:

A short microscopic hairlike organelle projecting from a eukaryotic cell, which serve either for propulsion by causing currents in the surrounding fluid or as sensors.
One of the fine hairs along an insect’s wing.
Hairs or similar protrusions along the margin of an organ.
An eyelash (plural cilia) [source].

Related words in other languages include: cil (eyelash), and sourcil (eyebrow) in French, ceja (eyebrow, rim, edge) in Spanish, and ciglio (eyelash, eyebrow, border, edge, side) in Italian [source].

Other (eye)brow-related words include:

highbrow = intellectually stimulating, highly cultured, sophisticated; a cultured or learned person or thing
middlebrow = neither highbrow or lowbrow, but somewhere in between; a person or thing that is neither highbrow nor lowbrow, but in between
lowbrow = unsophisticated, not intended for an audience of intelligence, education or culture; someone or something of low education or culture.

Highbrow first appeared in print in 1875, and originally referred to the ‘science’ of phrenology, which suggested that a person of intelligence and sophistication would possess a higher brow-line than someone of lesser intelligence and sophistication [source]. Lowbrow was also conntected to phrenology and first appeared in about 1902 [source]. Middlebrow first appeared in Punch magazine in 1925 and is based highbrow and lowbrow [source].

If something is completely devoid of cultural or educational value, it could be said to be no-brow / nobrow, a word popularized by John Seabrook in his book Nobrow: the culture of marketing, the marketing of culture (2000) [source].

Incidentally, raising or furrowing your eyebrows is used to show you are asking a question in British Sign Language (BSL). Do other sign languages do this?

Do you know of any other interesting brow-related expressions?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz260524.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

I like a little alliteration, don’t you?

Alliteration is “The repetition of consonant sounds at the beginning of two or more words immediately succeeding each other, or at short intervals.” [source]. As in the sentence above. It comes from Modern/New Latin alliterationem, from alliterare (to begin with the same letter), from Latin ad (to, near) and lītera (letter, script) [source].

Other names for this include consonance (the repetition of consonants sounds) [source] and head rhyme. If similar or indentical vowel sounds are being repeated, as in “How now, brown cow?”, it’s called assonance [source] or slant rhyme.

Other kinds of rhymes include:

syllabic rhyme: the last syllable of each word sounds the same but does not necessarily contain stressed vowels. E.g. cleaver, silver; pitter, patter.
imperfect (or near) rhyme: a rhyme between a stressed and an unstressed syllable. E.g. wing, caring
weak (or unaccented) rhyme: a rhyme between two sets of one or more unstressed syllables. E.g. hammer, carpenter
semirhyme: a rhyme with an extra syllable on one word. E.g. bend, ending
forced (or oblique) rhyme: a rhyme with an imperfect match in sound. E.g. green and fiend; one, thumb)
pararhyme: all consonants match. E.g. tick, tock; bing, bong

Other types of rhyme, and other ways of classifying rhymes are available [More details].

I use a variety of rhymes in the songs I write. For example, my latest song was inspired by a phrase from the Irish course in Duolingo “Léann na lachan na nuachtán.” (The ducks read the newspaper). I made a more alliterative version: “Tá lacha ag léamh leabhar sa leabhrlann le leon agus luch.” (A duck is reading a book in the library with a lion and a mouse). The English version is only slightly alliterative, and that’s what often happens with translations, and why songs and poems are difficult to translate.

Here are the words of the song. Parts are quite alliterative, in Irish at least.

Eachtraí na Lacha (The Duck’s Adventures)

Tá an lacha ag léamh sa leabharlann
The duck is reading in the library
Tá an lacha ag léamh sa leabharlann
le leon agus luch (with a lion and a mouse)

Tá an lacha ag siúl go Sligeach
The duck is walking to Sligo
Tá an lacha ag siúl go Sligeach
ag lorg lámhainní (looking for gloves)

Tá an lacha ag canadh amhrán
The duck is singing a song
Tá an lacha ag canadh amhrán
faoi sionach an-sionnachúil (about a very cunning fox)

Tá an lacha ag labhairt Laidin
The duck is speaking Latin
Tá an lacha ag labhairt Laidin
lena lucht leanúna (with its supporters)

Tá an lacha ina coladh ina leabaidh
The duck is sleeping in its bed
Tá an lacha ina coladh ina leabaidh
Agus sin deireadh an scéil
And that’s the end of the tale
Agus sin deireadh an scéil

Here’s a rough recording:

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/songs/sager/Eachtrai.mp3I’ve been thinking of making it trilingual in Irish, English and Welsh, but haven’t got round to it yet.

Here’s an alliterative phrase I came up with that seems to translate well into a variety of languages:

English: Singers sing songs
Albanian: Këngëtarët këndojnë këngë
Armenian: Երգիչները երգեր են երգում (Yergich’nery yerger yen yergum)
Aymara: Q’uchunakax q’uchunak q’uchupxi
Bengali: গায়কেরা গান গায় (Gāẏakērā gāna gāẏa)
Bulgarian: Певците пеят песни (Pevtsite peyat pesni)
Catalan: Els cantants canten cançons
Corsican: I cantanti cantanu canti
Croatian: Pjevači pjevaju pjesme
Danish: Sangere synger sange
Dhivehi (Maldivian): (lavakiyuntherin lavakiyaeve) ލަވަކިޔުންތެރިން ލަވަކިޔައެވެ
Esperanto: Kantistoj kantas kantojn
Estonian: Lauljad laulavad laule
Finnish: Laulajat laulavat lauluja
French: Les chanteurs chantent des chansons
Galician: Os cantantes cantan cancións
Greek: Οι τραγουδιστές τραγουδούν τραγούδια (Oi tragoudistés tragoudoún tragoúdia)
Haitian Creole: Chantè chante chante
Hindi: गायक गीत गाते हैं (gaayak geet gaate hain)
Lingala: Bayembi bayembaka banzembo
Mongolian: Дуучид дуу дуулдаг (Duuchid duu duuldag)
Romanian: Bayembi bayembaka banzembo
Russian: Певцы поют песни (Pevtsy poyut pesni)
Swedish: Sångare sjunger sånger
Turkish: Şarkıcılar şarkılar söylüyor
Welsh: Cantorion yn canu caneuon

Translations by Google Translate. More are available

It’s unusual to find a phrase like this that has alliterative translations into so many different languages.

Are there other kinds of rhymes that you like / use / know?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz190524.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Have you a swashed any buckles or buckled any swashes recently? Do you known the differences between a pirate, a privateer and a buccaneer? What about a freebooter or a corsair?

A swashbuckler is a swordsman or fencer who engages in showy or extravagant swordplay, a daring adventurer or a kind of period adventure story with flashy action and a lighthearted tone [source].

A swashbuckler likes to swashbuckle, that is, take part in exciting romantic adventures [source].

Swash as a noun has a variety of meanings, including:

The water that washes up on shore after an incoming wave has broken.
A narrow sound or channel of water lying within a sand bank, or between a sand bank and the shore, or a bar over which the sea washes.
A wet splashing sound.
A smooth stroke; a swish.
A swishing noise.
A long, protruding ornamental line or pen stroke found in some typefaces and styles of calligraphy.
A streak or patch.

As a verb, to swash means:

To swagger; to act with boldness or bluster (toward).
To dash or flow noisily; to splash.
To swirl through liquid; to swish.
To wade forcefully through liquid.
To swipe.
To fall violently or noisily.
To streak, to color in a swash. [source].

Swash also appears in swash letter (an italic capital letter with top and bottom flourishes, intended to fill an unsightly gap.) [source]; and swish-swash (a repeated swishing action or sound, going back and forth) [source].

A buckler is “a kind of shield, of various shapes and sizes, held in the hand or worn on the arm (usually the left), for protecting the front of the body. In the Middle Ages in England, the buckler was a small shield, used not to cover the body but to stop or parry blows.” [source].

A pirate is “a criminal who plunders at sea; commonly attacking merchant vessels, though often pillaging port towns.” It comes from Old French pirate (pirate), from Latin pīrāta (pirate), from Ancient Greek πειρατής (peiratḗs – brigand, robber), from πεῖρα (peîra – trial, attempt, plot). It replaced the Old English word wīċing, which could refer to a pirate or a viking [source], although vikings were more commonly called Norþmenn (north people), hǣþene (pagans) or Dene (Danes) [source].

A privateer was historically a privately owned warship that acted under a letter of marque to attack enemy merchant ships and take possession of their cargo. An officer or any other member of the crew of such a ship, or in other words, a government-sanctioned pirate [source].

Buccaneer is another word for pirate, and specifically refers to pirates who preyed on the ships of other nations on the Spanish Main and in the Pacific in the 17th century. It comes from French boucanier (buccaneer), from boucaner (to smoke or broil meat and fish, to hunt wild beasts for their skins), from boucan ([Tupi-style] grill), from Old Tupi m(b)oka’ẽ (wooden grill) [source].

A freebooter refers to an adventurer who pillages, plunders or wages ad-hoc war on other nations. It comes from Dutch vrijbuiter (freebooter, pirate), from vrijbuit (plunder, spoils) [source]. The old word flibustier (a French pirate in the Americas) comes from the same roots [source], as does filibuster [source].

Incidentally, the Dutch word buit (spoil, booty, loot, prey, gains), and the English word booty, might ultimately come from the Proto-Celtic word boudi* (victory, booty, spoils), as does the name Boudica** [source].

A corsair refers specifically to French privateers, especially from the port of Saint-Malo, and the ships they sail. It can also refer to privateers and pirates in general.

It comes from French corsaire (privateer, corsair, pirate), from Italian corsaro (privateer, corsair, pirate), from Medieval Latin cursārius (pirate, sea-raider), from Latin cursus (course, running, race, way, passage, journey, voyage) [source].

Are there any other words for pirate that I’ve missed?

For more seafaring-related words, see this podcast, which inspired this post:

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz120524.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Yesterday I added two new language pages to Omniglot Nanggu (an Oceanic language spoken in the Solomon Islands) and Uneapa (an Oceanic language spoken in Papua New Guinea). Why do I mention this? Well, Uneapa happens to be the 2,000th language on Omniglot, and I thought that’s something to celebrate.

When I started Omniglot back in 1998, it was just a little site to promote a web design and translation business I tried to set up. I added information about languages I knew and could work with, and then starting adding details of alphabets and other writing systems, and the languages written with them.

Since then, the site has grown a bit and now has some 7,600 pages, with details of 345 writing sytems, 900+ constructed and adapted scripts, 2,000 languages, useful phrases in 362 languages, numbers in 1,081 languages, and much more.

Here are some significant moments from the past 26 years:

1998 – Omniglot begins

1999 – I started working as a web developer specialising in multilingual websites in Brighton (& Hove). I continued to work on Omniglot in my spare time while I was there.

2000 – Omniglot.com registered as a domain

2003 – Revenue from Omniglot starts to trickle in, mainly from commission on Amazon sales

2004 – visitor numbers to Omniglot reached 100,000 per month

2005 – I went to Donegal in the northwest of Ireland to study Irish language and songs for the first time. I went there for a week or two every summer until 2019.

2006 – Omniglot blog launched. My first post, after a welcome one, was about Language and memory. Since then, I have written 3,767 more posts, including this one.

2007 – I launched the Omniglot YouTube channel. My first video was a silly little conversation in French and English about flying monkeys and other strange things. Since then, I’ve posted another 239 videos.

2008 – I was made redundant from my job in Brighton and started working on Omniglot full-time, while doing a bit of freelance work for other websites. I also registered Omniglot as a limited company.

2008-2009 – I moved to Bangor in north Wales to do an MA in Linguistics at Bangor University. I’ve been here ever since.

2010 – I bought a house in Bangor after renting for a couple of years.

2011 – visitor numbers to Omniglot reached 1 million per month.

2012 – I started writing songs, inspired by a poetry writing workshop I went to in Bangor, and by a singing class I started attending in 2010. Since January 2019, I’ve written at least one new song every month. Here’s the first song I wrote:

2014 – I went to the Polyglot Gathering in Berlin, and to the Polyglot Conference in Novi Sad, Serbia. They were my first large polyglot events I’d attended, and I thoroughly enjoyed them. Since then, I’ve been to quite a few others in Europe and North America.

2015 – visitor numbers reached 2 million per month. I also started writing tunes this year. I think this is the first tune I wrote, played by me on the harp:

Simon Ager · Climbing the Stairs / Dringo’r Grisiau2016 – peak year so far in terms of visitor numbers and revenue from Omniglot. Thanks to my frugal habits, savings and income from my site, I was able to pay off my mortgage in full this year.

2017 – I started studying languages on Duolingo every day while recovering from a little ice skating accident involving a broken ankle, and have continued to do so ever since. My current streak is at 2,481 days today. So far I’ve studied Russian, Romanian, Czech, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, Esperanto, Spanish, Finnish, Japanese, Scottish Gaelic and Irish. I had some knowledge of most of them before, but Romanian, Danish and Finnish were completely new to me. I wouldn’t claim to speak any of them fluently or flawlessly, but I can at least have conversations in them.

2018 – I started Celtiadur, a blog where I explore connections between Celtic languages. My first post was about words for Big, Large & Great and related things. Since then, I have written 419 more posts, and have been working to improve the earlier posts, which tended to be quite basic.

This blog, under a different name, had previously been about my language learning efforts and travels, but I moved the old posts to my main Omniglot blog, decided to focus on Celtic languages instead.

I also started the Radio Omniglot blog and podcast. Episode 1 was about My Language Learning Adventures. Since then, I have written and recorded 381 more posts and podcasts.

2021 – I added the 1,500th language (Akawaio) to Omniglot.

2021 / 2022 – I had a home office / studio built in my garden. Since then, it’s been the place where I do most of my work, and make podcasts and other recordings.

2024 – I added the 2,000th language (Uneapa) to Omniglot.

Yesterday I added two new language pages to Omniglot Nanggu (an Oceanic language spoken in the Solomon Islands) and Uneapa (an Oceanic language spoken in Papua New Guinea). Why do I mention this? Well, Uneapa happens to be the 2,000th language on Omniglot, and I thought that’s something to celebrate.

When I started Omniglot back in 1998, it was just a little site to promote a web design and translation business I tried to set up. I added information about languages I knew and could work with, and then starting adding details of alphabets and other writing systems, and the languages written with them.

Since then, the site has grown a bit and now has some 7,600 pages, with details of 345 writing sytems, 900+ constructed and adapted scripts, 2,000 languages, useful phrases in 362 languages, numbers in 1,081 languages, and much more.

Here are some significant moments from the past 26 years:

1998 – Omniglot begins

1999 – I started working as a web developer specialising in multilingual websites in Brighton (& Hove). I continued to work on Omniglot in my spare time while I was there.

2000 – Omniglot.com registered as a domain

2003 – Revenue from Omniglot starts to trickle in, mainly from commission on Amazon sales

2004 – visitor numbers to Omniglot reached 100,000 per month

2005 – I went to Donegal in the northwest of Ireland to study Irish language and songs for the first time. I went there for a week or two every summer until 2019.

2006 – Omniglot blog launched. My first post, after a welcome one, was about Language and memory. Since then, I have written 3,767 more posts, including this one.

2007 – I launched the Omniglot YouTube channel. My first video was a silly little conversation in French and English about flying monkeys and other strange things. Since then, I’ve posted another 239 videos.

2008 – I was made redundant from my job in Brighton and started working on Omniglot full-time, while doing a bit of freelance work for other websites. I also registered Omniglot as a limited company.

2008-2009 – I moved to Bangor in north Wales to do an MA in Linguistics at Bangor University. I’ve been here ever since.

2010 – I bought a house in Bangor after renting for a couple of years.

2011 – visitor numbers to Omniglot reached 1 million per month.

2012 – I started writing songs, inspired by a poetry writing workshop I went to in Bangor, and by a singing class I started attending in 2010. Since January 2019, I’ve written at least one new song every month. Here’s the first song I wrote:

2014 – I went to the Polyglot Gathering in Berlin, and to the Polyglot Conference in Novi Sad, Serbia. They were my first large polyglot events I’d attended, and I thoroughly enjoyed them. Since then, I’ve been to quite a few others in Europe and North America.

2015 – visitor numbers reached 2 million per month. I also started writing tunes this year. I think this is the first tune I wrote, played by me on the harp:

Simon Ager · Climbing the Stairs / Dringo’r Grisiau2016 – peak year so far in terms of visitor numbers and revenue from Omniglot. Thanks to my frugal habits, savings and income from my site, I was able to pay off my mortgage in full this year.

2017 – I started studying languages on Duolingo every day while recovering from a little ice skating accident involving a broken ankle, and have continued to do so ever since. My current streak is at 2,481 days today. So far I’ve studied Russian, Romanian, Czech, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, Esperanto, Spanish, Finnish, Japanese, Scottish Gaelic and Irish. I had some knowledge of most of them before, but Romanian, Danish and Finnish were completely new to me. I wouldn’t claim to speak any of them fluently or flawlessly, but I can at least have conversations in them.

2018 – I started Celtiadur, a blog where I explore connections between Celtic languages. My first post was about words for Big, Large & Great and related things. Since then, I have written 419 more posts, and have been working to improve the earlier posts, which tended to be quite basic.

This blog, under a different name, had previously been about my language learning efforts and travels, but I moved the old posts to my main Omniglot blog, decided to focus on Celtic languages instead.

I also started the Radio Omniglot blog and podcast. Episode 1 was about My Language Learning Adventures. Since then, I have written and recorded 381 more posts and podcasts.

2021 – I added the 1,500th language (Akawaio) to Omniglot.

2021 / 2022 – I had a home office / studio built in my garden. Since then, it’s been the place where I do most of my work, and make podcasts and other recordings.

2024 – I added the 2,000th language (Uneapa) to Omniglot.

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz050524.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

What’s the connection between chocolate and peanuts?

Well, peanuts covered with chocolate taste good, and they are both native to the Americas, but apart from that, a French word for peanut, cacahuète [ka.ka.ɥɛt / ka.ka.wɛt], was borrowed from Spanish cacahuate / cacahuete [ka.kaˈwa.t̪e / kakaˈwete] (peanut), which comes from the Classical Nahuatl cacahuatl (cocoa bean), from Proto-Nahuan kakawatl, from Proto-Mixe-Zoque kakawa (cacao) [source]. This is also the root of words for cacao, the main ingredient in chocolate (at least good chocolate), in many languages [source].

In Spanish, cacahuate is used in Honduras and Mexico, while cacahuete is used in Spain and El Salvador. Another word for peanut in Spanish is maní, which is used in most other Spanish-speaking countries. It was borrowed from Taíno [source].

The origins of the word chocolate are not entirely clear. The English word was borrowed from the Spanish chocolate, and it’s thought that the Spanish word came from Classical Nahuatl. Possibly from xocolātl (to make sour) and ātl* (water), or from a combination of the Yucatec Maya word chocol (hot) and the Classical Nahuatl ātl (water) [source].

Other English words that come from Classical Nahuatl include avocado, chia, chili, guacamole, haricot and tomato, as well as names such as Aztec, Guatemala and Mexico [source].

Incidentally, in the southern USA peanuts are/were known as goobers, and this word used to refer to people from Georgia and North Carolina, and to foolish, simple or amusingly silly people. Goober comes from Gullah, from the Kongo word ngubá (peanut) [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz280424.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Did you know that you can surf on the mountains in Switzerland?

A Swiss friend of mine spends his winters teaching skiing and snowboarding in Switzerland, and the rest of the time he lives here in Bangor in north Wales. When talking about teaching snowboarding in French, he says “j’enseigne le surf (“I teach the surf / surfing”), which confuses me a bit, even though I know what he means. Is this a common way to refer to snowboarding in Swiss French, or French in general?

According to Wikipedia, French words for snowboard(ing) include snowboard, surf des neiges, plance à/de neige, and snowboarders are nivoplanchistes or snowboardeurs in France, and planchistes in Quebec.

Apparently the first snowboards were developed in 1965 when Sherman Poppen, an engineer in Muskegon, Michigan, invented a toy for his daughters by fastening two skis together. He called this invention the snurfer (a combination of snow and surfer).

Other names that have been used for snowboards include Skiboard and the the Lonnie Toft flying banana. The name snowboard was possibly first used by Jake Burton Carpenter, who founded a company to make them in Londonderry, Vermont in 1977.

What are snowboards and snowboarding called in other languages?

Are you a snowboarder or skier?

I’ve never tried either. I used to do a lot of inline skating in Brighton, but since I moved to Bangor, I’ve kind of given up due to the lack of suitable places round here to skate. I used to go ice skating occasionally as well, but the last time I did that, I broke my ankle and decided to give that up too.

Incidentally, to surf (on water) is faire du surf in French, and to surf (the internet) is surfer sur Internet [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz210424.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

The words rifle and ruffle sound similar, but are they related? Let’s find out.

A rifle is a firearm fired from the shoulder with a long, rifled barrel, which increases range and improves accuracy. It is short for “rifled gun”, referring to the spiral grooves inside the barrel (rifling).

It comes from Middle English riflen (to rob, plunder, search through), from Old French rifler (to lightly scratch, scrape off, plunder), from Proto-Germanic rīfaną* (to tear, rend), from Proto-Indo-European h₁reyp-* (to tear) [source].

A ruffle is any gathered or curled strip of fabric added as trim or decoration; or a disturbance, agitation or commotion.

It comes from Middle English ruffelen, perhaps from Old Norse hrufla (to graze, scratch), or Middle Low German ruffelen (to wrinkle, curl). Beyond that, the etymology is not certain [source].

So it seems that rifle and ruffle are not related.

Words that do come from the same roots as rifle include rift, rip and rope in English; rive (bank [of a river]) in French, and arriba (above, over, up) in Spanish [source].

Words that do come from the same roots as ruffle include ruff in English, and hrufla (to graze, scratch) in Icelandic [source].

The English word riffle (a swift, shallow part of a stream causing broken water; a succession of small waves; a quick skim through the pages of a book; to ruffle with a rippling action, etc) is possibly an alteration of ruffle [source].

Here’s a recording in two mystery languages – we didn’t have a language quiz last week because I was away on holiday in Scotland and didn’t have time to set it up, so we have a bonus language this week.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz140424.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the languages? They are related, by the way.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Well, I finally arrived in Oban about an hour ago. It’s dark, it’s raining, and I’m about 3.5 hours late. I was hoping to see a bit of the town while it was still light, but at least I made it here. My trip from Bangor to Glasgow went smoothly, with most of the trains being on time and not too crowded. Things went a bit off the rails after that.

The view from my hotel room on Sunday morning

When I arrived at Glasgow Queen Street station, I discovered that the train I was supposed to take to Oban was cancelled. Fortunately there was another, although I had to wait 2 hours, and it was late arriving in Glasgow, so more like 2.5 hours. It was a nice sunny day, though a bit windy, so I had a wander, sat in a café for a bit, did some work, and then we were off.

George Square, Glasgow

While I was waiting, I heard that the ferry from Mallaig to Armadale on Skye that I was planning to take tomorrow will not be sailing due to bad weather. So I had to find an alternative route. Fortunately there is a bus from Oban to Broadford on Skye (two buses, actually), and I’ve arranged a lift from there. If everything works out, I should be at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig by tomorrow afternoon.

Tyndrum / Taigh an Droma, where I changed buses

I’ve applied for compensation for my cancelled train from Glasgow to Oban, so might get some money back from that.

While I have a driving licence and could have rented a car (I don’t own one and never have), I prefer to travel by train, even though there are often delays, cancellations and other shenanigans.

One thing I like about travelling by train, or other public transport, is that you often overhear conversations in a variety of languages. Today, for example, I heard conversations in English, Welsh, Thai, French, Cantonese, Mandarin and German. There may have been other languages that I didn’t recognise as well.

Today I discovered that one way to say thunder in Japanese is ごろごろ様 (gorogoro sama) or literally “Mr(s) Rumbling”.

ごろごろ / ゴロゴロ (gorogoro) is one of the many Japanese onomatopoeic / mimetic words that means rumbling (of thunder, one’s stomach, etc), grumbling, growling, purring, rolling (of sth large and heavy), tumbling, all over the place, everywhere, commonly, in great numbers, idly, lazily, slothfully, or the uncomfortable feeling of have a foreign substance in one’s eye, stomach, etc. [source].

Some examples of how it’s used include:

胃がごろごろ音をたてます。 (i ga gorogoro oto o tatemasu) = my stomach is rumbling
家でごろごろするのをやめて、何かすることを見つけなさい。 (ie de gorogoro suru no o yamete, nani ka suru koto o mitsukenasai) = stop being lazy and find something to do
目がゴロゴロします。 (me ga gorogoro shimasu) = my eyes feel gritty

Other words for thunder in Japanese include:

雷 (kaminari), which also means lightning, a thunderbolt, god of thunder, god of lightning, anger or a fit of anger. The kanji is consists of rain (雨) over a rice field / paddy (田).
鳴神 (narukami) or literally “sound of god”: 鳴 (naru) = chirp, cry, bark, sound, ring, echo, honk, and 神 (kami) = god, deity, divinty, spirit, incredible, fantastic, amazing, thunder

By the way, I’m going to Scotland tomorrow for a week of learning Scottish Gaelic songs at Sabhal Mòr Ostaig, the Gaelic college on the Isle of Skye. Looking forward to it. During this time, there’ll be few, if any, up-dates to this site, blog posts or podcasts, and I probably won’t have time to answer all your emails. Things will be back to normal after I get back.

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.

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?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz310324.mp3Do you know, or can you guess, the language?

Are you a madrugador?

I used to be, but now I’m more of a dormilón and a trasnochador.

Madrugador [ma.ð̞ɾu.ɣ̞aˈð̞oɾ] is a Spanish (and Portuguese) word that means an early riser, early bird or morning person, and as an adjective it means rising or waking early. [source].

Madrugador comes from madrugar (to get up early), from Vulgar Latin mātūricāre (to wake up early), from Latin matūro (to ripen, mature, hasten, rush), from mātūrus* (mature, ripe, early, soon), from Proto-Italic mātus (ripeness) from the PIE meh₂- (to ripen, to mature) [source].

Sometimes you can pack a lot of meaning into one word in Spanish, for example, madrugaba (I/he/she/it used to get up early) and madrugadores madrugaban (early risers used to rise early).

Related words include madrugada (dawn, early hours of the morning, before dawn) and madrugón (early riser, early bird, early start).

Words with similar meanings include tempranero (early, early-rising, early riser) [source] and mañanero (early rising, morning, early riser) [source].

How would you say early riser in other languages?

By the way, there’s a novel by Jasper Fforde called Early Riser that I would recommend.

If you’re a late riser, like me, then you’re a dormilón, which should not be confused with dormilona (reclining chair, nightgown), and if you stay up late, you could be described as a trasnochador (night owl, night bird) or a noctámbulo (active at night, sleepwalker, night owl) [source].

Are there interesting equivalents of late riser or night owl in other languages?

The English words mature and maturate (to ripen, bring to ripeness or maturity) come from the same Latin roots [source].

Apparently a quien madruga, Dios le ayuda (“God helps those who rise early”) or in other words the early bird gets the worm [source].

How would you say that in other languages?

Alternatively, you could say no por mucho madrugar, amanece más temprano (“getting up earlier won’t make the sun rise sooner”) or in other words things will happen at their own time, you can’t rush art [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz100923.mp3Do you know or can you guess the language?

The words pen and pencil appear to be related, but are they? Let’s find out.

The word pen, as in a writing implement, comes from Middle English penne (pen, quill, wing, feather), from the Anglo-Norman penne, from Latin penna (wing, feather, quill pen), from Proto-Italic petnā (feather, wing), from Proto-Indo-European péth₂r̥/pth₂én-* (feather, wing), from peth₂-* (to spread out, to fly) [source].

Words from the same roots include petal, petulant, petition, plume, plumage, fathom, feather and helicopter in English, adar (birds) and adain (wing) in Welsh, and Faden (yarn, thread, fathom, suture) in German [source].

The word pen, as in an enclosure for animals, comes from Middle English pen(ne) (enclosure for animals), from Old English penn (enclosure, pen, fold), from Proto-Germanic pennō/pannijō (pin, bolt, nail, tack), from Proto-Indo-European bend-* (pointed peg, nail, edge).

The English word pin comes from the same PIE root, as does the Dutch word pin (peg, pin), the German word Pinne (pin, pivot, tiller), and the Swedish word pinne (stick, peg, pin) [source].

The word pencil comes from Anglo-Norman, from the Old French pincel (paintbrush), from the Vulgar Latin penicellum, from the Latin pēnicillum (a painter’s brush, (style of) painting), a diminutive of pēniculus (brush, sponge), a diminutive of pēnis* (tail, penis), from the Proto-Italic pesnis, from the Proto-Indo-European pes-ni-s, from *pes- (penis) [source].

Words from the same roots include penicillin in English and other languages, pincel (paintbrush) in Spanish and Portuguese, pinceau (paintbrush) in French and Pinsel (paintbrush) in German [source]. Penicillin and penicillium are apparently so named because the spore of the fungi resemble brushes [source].

Incidentally, the French idiom s’emmêler les pinceaux means to get one’s wires crossed to get things all mixed up, to get in a muddle or to misstep. Literally it means “to get tangled in the paintbrushes” [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

http://www.omniglot.com/soundfiles/blog/quiz030923.mp3Do you know or can you guess the language?

While putting together a post on my Celtiadur blog about words for ships and boats in Celtic languages, I realised that words for boats, ships and other nautical things in English come from many different languages. So I thought I’d write a blog post about them.

The word boat comes from Middle English bot (boat, the path or course of one’s life), from Old English bāt (boat), from Proto-West Germanic bait*, from Proto-Germanic baitaz (boat, small ship), from Proto-Indo-European bʰeyd- (to break, split) [source].

The French word bateau (ship, boat), the Dutch word boot (boat), and the German word Boot (boat) were all borrowed from Middle or Old English.

Words for boat in North Germanic languages, such as Swedish (båt), Danish (båd) and Icelandic (bátur), were borrowed from Old Norse bátr, which was borrowed from Old English bāt (boat) [source].

Some words for boat in Irish (bád), Scottish Gaelic (bàta), Manx (baatey) and Welsh (bad) were also borrowed from Old English or Old Norse [source].

The word ship comes from Middle English schip (ship, boat), from Old English scip (ship), from Proto-West Germanic ship* (skip), from Proto-Germanic skipą* (ship), from unknown origins [source].

Ship can be used to refer to a water-borne vessel generally larger than a boat, while boat usually refers to vessels smaller than a ship but larger than a dinghy. Boat also refers to submarines of any size, and lakers (ships used in the Great Lakes trade in North America).

A dinghy is a small open boat, propelled by oars or paddles, carried as a tender, lifeboat, or pleasure craft on a ship; a sailing dinghy, or an inflatable rubber life raft. It comes from Bengali ডিঙি (ḍiṅi – canoe), probably from Sanskrit द्रोण (droṇa – wooden vessel, bucket, trough), Proto-Indo-Iranian dráwnam* (wooden object), from Proto-Indo-European dréw-no-m, from dóru (tree, wood) [source].

A yacht is a sailing boat larger than a dinghy but smaller than a sailing ship, often with a cabin. It can also be a motor-powered private boat. It comes from yeaghe (light, fast sailing ship) from Dutch jacht (yacht, hunt), from jaghtschip (light sailing vessel, fast pirate ship: lit. “pursuit ship”).

Apparently the original Dutch jaghtschip were built to chase pirates and smugglers from the coast. In 1660 the Dutch East India Company presented one to King Charles II, who used it as a pleasure boat. It was then copied by British shipbuilders as a pleasure craft for wealthy gentlemen [source].

Another type of boat is a barque, which is a sailing vessel with three or more masts, with all masts but the sternmost square-rigged. It comes from Middle English barke (boat), from Middle French barque, from Latin barca (baris – a type of flat-bottomed freighter used on the Nile in Ancient Egypt), from Ancient Greek βᾶρις (bâris – Egyptian boat), from Coptic ⲃⲁⲁⲣⲉ (baare – small boat), from Demotic br, from Ancient Egyptian bꜣjr (transport ship, type of fish) [source].

The word barge (A large flat-bottomed towed or self-propelled boat used mainly for river and canal transport of heavy goods or bulk cargo), comes from the same roots, as does the Spanish barco (boat), the Galician barco (ship, boat, barge) and the Portuguese barco (boat) [source].

The word canoe (a small long and narrow boat, propelled by one or more people) comes from Spanish canoa (canoe), probably from Taino kanowa* (canoe), Proto-Indo-Iranian dráwnam (wooden object), from Proto-Arawak kanawa (caone) [source].

Canoes are generally open on top, while kayaks are covered over except for the cockpit where the paddler sits. Kayak comes from Inuktitut ᖃᔭᖅ (qayaq – kayak, man’s boat), from Proto-Eskimo *qayaʁ (kayak) [source].

If kayaks are men’s boats, are there women’s boats as well? There are – they are the umiak (a large, open boat made of skins stretched over a wooden frame that is propelled by paddles), from Inuvialuktun ᐅᒥᐊᖅ (umiaq – women’s boat) [source].

Incidentally, navy (a country’s entire sea force, including ships and personnel) comes from Middle English nave (navy), navye, from Old French navie (navy), from Latin nāvigia, from nāvigium (vessel, ship boat, from nāvis (ship, boat, vessel), from Proto-Indo-European néh₂us (boat). In Old English navy was sciphere* (“ship army”) [source].

English words from the same roots include navigate, nave, nautical and astronaut (lit. “star sailor”) [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

In this post we explore the various meanings and origins of the word gad. As an exclamation, gad! is a euphemistic alteration of the word God, and is the roughly equivalent of by God!, goodness gracious! and similar exclamations. It also appears in such exclamations as egad!, egads!, gadzooks!, gadsbobs!, gadsbudlikins! and gadsnouns!. As a […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

In this post we find out what links the word grotesque with caves and hiding. Grotesque [ɡɹəʊˈtɛsk / ɡɹoʊˈtɛsk] as an adjective means: Distorted and unnatural in shape or size; abnormal, especially in a hideous way Disgusting or otherwise viscerally revolting Sans serif (in typography) As an noun it means: A style of ornamentation characterized […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

What links the word gossamer with geese and summer? Gossamer means: a fine film or strand as of cobwebs, floating in the air or caught on bushes, etc. A soft, sheer fabric Anything delicate, light and flimsy It comes from the Middle English gossomer (a filmy substance consisting of fine cobwebs, gossamer; a web or […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

One of the Finnish words that I learnt recently and really like is hymy [ˈhymy] which means smile. Apparently it is imitative of the short humming sound associated with smiling. In fact, it’s difficult to say without smiling [source]. Related words include: hymytä = to smile hymyillä = to smile, beam, smirk, grin hymyilyttää = […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

What links the word bazooka with Roman trumpets and singing cows? Let’s find out in this blog post. A bazooka was originally a primitive type of trombone with wide tubes. During World War II it came to refer to a shoulder-held rocket launcher used as an antitank weapon that was developed at the time, and […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

A Finnish word I learnt recently is asua [ˈɑsuɑ], which means to live, reside or dwell. I could say, for example, Asun Bangorissa Walesissa (I live in Bangor in Wales). It comes from the Proto-Finnic asudak, from the Proto-Uralic ëśew- (to camp, remain), from *ëśe- (to exist, be located) [source]. Related words in Finnish include: […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

The attic in my house is currently being converted into a usable space, so I thought I’d look into the origins of the word attic and related ones. An attic is: The space, often unfinished and with sloped walls, directly below the roof in the uppermost part of a house or other building, generally used […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

What do you call the symbol @? I would call it at or at sign. Other names are available, and it’s used in various ways. The oldest known appearence of @ in writing was in 1345 in a Bulgarian translation of a Greek chronicle by Constantinos Manasses. It was used as the first letter of […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

What do you call the symbol #? I would call it a hash or hashtag, but quite a few other names are available, including number, number sign, number mark, pound sign, hash sign, hash mark, crosshatch, crunch, fence, flash, garden fence, garden gate, gate, grid, hak, hex, mesh, octothorp, oof, pig-pen, punch mark, rake, scratch, […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

What links the words croissant and cereal, apart from them often being eaten for breakfast? A croissant is a flaky roll or pastry in a form of a crescent. Although they’re associated with France, they’re based on the Viennese kipferl, a crescent-shaped pastry dating back to at least the 13th century. They became popular in […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

The Japanese word 薔薇 (bara) means rose. If you asked random Japanese people to write these kanji (characters), many would struggle. However, they would be able to read them. The word for rose is normally written with katakana – バラ, and the kanji version 薔薇 is not in everyday use, so it’s not surprising if […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

In the north of England, particularly in Cumbria, the word tarn is used to refer to a small mountain lake. It is also apparently used in the USA, mainly in Montana, to refer to small mountain lakes or ponds. Little Langdale Tarn According to Wikipedia, “a tarn or corrie loch is a mountain lake, pond […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

While putting together a Celtiadur post today about words for six and related things in Celtic languages, I noticed that in Cornish a semester is hweghmis and that it’s c’hwec’h-miz in Breton. Both mean “six months”. This lead me to wonder about the origins of the word semester. Does it have anything to do with […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

One of the interesting words that came up in my Finnish lessons recently is iloinen [ˈilo̞i̯ne̞n], which means happy, cheerful, glad or merry.

It comes from ilo (joy, happiness, delight, pleasure, love, lover) from the Proto-Finnic ilo* (joy, delight, happiness), and the adjective suffix -inen** [source].

Some related words include:

iloisuus = joyfulness
iloista = to be happy, glad, cheerful
iloiesti = happily, merrily, gaily
iloistua = to become delighted
iloittelu = frolicking
iloistutta = to delight, cheer up
ilottomuus = joylessness
iloton = gloomy

Related words in other languages include: ilo (joy, happiness) in Ingrian, ilo (fun, joy) in Veps, ilo (joy, elation, happiness, celebration) in Votic, and illu (happiness) in Northern Sami, which was borrowed from Finnish [source].

A related word in Estonian, ilu, used to mean joy delight, happiness or glee, but now means beauty, splendor or ornament [source].

Incidentally, the word ilo (tool) in Esperanto is completely unrelated [source]. It’s a back-formation from the suffix -ilo, which means an instrument or a tool for performing the action of the root. For example, tondilo (scissors) comes from tondi (to shear), and komputilo (computer) comes from komputi (to count, compute) [source].

Ilo can be combined with other suffixes to make words such as ilaro (a set of tools), ilujo (toolbox), and ilarujo (a toolbox for a toolset) [source].

If you’d like to learn some Finnish, you could try FinnishPod101 [Affiliate link], which looks pretty good, and you can try it for free. Here’s a sample:

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

What links the words desk, dais, disc, disco, dish and discus?

My desk in my office/studio

The answer is, they share the same roots: the Latin word discus (a discus, quoit, dish-shaped object, disc of a sundial), but arrived in English via different routes [source].

Desk comes from the Middle English deske (a reading desk or lecturn), from the Medieval Latin desca, from the Latin discus [source].

Dais (a raised platform in a room for a high table, a seat of honour, a throne, or other dignified occupancy) comes from the Middle English deis (podium, dais, high table), from the Anglo-Norman deis (dais, high seat/table, table of honour), from the Old French deis/dois, from the Latin discum, the accusative singular of discus [source].

Disc (a thin, flat, circular plate or similar object; a gramophone record) comes from the French disque (disc, discus, record, disk), from the Latin discus [source].

Disco, is an abbreviation of discoteque, which was borrowed from the French discothèque (discotheque, nightclub), from disque (disc, record) and bibliothèque, (library). It originally it meant “a library of discs/records”. Disque comes from the Latin discus [source].

Dish comes from the Middle English disch (dish, plate, bowl, discus), from the Old English disċ (plate, dish), from the Proto-West Germanic disk (dish) from the Latin discus* [source].

Discus comes directly from the Latin discus, from the Ancient Greek δίσκος (dískos – disc, dish, round mirror), the origins of which are uncertain [source].

Disk is used interchangeably with disc, and means more or less the same things. However, it comes straight from the Ancient Greek δίσκος [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

In an email I received yesterday the phrase “I teach school” appeared. Although I understand what it means, it sounds a bit strange to me. I suppose it’s a difference between American English and British English.

If I were a teacher, I might say that “I teach in/at a school”, “I’m a teacher” or just “I teach”, but not “I teach school” – that sounds to me like I teach a subject called ‘school’. You could also say “I teach languages/music/physics/[insert name of subject]” or “I teach school children [subject]”.

Would American English speakers, of speakers of other flavours of English, say “I teach college”, “I teach university” or “I teach kindergarten”, or is this structure just used with school? Is it used only in informal writing/speech, or also in formal writing/speech?

The French word chez [ʃe] is used to mean ‘to, at, in or into a home, office etc’. For example, chez moi means ‘at my house’, and chez le dentiste means ‘at the dentist’.

It can also mean ‘to, at or in a country or other place’, e.g. une spécialité bien de chez nous = ‘a true specialty of our country’. In the title of this post I use chez nous to indicate we are in the world of Omniglot.

Other meanings include: ‘in or among a group of people or things of the same type’, e.g. chez les chiens = ‘among dogs’, or ‘in the work of an author or artisit’ – chez Baudelaire = ‘in Baudelaire’s work’ [source].

It has been borrowed into English and just means ‘at the home of’ [source].

Chez comes from the Middle French chez (in the house/home of), from the Old French chies (house), from the Latin casa (hut, cottage, cabin, small farm, dwelling, house), the origins of which are uncertain [source].

The French word case [kaz], which means a box or a square in a board game, and used to mean a hut, cabin or shack, comes from the same roots, as do words like casino in English (via Italian), and casa, which means house in most Romance languages [source].

Another word for house in Spanish is hogar [oˈɡaɾ], which appeared in my Spanish lessons today and inspired this post. It also means fireplace, hearth, fireside, furnace, home, home life, family life, housekeeping, homeland or household.

Is it used more in some Spanish-speaking countries than in others?

It comes from the Old Spanish fogar, from the Vulgar Latin focāris, from the Latin focus (fireplace, hearth, brazier, house, family), the origin of which is uncertain [source].

Related words in Spanish include hogareño (home, family, fireside; (of a person) home-loving, stay-at-home), hoguera (bonfire, blaze) and hogaraza (large loaf, cottage loaf).

Related words in other languages include focus and foyer in English, words for fire in Romance languages, such as fuego in Spanish and feu in French [source], and a Greek word for brazier, φουφού [fuˈfu], via Turkish and Italian [source].

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Recently I started learning Finnish – I have a few Finnish friends, and just like the sound of the language. I’m currently using Duolingo, and may try other apps and resources.

One of the words that comes up quite often in my lessons is kaunis [ˈkɑ̝u̯nis̠], which means beautiful, pretty, or fair (weather). For example, Hän on todella kaunis (She is really beautiful).

It comes from the Proto-Finnic kaunis* (beautiful), from the Proto-Germanic skauniz (beautiful, shining) from the PIE (s)kewh₁- (to perceive, pay attention) [source].

Related words include:

kauniisti = beautifully
kaunistaa = to embellish, beautify, prettify
kaunistella = to embellish, sugar, prettify, euphemize, be euphemistic
kaunismuotoinen = shapely, with a beautiful shape
kuvankaunis = picturesque

Words from the same Proto-Finnic root include kaunis (beautiful) in Estonian, kaunis (pretty, beautiful) in Karelian, and kauniz (red) in Votic [source].

Words from the same Proto-Germanic root include sheen in English, skön (fair, beautiful, comfortable, pleasurable) in Swedish, schoon (clean, beautiful) in Dutch, schön (beautiful, lovely, pretty, good, great, nice) in German, and שיין (sheyn – beautiful, pretty, cute, handsome, nice) in Yiddish [source].

Have you learnt any languages because you like the sound of them?

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A friend asked me about the difference between cupboards, cabinets and closets, so I thought I’d look into it and write a post about it.

A cupboard is

A storage closet either separate from, or built into, a wall.
Things displayed on a sideboard; dishware, particularly valuable plate(16th-19th century).
A board or table used to openly hold and display silver plate and other dishware; a sideboard; a buffet (14th-18th century).

Note that kitchen cupboards are also known as kitchen cabinets. What do you call them?

It comes from Middle English cuppeborde (sideboard), from cuppe (cup) and bord (board, slab, table) [source].

If something is small, fusty or poorly lit, you could call it “cupboardy” [source].

A cabinet is

A storage closet either separate from, or built into, a wall.
A cupboard.
A group of advisors to a government or business entity.
A group of government ministers responsible for creating government policy and for overseeing government departments.
A small chamber or private room (archaic) [source].

Originally it meant a secret storehouse, treasure chamber or case for valuables. It comes from Middle French cabinet (small room), a diminutive of the Old French cabane (cabin) [source], from Old Provençal cabana, from Late Latin capanna/cabanna (hut), which is of uncertain origin [source].

A closet is

A small room within a house used to store clothing, food, or other household supplies.
A secret or hiding place.
A small room or side-room (mainly in Scotland and Ireland)
A small room or side-room intended for storing clothes or bedclothes. (in the USA and Philippines)

Obsolete and archaic meanings of closet include:

Any private space, (particularly) bowers in the open air.
Any private or inner room, (particularly):
– A private room used by women to groom and dress themselves.
– A private room used for prayer or other devotions
– A place of (usually, fanciful) contemplation and theorizing.
– The private residence or private council chamber of a monarch.
A pew or side-chapel reserved for a monarch or other feudal lord.

An American-style closet (as in the photo above) might be called a built-in wardrobe in the UK. What would you call it?

It comes from Old French closet (a small enclosed area, such as a field or paddock), from clos (enclosed outdoor area, such as a field or a paddock), from Latin clausum (enclosed space, enclosure) clausus (shut, closed), from claudō (I shut, close, lock), from Proto-Italic klaudō* (I close), from Proto-Indo-European kleh₂u-* (key, hook, nail) [source].

English words from the same roots include cloister, clove, claustrophobia [source].

In Scotland and Ireland, a word used for cupboards and cabinets is press.

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This weekend I’m off to Edinburgh for some polyglottery at The Language Event. There will be talks and discussions about language-related topics, and chances to talk about and in a variety of languages. It’s being held at the French Institute of Scotland on Saturday and Sunday. If you’re going, I’ll see you there.

I went to a simliar event four years ago in early 2020, just before lock-downs started. I haven’t been to any of the larger polyglot happenings since, such as the Polyglot Conference or the Polyglot Gathering, and have realised that I prefer smaller events.

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Last week I was on holiday. I spent most of the time learning Scottish Gaelic songs at a college on the Isle of Skye, and stopped at my mum’s in Lancashire for a few days on the way back. I had a wonderful time, met some interesting people, and learnt some beautiful songs.

It was my 9th visit to the college since 2008 and certainly won’t be my last. When I first went there I used as much Scottish Gaelic as I knew, and filled in any gaps with Irish, which I speak more or less fluently. As the two languages are closely related, this sort of works, though differences in the pronunciation and meaning of words can lead to some misunderstandings.

Recently I’ve been learning a lot more Gaelic with Duolingo, and can now speak it fairly well. This makes understanding the songs easier, although they often use poetic and old-fashioned words that don’t usually appear in my lessons. As well as speaking Gaelic, I also spoke some Dutch, Japanese, Welsh and a bit of English.

Normally I try to add a certain number of pages to Omniglot each week, and to write blog posts, and make podcasts and videos. Last week I didn’t do any of that, apart from one Celtiadur post, and had a break from it all, which was great.

This got me thinking – do I really need to do so much every week? Did you miss the Adventure in Etymology last week, or the Celtic Pathways or Omniglot News podcast, or the new language and other pages that weren’t added to Omniglot? Were you aware of all of these?

Maybe I’ll start doing the Adventures in Etymology every other week, and alternating with the Celtic Pathways podcast.

Incidentally, here’s a little piece I wrote on the train from Glasgow to Mallaig. I was trying to write a train-related song, and came up with this. I haven’t thought of a tune for it yet.

The snake of steel
rattles and shakes
through steep glens
where eagles soar
past foaming fishpaths
where waterdogs play
through empty lands
where none do bide
to the ocean’s edge
where seals hide
and the water meets the sky

The threads of distraction
are loosened
and there’s time to see
beyond the wind’s eye
time to think and dream
to talk and rest
As the iron horse
clitters and clatters
Along the metal road

I’m also working on a song in Scottish Gaelic inspired by my lessons in Duolingo. It’s called Thoir an Aire (Watch out).

Thoir An Aire
Thoir an aire, thoir an aire
Thoir an aire, tha Iain a’ tighinn
Thoir an aire, thoir an aire
Tha Iain rùisgte is tha e a’ tighinn

Ghoid Màiri a drathais
Ghoid Màiri a briogais
Ghoid Màiri a geansaidh gorm is geal
Ghoid Màiri a lèine
Ghoid Màiri a brògan
Ghoid Màiri aodach Iain gu lèir

Ruith air falbh, ruith air falbh
Ruith air falbh tha Iain a’ tighinn
Ruith air falbh, ruith air falbh
Tha guga aige is tha e a’ tighinn

Càit bheil Calum?
Càit a bheil Coinneach?
Càit a bheil Ceiteag?
Am faca tu iad?
Càit a bheil Mairead?
Càit a bheil Mòrag?
Ruith iad air falbh
oir tha Iain a’ tighinn

All photos were taken by me. The videos are from the end-of-course cèilidh at SMO. I’m not sure who took them.

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Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

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On Saturday (1st April), I’m going to Scotland for a week. I’m staying in Glasgow that night, then on Sunday I’ll travel by train to Mallaig along the West Highland Line – one of the most spectacular train journeys I know of. From Mallaig I’ll take a ferry over to Armadale on the Isle of Skye, then a bus to Sabhal Mòr Ostaig (SMO), the Gaelic college where I’ll be doing a course in Scottish Gaelic songs.

Glenfinnan / Gleann Fhionnain – one of the places you pass by on the West Highland Line

I’ve been to SMO many times before to do simliar courses, and am looking forward to it very much. Although the course is taught in English, there will be plenty of opportunities to speak Scottish Gaelic, and probably other languages. So, for the past few months, I’ve been brushing up my Gaelic on Duolingo.

Sabhal Mòr Ostaig

I’ll be travelling from Glasgow with a Dutch friend I met back in 2019 when we both did a Gaelic song course at SMO. We’ve kept in touch ever since, and she, her husband and daughter came to visit me in 2022. When we met, I had only a basic knowledge of Dutch – now I can understand and read it quite well, and speak and write it to some extent. My Dutch friend has learnt Welsh and Scottish Gaelic, with a little help from me, and Duolingo.

On the way home I’ll stay with my mum for a few days, and we’ll be celebrating my birthday on 9th April.

While I’m away, I probably won’t have much time to update Omniglot, or to write blog posts or make podcasts.

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The Japanese word 轟々 / ごうごう / ゴーゴー (gōgō) means thundering, roaring, rumbling or booming. The kanji 轟 (gō/kō/todoro) is made up of three carts (車), and is also used as a surname, which is pronounced Kuruma, Gō or Todoroki.

This kanji also appears in words like:

轟音 (gō’on) = thunderous roar, roaring sound
轟く (todoroku) = to roar, reverberate, be well-known, be famous, palpitate, throb
轟かす (todorosu) = to make a thundering sound, to make (one’s name, etc.) widely known, to make (one’s heart) pound
轟然 (gōzen) = roaring, thundering, thunderous, deafening, ear-splitting
轟き (todoroki) = roar, peal, rumble, booming, beating, pounding

In Mandarin Chinese the character 轰 [轟] is pronounced hōng and means explosion, bang, boom, rumble, to attack, shoo away, expel.

It appears in words like:

轰动的成就 [轟動的成就] (hōngdòng de chéngjiù) = a howling success
轰动全世界 [轟動全世界] (hōngdòng quánshìjiè) = to set the world on fire
轰隆 [轟隆] (hōnglōng ) = to rumble
轰轰烈烈 [轟轟烈烈] (hōnghōnglièliè) = vigorously, grand and spectacular, fiery
轰赶 [轟趕] (hōnggǎn) = to drive off, shoo away

I like these compound characters that are made up of several duplicated characters. Other examples include

林 (hayashi – wood, forest), and 森 (mori – forest) which are made up of several 木 (ki – tree, shrub, bush, wood, timber). Put them together and we get 森林 (shinrin – forest, woods).
炎 (honō – flame, blaze, passion), which are made up of two 火 (hi – fire)
品 (hin – elegance, grace, article, item), which are made up of several 口 (kuchi – mouth)
龖 (tà – flight of a dragon), 龘 (tà – the appearance of a dragon walking) and 𪚥 (zhé – verbose) which are made up of several 龍 [龙] (lóng – dragon).

The dragon examples are rare and in Mandarin, the rest are in Japanese.

Sources: jisho.org, mdbg.net, Line Dict CHINESE-ENGLISH

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Languages are classified into families, meaning that all the languages within a particular family are known to have or thought to have developed from a common ancestor.

For example, the Romance languages, such as French, Spanish, Italian and Romanian, all developed from Latin. They are one branch of the Indo-European language family, along with Germanic, Slavic, Celtic, Baltic, Indo-Aryan and other languages. It is believed that they all developed from a common ancestor known as Proto-Indo-European, which has been reconstructed.

Some languages have no known relatives and are known as language isolates. Examples include Basque, Ainu and Hadza.

Writing systems can also be classified into families. For example the Latin, Greek and Cyrillic alphabets all developed from the Phoenician script, which developed from the Proto-Sinaitic / Proto-Canaanite script, which was based on the Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic and Hieratic scripts.

In fact, most alphabetic scripts in use today come from the same Ancient Egyptian roots, or were inspired by or based on scripts from those roots.

Sometimes there is some debate about which family writings systems belong to, and whether they can be considered separate scripts, or variants forms of one script.

For example, there are many variants of the Latin script, such as Roman Cursive, Rustic Capitals, Basque-style lettering, Carolingian Minuscule, Fraktur, Irish Uncial, Merovingian and the Visigothic Script.

There are also many different scripts that are or were used in the Philippines. Some are considered regional variants of the Baybayin / Tagalog script, while others are considered separate scripts. For example, variants of Baybayin include Badlit, Kulitan and Basahan.

Are they separate scripts, or different versions of the Latin/Baybayin script? Does it matter? Who decides?

I’m putting together an index of writing systems on Omniglot arranged into families. It’s not quite finished yet though.

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Have you ever been to a kiki? If you live in Florida or Hawaii, maybe you have. The rest of us, probably not.

According to a post on Crossword Solver about slang words in the USA, kiki is the most popular slang word among members of Gen-Z (those born between about 1997 and 2012) in Florida or Hawaii.

The Urban Dictionary defines kiki as:

A party including good music and good friends, held for the express purpose of calming nerves, reducing anxiety and stress and generally fighting ennui. May involve locked doors, tea and salacious gossip.

Sounds like fun! More details about the origin of this word.

Another slang word popular with Gen-Z that I’ve never heard of is finna, which apparently is an abbreviation of “fixing to” and means “going to” or “about to or in the process of doing something”. For example “I’m finna go da’ sto” (I’m going to go to the store) [source]. More details about the origin of this word.

Then there’s poggers, which is apparently popular in California and Iowa and means:

A twitch emote typically used to express enthusiasm, enthrawlment or other sophisticated emotions of happiness and dopamine.

Other definitions include: “a word to describe excitement, joy, or to hype”, “A word to describe something as good” and “something/someone that you find absolutely amazing” [source]. The related word pog is apparently “used as an exclamation of approval, especially in video game chat” and means “excellent, cool, awesome” [source].

An emote is “A term used in MMORPG’s such as World of Warcraft which describes an action your character can perform which is usually accompanied by sound and sometimes even an animation”. Examples include /poke, /cheer, /moo and /insult [source].

Have you heard/read any of these words? Do you use any of them?

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A friend asked me to look into the origins of the saying An acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree. I can only find a few examples of this saying online, but lots of examples of the apple never falls far from the tree and similar sayings. It refers to the idea that people inevitably share traits with or resemble their parents or family.

According to The Phrase Finder, the origins of this saying are uncertain. The earliest known example of its use in English appears in 1830 in Benjamin Thorpe’s translation of Rasmus Rask’s Grammar of the Anglo-Saxon Tongue:

Traces still exist in the daily language of the Icelanders, for instance in the proverb, eplit fellr ekki lánt frá eikinni the apple falls not far from the tree (the oak!).

In a letter by Ralph Waldo Emerson published in 1839, he quotes the German proverb ‘der Apfel fällt nicht weit von Stamm’ – “As men say the apple never falls far from the stem.”

In 1843, The Bible in Spain by George Henry Borrow includes the line:

“The apple”, as the Danes say, “had not fallen far from the tree;” the imp was in every respect the counterpart of the father, though in miniature.

According to English Language & Usage, a Welsh version of this saying appears in A Dictionary of the Welsh Language, Explained in English:

Ni fell zygwyz aval o avall
The apple will not fall far from the tree

The spelling here is unusal and non-standard: z = dd and v = f, so in modern standard spelling it would be “Ni fell ddygwydd afal o afall”, I think.

There are also versions of this saying from Turkish – Iemisch agatsdan irak dushmas (The apple does not fall far from the tree), and Old English – Se æppel næfre þæs feorr ne trenddeð he cyð hwanon he com. (The apple never rolls so far that it does not make known whence it came.)

I also found an idiom with a similar meaning in Japanese: 狐の子は頬白 (kitsune no ko wa tsurajiro), which means “fox cubs have white cheeks” [source].

Do you know of examples of this saying in other languages?

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I learnt a cute Dutch word today – ietsiepietsie. It means a little, a little bit, teeny tiny or a teeny tiny bit, and is also written ietsie pietsie, ietsje pietsje or ietsjepietsje [source].

You could also translate it as itsy-bitsy, itty-bitty or teensy weensy Do you know any similar expressions in English or other languages.

It is a reduplication of ietsje (somewhat, a little bit), a diminutive version of iets [its] (something, anything), which comes from the Middle Dutch iet (something, anything, to any degree, a little, somewhat, sometimes, perhaps), a contraction of iewet, from the Old Dutch iowiht, from the Proto-Germanic ne (not) plus io* (ever) plus wiht, from wihtą (thing) [source].

Reduplication* is “a morphological process in which the root or stem of a word (or part of it) or even the whole word is repeated exactly or with a slight change.” They’re not very common in Dutch. Other examples include taaitaai (gingerbread), tamtam (fanfare, grapevine) and bla-bla** (blah-blah, talk) [source].

They’re more common in English. Examples include easy-peasy, hoity-toity, hurdy-gurdy, raggle-taggle, tut-tut, chit-chat and knick-knack [source].

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The 14th February is a special day for some – Valentine’s Day, or in Scottish Gaelic Là nam Pòg (“Kissing Day”), which I think is a fun name for the day. Do any other languages have interesting names for Valentine’s Day?

Apparently the practise of sending loved ones cards on Valentine’s Day became popular in the late 18th / early 19th century, in the UK at least, and really took off after 1840, when postage stamps were invented. In 1868 the chocolate company Cadbury started making heart-shaped boxes of chocolates for Valentine’s Day, and the giving of chocolates quickly became popular on this day [source].

By the way, a nice term of affection I learnt recently in Scots is ma wee scone (my little scone). Have you ever heard or used this or something similar? Have you compared your loved ones to other types of food?

Other Scottish Gaelic terms I’ve learnt recently for special days include Là na Gogaireachd (April Fools’ Day – 1st April) and Oidhche na Taigeise (Burns Night – 25th January), or literally “Night of the Haggis”.

The word gogaireachd means a fool’s errand or the act of making a fool of someone. Là na Gogaireachd is also translated as All Fools ‘Day, Gowk’s Day or Hunt-the-Gowk Day. A gowk is a cuckoo or fool in Scots and northern dialects of English. It also means to make foolish or stupefy, and comes from the Old Norse gaukr (cuckoo), from the Proto-Germanic gaukaz* (cuckoo), from the Proto-Indo-European gʰegʰuǵʰ- (cuckoo) [source]. April Fools’ Day is also Là nan Amadan* (Idiots’ Day) in Scottish Gaelic.

The word taigeis (haggis) was borrowed from the English haggis, which comes from the Late Middle English hagis (haggis), from hag(gen) (to chop, cut, hack), from the Old Norse hǫggva (to hew), or from hakken (to chop, hack dice, mince), from the Old English hēawan (to chop, hew; to dice, mince), both ultimately come from the Proto-Indo-European *kewh₂- (to hew; to beat, strike; to forge) [source].

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The Japanese word 曲 (kyoku) means a composition, piece of music, song, track (on a record), a tune, melody or air, or enjoyment, fun, interest or pleasure. Which is quite appropriate as music is enjoyable and fun for many people. It also often appears in the comments of the videos I watch that feature Japanese bands [source].

The same kanji when pronounced kuse means wrong, improper or indecent, or a long segment of a noh play forming its musical highlight. In the verb 曲がる (magaru) it means to bend, curve, warp, wind, twist, turn, be crooked and various other things, and as 曲げる (mageru) it means to bend, crook, bow, curve, curl, lean, tilt, yield and various other things.

曲 also appears in words like:

曲線 (kyokusen) = curve
曲がり角 (magarikado) = street corner, bend in the road, turning point, watershed
曲目 (kyokumoku) = name of a piece of music, (musical) number, (musical) program(me), list of songs
曲がりくねる (magrikuneru) = to bend many times, twist and turn, zigzag
曲芸 (kyokugei) = acrobatics
曲がりなりにも (magari nimo) = though imperfect, somehow (or other)
曲面 (kyokumen) = curved surface

曲目 (kyokumoku) sounds really nice to me, and something I struggle with is remembering the names of pieces of music. I can play quite a lot of tunes, but only know the names of some of them. I even forget the names of tunes I have written myself.

Here’s a little tune I wrote the other day called The Tower of Cats / Tŵr y Cathod.

View this post on InstagramA post shared by Simon Ager (@ieithgi)

In Chinese the character 曲 has several meanings: when pronounced qū it means bent, bend, crooked or wrong, and can also be a surname. When pronounced qǔ it means tune or song [source].

It appears in such words as:

曲子 (qǔzi) = tune
曲调 [曲调] (qǔdiào) = melody
曲折 (qūzhé) = winding, complicated
曲直 (qūzhí) = right and wrong
曲线 [曲線] (qūxiàn) = curve, curved line, indirect
曲解 (qūjiě) = to distort
曲别针 [曲別針] (qūbiézhēn) = paper clip

Sources: Line Dict CHINESE-ENGLISH, mdbg.com

By the way, the band featured in the photo is Lovebites, a Japanese metal band who I really like.

This is their most recent video:

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The cancan is a “high-kicking chorus line dance originating in France”, and also a “a trick [in motocross] where one leg is brought over the seat, so that both legs are on one side.” [source].

Accorrding to the English version of Wiktionary, it comes from the French cancan [kɑ̃.kɑ̃], which refers to the dance, and also means gossip.

Apparently there was a disbute at the Collège de France in around 1550 about the pronunciation of the Latin word quamquam – some scholars favoured the reconstructed Latin prononuciation of [ˈkʷam.kʷã(m)], while others preferred the French Latin pronunciation of [kɑ̃.kɑ̃]. Since then, cancan has referred to “any kind of scandalous performance”.

Accorrding to the French version of Wiktionary however, cancan (gossip) originally meant a loud noise about something, and comes from quanquan (noise, brilliance for a trifle, a narrative full of slander, an indiscreet report), from the Latin quamquam (although, while), from quam (in what way, how, as much as).

Alternatively, cancan might come from the Arabic كانكان (kan kan), which means futile talk.

The cancan, as in the dance, comes from a children’s name for canard (duck), and is onomatopoeic inspired by the quacking of ducks and evocative of their waddling.

Related words in French include cancaner (to gossip (maliciously), to quack), cancaneuse (a gossip), and cancanier (gossiping, gossip, gossipy).

Incidentally, the word gossip comes from the Middle English godsybbe/godsib (a close friend or relation, a confidant, a godparent), from the Old English godsibb (godparent, sponsor), from god (god) and sibb (relationship, peace) [source].

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On Tuesday night I was at my usual Welsh folk music session having a nice time, then unfortunately a guy fell over and banged his head – he was a bit unsteady on his feet, and had drunk quite a bit. He was okay and has apparently recovered now, but it put a bit of a dampener on the evening.

A dampener is a device that moistens or dampens something, or a discouraging event or remark. Synonyms include buzzkill, killjoy and spoilsport. Do you have any others?

It comes from the Middle English dampen (to stifle, suffocate), from the Proto-Germanic dampaz* (vapour), from dimbaną* (to fog, smoke) [source].

Last night when talking about this incident in French, I learnt the phrase gâcher qch, which means to to a dampener/damper on something. Gâcher on its own means to spoil, ruin, muck up, bungle, waste, squander (chances), temper (plaster) or mix (mortar). It appears in phrases like gâcher le paysage (to be a blot of the landscape) and gâcher (to kill a party [source].

Gâcher comes from the Old French gaschier (to spol, spoil, waste), from guaschier/waschier (to wash, soak), from the Frankish waskan* (to wash, bathe), from the Proto-Germanic waskaną (to wash), from the Proto-Indo-European wod- (wet) [source].

Words from the same roots include wash in English, wassen (to wash, clean) in Dutch, guazzàre (to wallow) in Italian, and vaske (to wash, shampoo, launder, shuffle) in Danish [source].

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An interesting French I learnt yesterday was hameçonnage, which means phishing or a phishing scam – that is “The malicious act of keeping a false website or sending a false e-mail with the intent of masquerading as a trustworthy entity in order to acquire sensitive information, such as usernames, passwords, and credit card details.” or “The act of circumventing security with an alias.” [source].

It comes from hameçonner (to attract and seduce by a deceptive appearance, to phish), from hameçon (fishhook), from the Old French ameçon, from the Latin hāmus (hook, barb), possibly from the Proto-Germanic *hamô (clothes, skirt, fishnet, harness, collar) [source].

The word hameçon also appears in the expression mordre à l’hameçon, which means to take the bait or rise to the bait, or literally “to bite the hook” [source].

Another word for a scam, swindle or fraud in French is escroquerie, and a phishing scam is escroquerie par hameçonnage [source].

Escroquerie comes from escroquer (to swindle, cheat, defraud), from the Italian scroccare (to scrounge, sponge, cadge, blag) from scrocco (scrounging, sponging), from the Old High German scurgo, from scurgen* (to knock over, push aside), from or related to the Proto-Germanic skeran (to cut, shear), from the Proto-Indo-European (s)ker- (to cut) [source].

The English word shear comes from the same roots, as does the French word déchirer (to tear, rip up) [source].

A Japanese word I learnt recently is 建築 (kenchiku), which means architecture or construction and just appeals to my ears.

Related words include:

建築家 (kenchikuka) = architect
建築学 (kenchikugaku) = architecture
建築物 (kenchikubutsu) = building, structure
建築中 (kenchikuchū) = building, structure
建築業 (kenchikugyō) = building/construction industry
建築業者 (kenchikugyōsha) = builder, constructor

The charcter 建 means to build, and also appears in such words as 建物 (tatemono – building), 建設 (kensetsu – construction, establishment), and 建てる (tateru – to build).

The charcter 築 means to fabricate, build or construct, and also appears in such words as 築く (kizuku – to build, construct, erect, amass), 築山 (tsukiyama – artificial hill), and 築後 (chikutē – landscape gardening).

Source: jisho.org

Over the past week or so there has been some building work going on in my house, so it’s been a bit chaotic. The central heating system has now been replaced and I finally have a warm house, which is very nice. It’s all running on electricity (before I had a gas boiler) and is powered partly by my solar panels. Next I’m having a small bathroom installed downstairs, and the kitchen roof needs replacing.

Are there any words you’ve come across recently that appeal to your ears?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

A way to say excuse me in Irish is gabh mo leithscéal, which is pronounced [ˌɡɔ mə ˈlʲɪʃceːl̪ˠ] or something like that. If you’re talking to two or more people, you would say gabhaigí mo leithscéal. There are similar phrases in Scottish Gaelic – gabh mo leisgeul, and Manx – gow my leshtal. These mean literally “take my excuse”.

The first word in these phrases comes from the Old Irish gaibid [ˈɡavʲiðʲ] (to grasp or receive), from the Proto-Celtic gabyeti* (to grab, seize, take or hold), from Proto-Indo-European gʰeh₁bʰ-* (to grab or take) [source].

Related words in other languages include gafael (to hold, grasp, grip) in Welsh, gavel (capacity, grasp) in Cornish, gable in English, and words for to have in Romance languages, such as avere in Italian and avoir in French [source].

The second word in these phrases means my, and the third one means excuse. The words for excuse come from the Old Irish leithscél / leithsgéal / leithsgéul (excuse), from leth (half, side, direction) and scél (story), so an excuse is a “half story” [source].

A related word in Irish is leithscéalach (fond of excuses, apologetic). There’s a similar word in Scottish Gaelic: leisgeulach (excusing, apologetic) and in Manx: leshtallagh (apologetic, apologist, excuser, extenuating).

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

There have been a number of articles recently about how the meaning behind ancient cave paintings has been discovered. For example, The article in The Guardian has the headline “Amateur archaeologist uncovers ice age ‘writing’ system” with the subheading “‘Lunar calendar’ found in caves may predate equivalent record-keeping systems by at least 10,000 years”.

The amateur archaeologist in question is Ben Bacon, and he worked with academics from Durham University and University College London. The cave paintings have been found in France and Spain, and in other parts of the world, and date from between about 10,000 and 73,000 years ago [source]. They depict various animals, people and other things, and include recurring patterns of dots, lines and other marks. The researchers believe that the marks represent a kind of lunar calendar which shows the birth cycles of the animals. Other information may be encoded in the paintings as well, however this is not yet understood.

This is not a writing system that represents language, as far as we known, but is a form of visual communication.

More information about this story:
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-64161861
https://www.zmescience.com/science/amateur-archaeologist-uncovers-writing-system-used-by-ice-age-hunter-gatherers-in-cave-paintings/

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

Yesterday I learnt an interesting phrase in French – semer la zizanie, which means to stir up ill-feeling, to mess around/about, to drive a wedge (between) or to wreak/raise havoc [source].

The word semer means to sow, spread, scatter, lose or shake off. You can also semer le doute (cast doubts), semer la panique (spread panic) or semer la discorde (sow/seed discord, foster division) [source].

It comes from the Latin sēmināre (to sow), from sēminō (I plant, sow), from sēmen (seed, graft, offspring, cause), from the Proto-Italic sēmen* (seed), from the Proto-Indo-European séh₁mn̥ (seed), from seh₁- (to sow, plant). English words from the same roots include season, seed, seminar and sow* [source].

Zizanie means discord or ill-feeling, and comes from the Latin zīzania (tares, cockle), from zizā̆nium (tares, cockle, darnel, jealousy, discord), from the Ancient Greek ζῐζᾰ́νῐον (zizánion – darnel, ryegrass), from the Aramaic זזניא‎, from the Sumerian 𒍣𒍝𒀭 (zizān – wheat) [source].

Words from the same roots include زِوَان‎ (ziwān – darnel, ryegrass) in Arabic, zizzania (darnel, tare, discord) in Italian, and cizaña (darnel, tare, dissension, enmity) [source].

Tare is a vetch or any of the tufted grasses of genus Lolium [source]. Darnel is a species of ryegrass of the genus Lolium temulentum [source], and cockle is another name for the same plant [source].

Incidentally, the word wreak, which only appears in the phrase to wreak havoc (to cause damage, disruption or destruction), and a few other phrases, means to cause harm, afflict, inflict, harm, injure; to chasten, chastise, punish, smite, and used to mean to inflict or take vengeance on, or to take vengeance for [source].

Here are a few Christmas-related questions for you:

In which country do many people go to KFC on Christmas Day?
In which country do people rollerskate to church on Christmas Day?
In which country might you see straw goats used as Christmas ornaments?

Are there any interesting customs or traditions you have or know about that you’d like to share?

A Multilingual Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it.

As today is the day before Christmas, I thought I’d look into the origins of the word eve.

Eve means the day or night before, and is usually used for holidays and other significant events, such as Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve. It can also mean the period of time when something is just about to happen or to be introduced, such as the eve of a scientific breakthrough, and it used to mean evening or night.

It comes from the Middle English word even (eve, evening), from the Old English ǣfen (evening, eve), from the Proto-Germanic ēbanþs* (evening) [source]. Evening comes from the same Proto-Germanic root, via the Middle English evenyng (evening), and the Old English ǣfnung (evening) [source].

Related words in English including eventide, a poetic / archaic word for evening, and yestereve (yesterday evening).

Related words in other languages include avond (evening, night) in Dutch, Abend (evening, night) in German, aften (evening, night) in Danish and aften (night, evening, eve, dinner, supper) in Norwegian [source].

A Multilingual Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it.

I came across the word werifesteria the other day on TikTok, which means “to wander through a forest in search of mystery”.

Another definition of this word is to “wonder longingly through the woods in search of mystery or magic” [source].

According to World Wide Words it appeared out of thin air in late 2014, and nobody seems to know who coined it. Rumours circulating on social media that it comes from Old English are apparently untrue [source].

Perhaps someone who was indulging in some 森林浴 (shinrin yoku) came up with the word werifesteria. In case you’re not familiar with 森林浴*, it’s a Japanese term that means forest bathing, forest therapy, or peaceful walk through the woods for health benefits [source].

Are there any other interesting forest-related words that you know?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

Many towns and cities have areas that are for pedestrians only some or all of the time. I discovered recently that in Japanese such areas are known as 歩行者天国 (hokōsha tengoku) or literally “pedestrian paradise” or “pedestrian heaven”, which sounds pretty good to me.

The kanji in this expression can be broken down as follows: 歩 (ho) = step, stride; 行 (kō) = going, travelling, journey; 歩行 (hokō) = walk, walking; 歩行者 (hokōsha) = pedestrian, walker; 天 (ten) = sky, heaven, God; 国 (kuni) = country, state, region; 天国 (tengoku) = paradise, heaven [source]

Such areas are rather boringly known as pedestrian zones, pedestrian malls, auto-free zones, car-free zones oe pedestrian precincts in English [source]. Other names are probably available. It would be much more fun to call them pedestrian paradises though, don’t you think?

Bangor High Street is partially pedestrianised, although delivery drivers and people with disabilities are allowed to drive on the pedestrian part between 4:30pm and 10am each day. These restrictions are rarely enforced, and anybody who wants to seems to drive along it and park wherever during those times. A pedestrian precinct is known as a man cerddwyr in Welsh, by the way.

Do you have such areas where you live? What do you call them? Do they have interesting names in other languages?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

According to the UK census in 2021, the estimated number of people who speak Welsh in Wales is 538,300, or 17.8% of the population. This number has decreased from 562,000 in 2011. In particular, fewer children and young people are speaking Welsh. Some people are worried about this [source].

However, according to the Welsh goverment’s Annual Population Survey, there were 892,000 speakers of Welsh in 2021, or 29.5% of the population, and this figure increased by 9,200 since the previous year. 448,400 people reported that they spoke Welsh every day, while 158,400 speak it weekly, 228,600 less often, and the rest never spoke it.

There is a big difference between these results. Census figures for the number of speakers of a language are not entirely reliable. Maybe people who rarely or never speak Welsh didn’t tick the relevant box on the census form. Maybe the Population Survey is not entirely reliable either, and the real number of Welsh speakers is somewhere in between.

The Welsh government has a goal of there being 1 million Welsh speakers by 2050, and would like to see all children in Wales education through Welsh eventually.

Noson Werin yn Y Glôb ym Mangor. Llun gan Marian Brosschot

I live in an area of Wales where Welsh is widely spoken and use it regularly. Last night, for example, I took part in a Noson Werin, a Welsh music session (see photo above), where we spoke and sung mainly in Welsh, in a pub where most people speak Welsh or are learning it. There were Welsh speakers / learners there from Wales, England, Finland, the USA, Germany, Spain and Denmark. I don’t know how common this is in other parts of Wales.

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

When you’re happy, there are various idioms to express this in English, including: as happy as a clam (at high water) as happy as a sandboy as happy as Larry as happy as a lark as happy as a pig in muck/clover as happy as a dog with two tails Do you know/use any others? […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Last night while talking about the weather in French, as you do, one expression that came up was une trombe d’eau, which means a cloudbust, downpour or waterspout [source]. There have been several of these this week. The word trombe [tʁɔ̃b] on its own means waterspout or whirlwind [source]. It comes from the Italian tromba […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

The other day I heard the expression short shrift being used, and started wondering what a shrift might be, and why it’s a short one that’s usually given or received. The expression to give short shrift means to ignore, disregard or exclude (sb/sth); to give (sb/sth) very little time or attention. For example “Despite its […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

The word myriad [ˈmɪɹi.æd/ˈmɪɹi.əd] means a countless number or multitude, and in the past it meant 10,000. It comes from the French myriade (myriad, 10,000), from the Latin Latin myrias (10,000), from the Ancient Greek μυριάς (muriás – countless, 10,000), from μῡρῐ́ος (mūríos – numberless, countless, infinite) [source]. A myriad of stars The use of […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

The Dutch word ruimen [ˈrœy̯mə(n)] means to clean up, to clear or to remove. It comes from the Middle Dutch rumen, from the Old Dutch rūmen, from the Proto-Germanic rūmijaną (to make room, to clear), from rūmaz (roomy, spacious, open) and -janą (a suffix that makes adjectives) [source]. Words from the same roots include ream […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Recently I was asked to share a post about The Most Misspelled English Word in Every Country and State, Based on Two Billion Tweets. However, on a list of the 100 Most Commonly Misspelled Words on YourDictionary.com, foreign and miniscule do appear, but coolly and promise don’t. Miniscule is in fact a “disputed spelling variant […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Feeling tired? Maybe it’s time for a snoozle. Snoozle is a Scots word that means to snooze or doze, or to nuzzle, poke with the nose of snuggle [source]. Here are some examples of how it’s used: Just to keep you frae drowsying and snoozling Away! and snoozle yourself in your corner. A’m gonnae hae […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

What is the difference between envy and jealousy? A friend asked me this, so I thought I’d write a post about it. Envy means: a feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another’s advantages, success, possessions, etc to regard (a person or thing) with envy [source] In the past it meant: hatred, enmity, ill-feeling […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

There’s a genre of Japanese stories known as 異世界 (isekai), which means “different world” or “otherworld”. They usually involve a person or people being transported from our world to a fantasy or virtual world, or to a parallel universe. Such stories appear in the form of novels, films, manga, anime and video games. There are […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Words for fish and other seafood seem to pop up quite often in the Japanese lessons on Duolingo. One such word is 鮭 (sake), which means salmon, specifically chum salmon (Oncorhynchus keta), a species of salmon that lives in the North Pacific and the Beringian Arctic. It is also known as the dog salmon, Siberian […]

Words for fish and other seafood seem to pop up quite often in the Japanese lessons on Duolingo. One such word is 鮭 (sake), which means salmon, specifically chum salmon (Oncorhynchus keta), a species of salmon that lives in the North Pacific and the Beringian Arctic. It is also known as the dog salmon, Siberian […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Things can be newfangled, but can they be oldfangled or just fangled? Newfangled is used, often in derogatory, disapproving or humourous way, to refer to something that is new and often needlessly novel or gratuitously different. It may also refer to something that is recently devised or fashionable, especially when it’s not an improvement on […]

Things can be newfangled, but can they be oldfangled or just fangled? Newfangled is used, often in derogatory, disapproving or humourous way, to refer to something that is new and often needlessly novel or gratuitously different. It may also refer to something that is recently devised or fashionable, especially when it’s not an improvement on […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

A Wanderwort is term used in linguistics to refer to a word that has spread to many different languages, often via trade. It was borrowed from German and comes from wandern (to wander) and Wort (word), so it’s a “wandering word”. The plural is Wanderwörter, Wanderworte or Wanderworts [source]. The origins of some such words […]

A Wanderwort is term used in linguistics to refer to a word that has spread to many different languages, often via trade. It was borrowed from German and comes from wandern (to wander) and Wort (word), so it’s a “wandering word”. The plural is Wanderwörter, Wanderworte or Wanderworts [source]. The origins of some such words […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

If you have slept well, you might say that you have slept like a baby, like a log, like a rock, like a top or like a lamb. Apparently in Chaucer’s time you might have said that you had slept like a swine, or whatever that was in Middle English [source]. If you search for […]

If you have slept well, you might say that you have slept like a baby, like a log, like a rock, like a top or like a lamb. Apparently in Chaucer’s time you might have said that you had slept like a swine, or whatever that was in Middle English [source]. If you search for […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

The word 謝る (ayamaru – to apologise) has been popping up in my Japanese lessons on Duolingo recently, and I thought it would be interesting to look into the ways the character 謝 is used in Chinese and Japanese. In Mandarin Chinese the usual way to say thank you is 谢谢 [謝謝] (xièxiè). If you […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Six ways to Sunday is apparently an American expression that means ‘in every possible way, with every alternative examined’ or ‘in every possible direction’. The first meaning can be found in “we checked him out six ways to Sunday before offering him that big loan.” while the second meaning is in “my necklace broke and […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

The word antediluvian means: Ancient or antiquated Extremely dated Pertaining or belonging to the time period prior to a great or destructive flood or deluge. (biblical) Pertaining or belonging to the time prior to Noah’s Flood. It comes from the Latin ante- (before) and dīluvium (flood), which comes from dīluō (I wash away) and -ium […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Essuie-tout [e.sɥi.tu] is what you might call paper towels in French. It literally means “wipe-all”, and comes from essuyer (to wipe, wipe down, soak up) and tout (whole, entirely, total, all) [source]. Essuyer comes from the Old French essuier (to wipe), from the Latin exsūcāre from exsūcō (I juice, I dry), from ex- (out, away) […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Last weekend I went to Aberystwyth to see a friend. I had a nice time, even though it was cloudy and rained a lot. This is one reason why I didn’t get round to making new episodes of the Celtic Pathways or Adventures in Etymology podcasts. Unfortunately one souvenir I brought back was a dose […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

If something is beyond your ken, it is beyond your knowledge or understanding. The word ken only really appears in this phrase, but in some dialects of English in northern England, and in Scots and Scottish English, ken is more commonly used. In English ken means to know, perceive, understand; knowledge, perception or sight. It […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

If a Japanese person compared something to practising swimming on a tatmi mat, what would you think they meant? The idiomatic expression 畳の上の水練 (tatami no ue no suiren) means literally “swimming practise on tatami”, and refers to “useless book learning; knowing the theory but being unable to put it into practice”. It is also written […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

I’ve been asked to let you know about a new language-based quiz game that is being launched today on Kickstarter. It’s called the League of the Lexicon and has two thousand questions related to words and language in five categories, such as etymology, trivia, definitions and usage. There are also two levels of difficulty so […]

Wurble is a wonderful word that I learnt today. What do you think it means? to warble words in a waffly kind of way to wriggle like a worm to talk or sing with water in your mouth A wurble wurbling Wurble [wʌrbl] is a Scots words that means: 1. To move forward in a […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

If someone sent you to hunt for a dahu, would you go? In French the expression chasse au dahu (dahu hunt) is one equivalent of a wild goose chase, that is “a wild or absurd search for something nonexistent or unobtainable; any senseless pursuit of an object or end; a hopeless enterprise” [source]. The dahu […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

The words discrete and discreet are both pronounced in the same way – [dɪsˈkɹiːt] – but have different meanings, or in other words, are homophones. Until yesterday, I didn’t realise that they were discrete words. discrete means 1. apart or detached from others; separate; distinct 2. consisting of or characterized by distinct or individual parts; […]

A pseudonym [ˈs(j)uː.də(ʊ).nɪm / ˈsu.də.nɪm] is a false or fictitious name, especially one used by an author. It comes from the Ancient Greek words ψευδής [pseu̯.dɛ̌ːs] (false, lying, untrue) and ὄνυμα [ó.ny.ma] (name) [source]. Hyponyms* include: stage name (used by actors) pen name, pen-name, nom de plume (used by writers) nom de guerre (used by […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

An interesting Japanese word I learnt recently is 嵐 (arashi), which means storm, tempest, uproar or hullabaloo [source]. It is made up of the kanji 山 (yama), which means mountain, hill, and various other things, and 風 (kaze), which means wind, breeze, manner, and various other things. So if when I first saw the kanji […]

Recently I came across the French word antisèche [ɑ̃.ti.sɛʃ]. At first glance I would guess that it meant something like “anti-dry”, so maybe it’s a moisturiser or something similar that prevents dryness. While that would be an accurate literal translation – it comes from anti- and sécher (to dry) – what it actually means is […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Some early alphabets, such as Ancient Greek, Latin and Etruscan were written in a style known as boustrophedon [ˌbuːstrəˈfiːdən], which involves alternate lines of a text being reversed, with letters also written in reverse. Here’s an example in Old / Archaic Latin: The first and third lines of this text are written from right to […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Have a look at the English sentences below and see if anything stands out for you. This comes from the Japanese course on Duolingo, by the way. For me, the use of short on in these contexts seems odd. I would use short of here. When I saw this, I wondered if this is a […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

There are some pairs of words that often go together, and usually in a particular order. For example, the title of this post, Pepper and Salt, might seem a bit strange to native English speakers, as we usually say salt and pepper. There are many ideas about why we do this, but it might just […]

Yesterday I added a page about the Moose Cree language to Omniglot. Moose Cree (ᐃᓕᓖᒧᐧᐃᓐ / ililîmowin) is a Central Algonquin language spoken mainly in the town of Moose Factory on Moose Factory Island on the Moose River in Ontario, Canada. That’s a lot of moose, or is it mooses, moosen or even meese? (see […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

In Dutch the word podium [poː.di.(j)ʏm] means stage, and also podium or platform. It comes from Latin word podium (balcony, especially in an amphitheatre, parapet, podium), from the Ancient Greek πόδιον (pódion – base), a diminutive of πούς (poús – foot, leg), from the Proto-Indo-European pṓds (foot) [source]. Some related words include: hoofdpodium = main […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language? I don’t know if this language is always spoken this fast, but this is one of the few recordings I can find in it.

Apparently the game pictured below is known as babyfoot in French. Which is kind of cute. According to the Belgian magazine, Le Soir illustré, the French inventor Lucien Rosengart (1881–1976) came up with the game of table football in the 1930s when he was looking for things to keep his grandchildren entertained during the cold […]

If you speak a foreign language, and know the grammar well and have a large vocabulary, but people find it difficult to understand you because you have a strong foreign accent, can we say that you speak it well? This is something my friends and I were discussing last night. We recognise that there’s nothing […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

If you have a crush on someone or you are infutated with them, in Dutch you might say that je bent verkikkerd op iemand, which could be translated literally as “you are befrogged of someone”. The word verkikkerd means ‘in love with (someone)’ or to ‘love (someone) very much’ [source]. It comes from kikker [ˈkɪkər] […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

A Japanese word I learnt recently that made me smile is 微笑む (ほほえむ) [ho.ho.e.mɯ], which means to smile 😃. The character 微 (kasu / bi) means delicate, minuteness, insignificance, and 笑 (wara / e / jō) means laugh, laughter, smile or sneer. So 微笑 could be translated literally as a “delicate laugh”. Some related words […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

If you haven’t seen someone for a while, you might greet them by saying “long time no see”. Have you ever wondered where that phrase comes from? According to NPR, if was first used in print in 1900 in a book by William F. Drannan called Thirty-One Years on the Plains and in the Mountains, […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

In French when you make a good guess or choice, you are said to be making une bonne pioche or literally “a good pickaxe” [source]. The word pioche [pjɔʃ] means pickaxe, and also a stock or pile of undealt cards in a card game, and chance or luck. It comes from pic (woodpecker, pick), from […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

A Dutch word I learnt recently is samenleving [‘samənlevɪŋ], which means society or community. It comes from samenleven (to live together, co-exist), from samen (together) and leven (to live), and could be literally translated as “together-living” [source]. Some related words include: anderhalvemetersamenleving = ‘one and a half meter society’, in which (almost) everyone keeps a […]

Here’s a recording in a mystery language. Do you know or can you guess the language?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

If you need clues, one is available on this week’s Omniglot Newscast, and another is available to my patrons on Patreon.

There’s an interesting idiom in Dutch – Nu komt de aap uit de mouw – which means ‘now the monkey comes out of the sleeve’ and is roughly the equivalent of the English idioms to let the cat out of the bag and to spill the beans. They mean to reveal a secret, or to reveal one’s true intentions.

Other versions of the Dutch idiom include:

De aap springt uit de mouw = The monkey jumps out of the sleeve
De aap kijkt uit de mouw = The monkey looks out of the sleeve
De aap uit de mouw schudden = To shake the monkey out of the sleeve
Toen kwam de aap uit de mouw = Then the money came out of the sleeve = Then the true meaning became clear
Hij heeft de aap in de mouw = He has the monkey up his sleeve = He’s sneaky (hides his true nature)

The origins of the idiom to let the cat out of the bag are uncertain, although we do know it was first used in writing in The London Magazine in 1760 [source].

The origins of the idiom to spill the beans are also uncertain. It was first used in American in the early 20th century, so it’s unlikely to have come from the Ancient Greek practice of using coloured beans to vote, as many sources claim [source].

The Dutch idioms come from the practice of performers hiding an actual monkey up their sleeves which would appear unexpectedly at a certain moment. Alternatively they might refer to our inner ape/monkey or mischievous character which is usually hidden metaphorically up our sleeve [source].

Are there any similar idioms in other languages?

Sources: Reverso, Ensie

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

As today is St Patrick’s Day, I thought I’d look into the origins of the name Patrick.

Patrick comes from the Latin name Patricius, which comes from the word patricius (patrician, noble), from patrēs cōnscrīptī (Roman senators, or literally “enlisted fathers”) [source].

patrēs is the plural of pater (father, head of household, parent, forefather, priest), which comes from the Proto-Italic patēr* (father), from the Proto-Indo-European ph₂tḗr (father), from peh₂- (to protect, shepherd) and‎ *-tḗr (agent suffix) [source].

Another word that comes from pater is patronus, which in the magical world of Harry Potter is a spirit guardian that can be summoned with the charm Expecto Patronum [source]. This is genunine Latin and means “I await my protector” [source].

cōnscrīptī is the plural of cōnscrīptus (senator, counsel(l)or; enrolled, enlisted, composed), which comes from conscrībō (I enroll, enlist, draw up, compose), from con- (with), and‎ scrībō (I write) [source].

The English word conscript (One who is compulsorily enrolled, often into a military service) comes from the same Latin root [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

The term snake oil is used to refer to a scam, a fraudulent medicine or remedy, or deceptive marketing. It was first appeared in writing in 1858 in the USA. In Georgia, for example, snake oil was sold as a folk remedy for rheumatism and gout, and it was said to be a cure for deafness in parts of Pennsylvania.

Some such remedies contained oil made from the fat of snakes, especially rattlesnakes, but many didn’t. In the early 20th century such products started to be condemned in professional pharmacy journals as they didn’t contain any snake oil at all. As a result the term snake oil became associated with phony remedies and quackery [source].

In French snake oil is known as remède de charlatan (charlatan medicine) or poudre de perlimpinpin (perlimpinpin powder).

The word charlatan (quack (doctor), charlatan), comes from the Italian ciarlatano (charlatan, quack), from ciarlatore (chatterer) and cerretano (hawker, quack). The latter term means literally a “native of Cerreto”, and is the root of this word because the Italian village of Cerreto di Spoleto in Umbria in the province of Perugia was once widely known for its quacks.

Perlimpinpin [pɛʁ.lɛ̃.pɛ̃.pɛ̃] is one of the French names for Rumpelstiltskin, a company that makes children’s clothes, a restaurant in Paris, and probably others things. The origins of the word are uncertain. According to one theory, it’s a combination of prêle (horsetail – Equisetum hyemale) and pimpin (Pandanus montanus – a type of tree from the island of Réunion), two plants that were used as in a herbal medicine in 17th century France [source].

In Japanese if you speak a language fluently you can say that it is ペラペラ (perapera). This is one of the many onomatopeic or mimetic words used in Japanese, and it has come up in some of the Japanese lessons I’ve been studying on Duolingo recently, so I thought I’d write about it.

ペラペラ, which is also written ぺらぺら, can also mean speaking incessantly, glibly, garrulously or volubly; flipping through pages one after the other or thin, flimsy or weak paper, cloth, etc.

For example:

日本語がペラペラになりたいです。 (Nihongo ga perapera ni naritai desu) = I want to be fluent in Japanese.
彼は英語がペラペラだ。(Kare wa eigo ga perapera da) = He has a good command of English / He speaks Englsh fluently.
ペラペラしゃべり続ける (perapera shaberi tsudzukeru) = to rattle on
ペラペラまくしたてる (perapera makushitateru) = to talk a mile a minute
ペラペラという音 (perapera to iu oto) = a fluttering sound, flip-flap
ペラペラとうそをつく (perapera to uso o tsuku) = to lie glibly/fluently
ペラペラの段ボール (perapera no dan bōru) = flimsy / corrugated cardboard

ペラペラヨメナ (perapera yomena) is a type of flower (see photo above), which is known in English as a Latin American fleabane, Karwinsky’s fleabane or Mexican daisy. In Latin it is Erigeron karvinskianus: erigeron comes from the Ancient Greek ἠριγέρων (ērigérōn “groundsel”), from ἦρι (êri, “early in the morning”) and γέρων (gérōn, “old man”), and karvinskianus is named after Wilhelm Friedrich Karwinsky von Karwin (1780-1855), who was a Bavarian naturalist who collected plants and animals in Brazil and Mexico.

Sources: Duolingo, Jisho.org, 英辞郎 on the WEB, Wiktionary

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

The French idiom Il n’y a pas le feu au lac [il n‿j‿a pa l(ə) fø o lak], or literally “There’s no fire on the lake”, is used when there is no hurry to do something. It could be translated as “What’s the big hurry?”, “What’s the rush?” or “Where’s the fire?”.

It has been used since the mid-20th century and apparently refers to Lac Léman (Lake Geneva) in Switzerland and the inability of Swiss people to hurry even in an emergency. It is also sarcastic in suggesting that water might be on fire [source].

Variations on this idiom, and phrases with similar meanings, include:

Il n’y a pas le feu = There’s no fire (on the lake)
Ya pas l’feu = There’s no fire (informal pronunciation)
Il n’y a pas de quoi paniquer = There’s no reason to panic
Il n’y a pas de quoi fouetter un chat = That’s not a reason to whip a cat
Rien ne presse = There’s no hurry, there’s no need to hurry
Ça ne presse pas = There’s no hurry / rush

Are there any interesting idioms in other languages involving fiery lakes?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

Here’s an interesting question that I was sent to me by email:

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I am curious as to why some of the languages that developed from Latin had to put an extra ‘e’ at the start of some of their words.

Here are some examples:

| Latin | Italian | French | Spanish | English | | --- | --- | --- | --- | --- | | stēlla | stella | étoile | estrella | star | | status | stato | état | estado | state | | spero | speranza | espère | esperanza | hope | | spōnsa | sposa | épouse | esposa | wife |

It looks as if the Gauls, and the people living in the Iberian peninsula, couldn’t cope with the st- and sp- beginnings, and had to stick an ‘e’ on the front. Is this because words in the Celtic languages they spoke didn’t have such beginnings? I can’t find any similar words in modern Welsh.

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Incidentally, the words for hope have a cognate in English – esperance, which is a old word for hope or expectation [source], and the ones for wife have a cognate in spouse (husband, wife).

Let’s look at the origins of some of these words to see how they have changed over time.

The Latin word stēlla (star), comes from the Proto-Italic stērolā* (star), from Proto-Indo-European h₂stḗr (star). This became estoile/esteile/estelle in Old French, and estoile in Middle French. It was (e)strela in Old Portuguese and estrella* in Old Spanish So the extra e has been there for a while [source].

In Proto-Celtic the word for star was sterā, from the same PIE root as the Latin stēlla*. This became ster in Proto-Brythonic, Old Breton and Old Cornish, and ster in modern Breton and Cornish. So at least some speakers of Celtic languages could cope with the initial st-. In Old Welsh it was ser, in Middle Welsh it was ser / syr, and in modern Welsh it’s sêr. It was also borrowed into Old Irish as ser [source].

The Latin word status means state, status, condition, position, place or rank. It became estat in Old French, from which we get the English word estate. Meanwhile in Old Spanish it was (e)strela, and in Old Portuguese it was estado [source].

It was borrowed into Old Irish as stad (stop, stay, delay), which is the same in modern Irish [source]. Proto-Brythonic borrowed it as ɨstad* from the Vulgar Latin istatus, this became (y)stad / (y)stât in Middle Welsh and ystad* (state, condition, situation) in modern Welsh [source].

Do any of you have any thoughts on this question?

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language?

This week I wrote a new song – a lullaby inspired by learning that a Scots word for lullaby is lillilu. This is also written lilly-loo or lilli-lu, and an extended version is lillila-baloo [source].

Here’s a recording of the song:

Simon Ager · Lillilu This got me wondering about whether there are interesting words meaning lullaby in other languages. Here are some I found:

French: berceuse – from bercer (to craddle, rock), from the Old French bercier (to rock), from Vulgar Latin bertiāre*, from Gaulish, from Proto-Celtic berta-* (to shake)
Irish: suantraí – from suan (sleep) and -traí (type of music)
Italian: ninnananna (onomatopoetic)
Portuguese: canção de ninar (sleep song) – ninar = to sing to sleep, canção de embalar (rocking song)
Spanish: canción de cuna (cradle song), nana (lullaby, wet nurse, nursemaid), arrurrú – from arrullo (cooing, murmur, lullaby)
Welsh: hun-gân (sleep song), (si-)lwli (onomatopoetic), su(o)-gân (lulling song), hwian-gân (murmur song)

Do you know of any other interesting ones?

Part of the process of learning a new language involves learning about the people who speak it, and about their culture(s), history and so on. You might also find yourself involved in the politics of when and how the language is used, especially if you’re learning a minority / endangered / revived language, or a non-standard version of a major language. This is certainly the case for the Celtic languages I’ve studied.

You might be told that there’s no point in learning a Celtic language as everybody who speaks them also speaks English, or in the case of Breton, French. This is not in fact true – there are people in Patagonia in Argentina who speak Welsh and Spanish, but not English, and there are some people who have learnt a Celtic language who don’t speak English or French.

People may object to children being ‘forced’ to learn such ‘useless’ languages in school, or they may complain that they had to learn them in school. Well, education usually involves learning things that you might have little or no interest in, but you never know, maybe it will be useful to know them one day.

Critics of minority languages might come from the country or region where they are spoken, but not feel part of the local culture as they don’t speak the local language. In Wales, for example, non-Welsh-speaking people are sometimes told by Welsh speakers that they are less Welsh or basically English. Fortunately this is not a common view among Welsh speakers. Also, people who don’t speak such languages could learn them, and will find that most native speakers will be support their efforts.

Also, why are they spending our taxes to support those useless languages? That’s a comment that often crops up whenever there’s discussion of bilingual or minority language education, bilingual signage and other material, and any other initiatives to support minority languages. Speakers of minority languages also pay taxes, you know.

Have you encountered any such linguistic politics?

Here’s an example of an article that discusses some of these issues.

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language, and do you know where it’s spoken?

The expression “What the deuce‽” can be used to express surprise, shock or bafflement. It’s an example of a minced oath in which deuce is used in place of devil [source].

If you run like the deuce, you are running very quickly and wildly, or like the devil, or maybe like you’re being pursued by the devil.

Apparently deuce was first used in the 17th century exclamations and was associated with bad luck or mischief, because when playing dice, deuce (two) is the lowest and most unlucky throw. The connection with the devil developed later [source].

Deuce also appears in the phrase there will be the deuce to pay (there will be a huge amount of trouble).

In card games deuce refers to a card with two pips. In baseball a deuce is a curveball. In tennis it refers to a tied game where either player can win by scoring two consecutive points, and in Canadian slang it refers to a two-year prison sentence.

It comes from the Middle English dewes (two), via Anglo-Norman from the Old French deus (two), from the Latin duo, from the Proto-Italic duō* (two), from the Proto-Indo-European dwóh₁* (two) [source].

Deuce might also be linked to or come from the Late Latin dusius (phantom, specter), which comes from the Gaulish dusios* (incubus, monster), probably from Proto-Indo-European dʰeus-* (spirit) [source].

Alternatively it might be linked to the Old French deus (God), from the Latin deus (god, deity), from the Old Latin deivos, from the Proto-Italic deiwos*, from Proto-Indo-European deywós, from dyew- (sky, heaven) [source].

Other Anglo-Norman numbers that are/were used in cards, dice and other games include ace (one), trey (three), cater (four), cinque (five), sice (six) [source].

Today is the first day of the Year of the Tiger , according to the Chinese Lunar calendar, so to anybody who celebrates this:

The Chinese character for tiger is 虎, which is pronounced hǔ [hu˦˩˧] in Mandarin, fu² [fuː˧˥] in Cantonese. It also means brave, fierce or vigorous, and is used as a surname. The usual word for tiger is in fact 老虎 (lǎohǔ / lou5 fu²) – the first character means old or venerable and shows respect for this dangerous animal.

Here’s how the character 虎 has changed over the past 3,500 years or so:

The phrase 恭喜发财 [恭喜發財], which means literally “congratulations, make a fortune”, is the most common way to wish someone a Happy (Lunar) New Year in Chinese. It can be followed by the phrase 红包拿来 [紅包拿來] (hóngbāo ná lái), which means “bring out the red packet”, and refers to the red envelopes containing money that are traditionally given as gifts at Lunar New Year. It was apparently first used among Cantonese speakers in the mid-19th century, and is now used by speakers of other varieties of Chinese [source].

Last night I was invited to celebrate Chinese New Year by my neighbours, one of whom is Chinese. We had a very enjoyable evening and some rather tasty Chinese food.

Sources: LINE Dict Chinese-English, mdbg.net, Wiktionary

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language, and do you know where it’s spoken?

The word Britain is used to refer to the island of Great Britain, and is also to the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, or UK. As it’s the place I’ve lived most of my life, I thought I’d look into the origins of this word.

Britain comes from the Middle English Breteyn (Britain, Brittany), from the Old English Bryten/Breoton (Britain), from the Latin Britannia (the British Isles, Great Britain, the Roman province of Britain) – the land of the Britanni (Britons), from the Proto-Brythonic Prɨdėn* (Britain), from Pritanī, which is possibly related to Prɨdɨn (Picts), and the Ancient Greek Πρεττανική (Prettanikḗ – British Isles). The name Brittany comes from the same root [source].

Until the 1st century BC Britain was known as Albion in Latin, which comes from the Proto-Celtic Albiū* (luminous world, upper world, high mountain, alp, alpine pasture, Britain), from the Proto-Indo-European albʰós* (white) – possibly refering to the white chalk cliffs along the south coast of Britian [source].

After the Roman conquest of Britain in 43 AD, the name Britannia was used to refer to the Roman province of Britain, which consisted of what is now England and Wales and part of southern Scotland [source].

In Welsh, Britian is referred to as Ynys Prydain (The Island of Britain) or Prydain Fawr (Great Britian). These words, along with Prydyn (Scotland, (land of the) Picts), come from the same Proto-Brythonic root as Britain [source].

In Cornish, Britain is Breten and Great Britain is Breten Veur [source].

In Breton, Great Britain is Breizh-Veur and Brittany is Breizh.

The Irish name for Wales is An Bhreatain Bheag (“Little Britain”), while Great Britain is An Bhreatain Mhór, and Brittany is An Bhriotáin [source].

In Scottish Gaelic, A’ Bhreatainn Bheag is Brittany, Wales is a’ Chuimrigh, which comes from the Welsh name for Wales, Cymru and Great Britain is A’ Bhreatainn Mhór [source].

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language, and do you know where it’s spoken?

To me the word druid makes me think of Getafix, the druid in the Asterix comics – an old man with a long white beard who brews magic potions in a big cauldron. He has other names, such as Panoramix in many other European languages, and Kensawthetrix (“knows all the tricks”) in Scots [More details].

According to TheFreeDictionary, a druid is:

a member of an ancient order of priests in Gaul, Britain, and Ireland in the pre-Christian era
a member of any of several modern movements attempting to revive druidism

It comes from the French druide (druid), from the Old French druide (druid), from the Latin Druidae (the Druids), from the Gaulish druwits* (druid), from the Proto-Celtic druwits (druid), from daru (oak) amd wid/windeti (to know, to see), so a druid is an “oak knower/seer”, from the Proto-Indo-European dóru (tree) and weyd- (to see) [Source].

In Proto-Brythonic a druid or seer was a drüw*, which became dryw [drɨu̯/drɪu̯] (druid, seer) and derwydd (prophet, wise man, druid) in Welsh, drewydh (druid) in Cornish and drouiz (druid) in Breton [source]. It was also borrowed into Old English as drȳ (sorcerer, magician), which became drī(mann)/driʒ(mann) (sorcerer, magician) in Middle English [source]. A few modern druids use the word drymann**, or something similiar, to refer to themselves.

Here’s a traditional Welsh folk tune called Y Derwydd (The Druid):

There is sheet music for several versions of this tune on The Session.

In English then word play has a variety of meanings. You can play a role in a play or drama, play a game or sport, play an instrument, play with toys or other things, or just play in general.

In Portuguese, however, there are several different words that can be translated as to play, such as:

jogar – to play (a game, a sport), gamble, throw, drop
brincar – to play (with toys), to joke
representar – to play (a role), to represent, put on, act, make a complaint
pregar (uma peça em alguém) – to play (a trick on sb)
bancar (o idiota) – to play (the fool)

According to Carlos Carrion, who sent me this information, these words are translated as to play or the equivalent in most of the languages in Google Translate.

There are several ways to translate to play in Welsh, including:

chwarae = to play (a game, sport, instrument), amuse oneself, compete, frolic
canu = to play (piano, harp, organ), to sing, intone, chant
seinio = to play (a musical instrument), make noise/sound, ring
piltran = to play at (doing something), potter about, fiddle
actio / perfformio = to play (a role), to act, perform

Are there different words for different kinds of play in other languages?

Sources: ReversoDictionary, Geiriadur Prifysgol Cymru, Geiriadur yr Academi

Here’s a recording in a mystery language.

Do you know or can you guess the language, and do you know where it’s spoken?