To all those who thought you knew how to speak English:
1. Flocky: In flakes
“What deliciously flocky pastry” said his aunt
2. Sice: The number six, when on a dice
Jimmy rolled again, and, to his joy, scored a sice
3. Tony: stylish, fashionable
Cheryl still hasn´t realised that shoulder pads just aren´t tony
4. Bumbledom: Ostentatiousness, vanity
Wayne´s bumbledom was his most unappealing trait
5. Twitting: A reprimand, rebuke or reproach
Adrian received a harsh twitting for wearing an unironed shirt
6. Trig: Elegant, well-dressed, tidy
Nigel didn´t get past the first interview as he wasn´t sufficiently trig
7. Gittern: To play the zither
Mr Fanshaw went weak at the knees as he listened to Eleanor´s masterful gitterning
8. Flump: Noise caused by something being tossed to the floor
Gerald kicked off his slippers with a dull flump
9. Jib: To refuse to walk (an animal)
The camel jibbed and we were stranded out in the sandstorm
10. Sot: Inebriated
Five pints of Snakebite and Black left Gregory completely sot
And fitch? What on earth is a fitch?
Well, of course, it is a polecat, or the hair thereof:
The Gucci fitch scarf is this season´s must-have item
Saturday, 23 February 2008
The tony fitch gitterned with a flump (Part II)
Thursday, 21 February 2008
The tony fitch gitterned with a flump (Part I)
Bizarrely enough, the Portuguese´s astonishing language abilities do not extend as far as their dictionaries.
In the staffroom at work recently, I was fortunate enough to be shown what has become one of my favourite Portuguese items, guaranteed to put more than a mere grin on my face during even the toughest of working days. An English-Portuguese dictionary, old enough for the front and back covers and several pages to be missing, but legible nonetheless. I flicked through, and discovered that on each page there were several English words which, to put it bluntly, were not English words. A merry afternoon was spent passing the dicitionary round the room to see who could come up with the best new words, and by the end of the day, my stomach muscles were truly aching. It was like Douglas Adams´ The Meaning of Liff, only somehow funnier, as we imagined the hordes of unsuspecting Portuguese proudly testing these words on sniggering English speaking friends and colleagues.
While studying the other day I noticed that my own dictionary contained some particularly suspicious-looking vocabulary, and decided that, for the amusement of my readers, it was only fair to share some of these little Jabberwocky-style gems*.
Can you guess the true definition of any of these words? (and no, none of them are rude)
In the staffroom at work recently, I was fortunate enough to be shown what has become one of my favourite Portuguese items, guaranteed to put more than a mere grin on my face during even the toughest of working days. An English-Portuguese dictionary, old enough for the front and back covers and several pages to be missing, but legible nonetheless. I flicked through, and discovered that on each page there were several English words which, to put it bluntly, were not English words. A merry afternoon was spent passing the dicitionary round the room to see who could come up with the best new words, and by the end of the day, my stomach muscles were truly aching. It was like Douglas Adams´ The Meaning of Liff, only somehow funnier, as we imagined the hordes of unsuspecting Portuguese proudly testing these words on sniggering English speaking friends and colleagues.
While studying the other day I noticed that my own dictionary contained some particularly suspicious-looking vocabulary, and decided that, for the amusement of my readers, it was only fair to share some of these little Jabberwocky-style gems*.
Can you guess the true definition of any of these words? (and no, none of them are rude)
- Flocky (adj)
- Sice (noun)
- Tony (adj)
- Bumbledom (noun)
- Twitting (noun)
- Trig (adj)
- Gittern (verb)
- Flump (noun)
- Jib (verb)
- Sot (adj)
No? Not figured them out yet? Aww... twist my arm and you might just convince me to tell you...
* To maintain the integrity of this blog I guess it´s only fair to mention that I cross-checked these words on an online dictionary and, sadly, some of them are genuine. But they are still so damn obscure and funny-sounding that they are all still worthy of mention.
Tuesday, 19 February 2008
Pois...
In the very early days of learning a new language, "getting by" is almost entirely based on blagging, faking, and downright bluffing. I´m no linguist, but after nearly five years of simultaneous language learning and teaching, I like to think I´ve learned one or two interesting things. Someone with a high level of English who looks permanently bemused and even traumatised because they don´t understand every single word you say is a much less appealing conversation partner than one who possibly only comprehends the merest smattering of what comes out of your mouth, but who does their best to respond in an appropriate, enthusiastic way, complete with exaggerated facial expressions and wildly flailing hand gestures.
Needless to say, I have always strived to be the second of the two, mainly because I love nothing more than blathering on for hours, even if, as is frequently the case in a foreign country, I really don´t have a clue what I´m talking about, and also because once my partner realises how bad my grasp of their language is they will either a) politely excuse themselves and walk off (or maybe just walk off if they are Spanish), or b) attempt to repeat everything they have just said in English, thus spoiling the whole point of the exercise. A big round of applause to the Portuguese for their astonishing linguistic abilities, but it really does make it hard to learn their language.
My first few months in Andalucia were therefore the language equivalent of learning to swim by being hurled into a swimming pool with a shark. I was on my own, skint, and the only way I could find work was by pasting hand-drawn posters all over town, advertising English classes. Soon, my new Spanish phone began to ring. And I had to answer it.
The first thing I developed was an immensely acute bullshit filter. Sevillanos just love to talk. Not content with telling me they would like classes at such and such a time on Wednesdays, they preferred to entertain me with their entire language learning history, starting way back in the dictatorship when Franco promoted French, so they never studied English at school, right up to how they employed an English-speaking Ukranian nanny for their kids so that they wouldn´t have to suffer in the same way. They would then repeat the story with various additions and tweaked details once I turned up at their posh apartment for each lesson with little Juanito.
And so I learned the art of Spanish conversation. It is emphatic, excited, and crucially, requires one person to speak at full volume until they are interrupted by someone who is able to speak louder and more forcefully than them. This means there is virtually no possibility of being dragged into a conversation in which you would be way out of your depth, and provides endless opportunity for study and listening. All that is required is the odd "Sí?" or "No!" uttered with the appropriate intonation as fuel for the speaker.
Thus the conversation proceeds in this way:
Loud Spanish Housewife (LSH): Rapid, deep, unintelligible Spanish
Vicki: (frowning deeply, visibly concerned) ¿Sí?
LSH: Raised pitch, increase in speed of hand gestures
Vicki: (Raised eyebrows, mock horror) ¡¡¡No!!!
LSH: Look of complicity, slightly reduced velocity
Vicki: (Nodding in feigned comprehension and compassion) Sííííí....
LSH: Varied intonation, short, sharp hand movements, looking to the sky
Vicki: (Really getting into this now, reaching Andaluz volume) ¡¡¿NO?!!
LSH: Stops dead. Stares at Vicki, incomprehension. Repeats: ¡¡¿NO?!!
Vicki: (Realising she has got it wrong. Stuttering) Err... ¿Sí?
Conversation ends, Loud Spanish Housewife highly offended, having realised that Vicki has not actually followed any of what has been said for the last quarter of an hour, Vicki making excuses about going to the bathroom. Game over.
So imagine my joy upon finding that Portuguese, while infinitely harder to understand than Spanish, has this nice little get-out clause in the form of one little four-letter word: Pois.
Pois means Yes or No. It means Really? It means Hmm. It means Seriously! or I get you or Exactly. It is gold dust for foreigners. The Russian Roulette days of ¡Sí! and ¿No? are over. I´ve learned all the Portuguese I need to for now.
Pois?
Needless to say, I have always strived to be the second of the two, mainly because I love nothing more than blathering on for hours, even if, as is frequently the case in a foreign country, I really don´t have a clue what I´m talking about, and also because once my partner realises how bad my grasp of their language is they will either a) politely excuse themselves and walk off (or maybe just walk off if they are Spanish), or b) attempt to repeat everything they have just said in English, thus spoiling the whole point of the exercise. A big round of applause to the Portuguese for their astonishing linguistic abilities, but it really does make it hard to learn their language.
My first few months in Andalucia were therefore the language equivalent of learning to swim by being hurled into a swimming pool with a shark. I was on my own, skint, and the only way I could find work was by pasting hand-drawn posters all over town, advertising English classes. Soon, my new Spanish phone began to ring. And I had to answer it.
The first thing I developed was an immensely acute bullshit filter. Sevillanos just love to talk. Not content with telling me they would like classes at such and such a time on Wednesdays, they preferred to entertain me with their entire language learning history, starting way back in the dictatorship when Franco promoted French, so they never studied English at school, right up to how they employed an English-speaking Ukranian nanny for their kids so that they wouldn´t have to suffer in the same way. They would then repeat the story with various additions and tweaked details once I turned up at their posh apartment for each lesson with little Juanito.
And so I learned the art of Spanish conversation. It is emphatic, excited, and crucially, requires one person to speak at full volume until they are interrupted by someone who is able to speak louder and more forcefully than them. This means there is virtually no possibility of being dragged into a conversation in which you would be way out of your depth, and provides endless opportunity for study and listening. All that is required is the odd "Sí?" or "No!" uttered with the appropriate intonation as fuel for the speaker.
Thus the conversation proceeds in this way:
Loud Spanish Housewife (LSH): Rapid, deep, unintelligible Spanish
Vicki: (frowning deeply, visibly concerned) ¿Sí?
LSH: Raised pitch, increase in speed of hand gestures
Vicki: (Raised eyebrows, mock horror) ¡¡¡No!!!
LSH: Look of complicity, slightly reduced velocity
Vicki: (Nodding in feigned comprehension and compassion) Sííííí....
LSH: Varied intonation, short, sharp hand movements, looking to the sky
Vicki: (Really getting into this now, reaching Andaluz volume) ¡¡¿NO?!!
LSH: Stops dead. Stares at Vicki, incomprehension. Repeats: ¡¡¿NO?!!
Vicki: (Realising she has got it wrong. Stuttering) Err... ¿Sí?
Conversation ends, Loud Spanish Housewife highly offended, having realised that Vicki has not actually followed any of what has been said for the last quarter of an hour, Vicki making excuses about going to the bathroom. Game over.
So imagine my joy upon finding that Portuguese, while infinitely harder to understand than Spanish, has this nice little get-out clause in the form of one little four-letter word: Pois.
Pois means Yes or No. It means Really? It means Hmm. It means Seriously! or I get you or Exactly. It is gold dust for foreigners. The Russian Roulette days of ¡Sí! and ¿No? are over. I´ve learned all the Portuguese I need to for now.
Pois?
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