Linguistic Musings

It has occurred to me recently that I am not really giving enough exercise to the super-duper specialist skills I developed during my time in University. This is particularly surprising due to my own pedantry on the subject, which is: words.

Clearly I am aware that I have used words in previous entries, and I believe that if I chose to communicate through a more pictographic medium my blog would become significantly less understandable. Of course, having a blog made completely of pictures would, at least, keep trifling ‘Anonymous’-types away, although, arguably, pretty colours may attract more of them.

I have, therefore, decided to outline some of my more recent explorations into lexical nit-picking.

I live in an area that is largely populated by a certain type of person, namely ‘fighters’, or to allot them a title which sounds less dignified ‘people who want a fight’. I don’t really have a problem with people involved in either boxing or ultimate fighting which, while I do think it is stupid, at least takes place between people who are both willing, nay eager, to do injury to one another. My problem lies with people who want a fight. In an environment not cordoned off specifically, even a ramshackle arrangement by two willing individuals is highly likely to encroach upon bystanders, either dragging in further participants, or causing annoyance to the disinterested. This is a pastime enjoyed by absolute bell-ends, and I am also aware of the needless provocation of labelling people in this way. Essentially if you are offended by the last sentence I imagine you’ll want a fight, which is not going to happen.

I will never ever be in a ‘fight’. Should such an occasion arise, I will almost certainly be ‘attacked’, and should I have need to ‘defend myself’, I would still protest vehemently at the resulting fracas being described as a ‘fight’. I am just finicky about distinctions that way, though that will be of little consequence to my bloodied face.

Having made myself a target for aggressive drunkards, I feel I should probably lighten the tone a bit, which I will attempt to do with a short anecdote set in a Bureau de change.

I was in one such establishment, changing British pounds into Canadian dollars, though that is extraneous information, when a woman standing nearby was asked to give her name in order to complete a transaction. Upon readying herself, she declared herself as: Mrs. B. Strange. I was caught short for a moment as I pondered whether this was a joke on her part. It wasn’t. I think if I had such a name, I would give it in full to avoid giggling. I am glad that she is not such a person however, as it caused me a small amount of glee in what was an otherwise glum and rainy day.

Alternatively, if I were the owner/operator of such a name, I would play heavily on the eccentricity, and introduce myself at parties with:

“Yes, I’m Strange, my husband’s Strange, his parents were Strange, and of course, our children are Strange. Apart from my daughter, she married into an Odd family. You should meet her husband, Jonathan Odd, he is very strange.”

I just wish she was an old fashioned news anchor and could finish all her news broadcasts with:

“And remember, be strange.”

I can only hope that her name is Beatrice or Beatrix so that her eventually tedious pun of a name is unavoidable. It is also possible that her husband purposefully only dated people called Beatrice in order to assure the pun would come to pass. If so, he is my hero.

I have recently been noting the practical naming of protective clothing. A fire retardant outfit will protect you from fire, a bulletproof vest protects you from bullets, and a space suit protects you from space. Similarly, fluorescent clothing can protect you from the flu, which is an important thing to bear in mind in the current climate (please note; bearing this in mind will not protect you from bears).

In more serious, yes similarly tedious, observations, I have been taking perverse pleasure in tut-tutting English-Welsh translations. Signs often fail to be accurate, even when they do avoid the mesmerising huff-ups found in Swansea. I find amusement in huge mistakes, immense interest in slightly differing translations.

A sign on a train going into Cardiff reads in English: “Smile! You’re on camera.” It’s Welsh counterpart declares: “Gwenwch! Mae camera yn eich gwylio”. Translated into English, the Welsh phrase literally reads: “Smile! A camera is watching you”. It would be impossible to translate the ‘on camera’ phrase into Welsh directly, as it is an idiom that is not present in the language, and would sound clunky and unnatural, however, the actual Welsh translation is incredibly sinister. The English phrase manages to extract all responsibility from the situation – it is no one’s responsibility that you are on camera, you just are. In the Welsh sign, the camera is personified, and given an eerie sentience, as though your actions on the train are being mechanically followed by a recording gargoyle on a dark purpose.

This cross-language gap is also present in other phrases. In English, the term ‘scarecrow’ is completely functional, what does a scarecrow do? It scares crows. Dissimilarly, the Welsh term for the scarecrow is ‘bwgan brain’. ‘Bwgan’ is a childish term, probably comparable to the English, ‘ghoulie’ or ‘ghostie’, whilst ‘brain’ (which isn’t pronounced like that) means ‘crows’. So essentially it means ‘Crow Monster’. Crow monster, what does it do? Not really sure, I imagine it creeps around at night and kidnaps your children. Welsh is a sinister language.

Despite its flexibility, and vast incorporation of words from other languages, English can, at times, be incredibly unimaginative and uncreative in its implementation. One example of this becomes apparent in contrast to the Welsh term ‘cyfansoddair’. This term is made up on two words: ‘cyfansodd’ (compound) and ‘gair’ (word), which means that not only does the term stand for the creation of one word out of many, it is an example of it. In contrast, English takes the words ‘compound’ and ‘word’ and creates the phrase ‘compound word’. How very boring Mr English Language, I think I will be cancelling my subscription to your magazine.

Although that will render the years I spent studying English Language fair redundant.

Harrumph.