Places

Nicked from Jen and brought to you by the power of boredom.

List the towns or cities where you spent at least a night away from home during 2007. Mark with a star if you had multiple non-consecutive stays.

In alphabetical order:

• Aberdeen, Scotland.


• Armbouts-Cappel, dép. Nord, France.


• Athens, Greece, at Eleftherios Venizelos Airport.


• Bergen, Norway.


• Den Haag, Netherlands. *


• Kalloni, Lesbos, Greece.


• London, England, near Heathrow Airport.


• Montréal, Québec, Canada.


• Westerbork, Netherlands. *

Next year promises to be less exciting, what with finishing the PhD and only going to a conference in Amsterdam.

Points of view

Commas
A while ago I had a discussion with M. about the copy-editing skills of the Scotsman editors. They are quite happy to fiddle with her column, and they appear to have some interesting ideas about where commas go. For example, if M. would write a sentence

1. This is an interesting argument, but the conclusions are mistaken.

this is likely to end up in print as

2. This is an interesting argument but, the conclusions are mistaken.

We both agreed that they did it wrong, but it took a while to agree on why they were wrong and what would be right. Or rather, until we found out that we had the same ideas all along, just different ideas of how to express them.

We agreed that in sentence 1, the comma is before but. In sentence 2, the comma is after but. Unfortunately, we didn't start the discussion with temporal prepositions, but with locative ones – and there we disagreed. I said that in sentence 1, the comma was in front of but, and in sentence 2 it was behind but, but M. thought it was exactly the other way around.

She explained that she sees words as little people that face in the direction you're reading, so their backs are towards what you've already read, and their fronts are towards what you've yet to read. Therefore, in sentence 1, the comma is near what you've already read – behind but. In my point of view (and, to be honest, in the point of view of all others I have discussed this with) the front of the word is the beginning of the word, the first letter of the word, so that comma in sentence 1 is near the front of the word.

Could be an interesting psycholinguistics research topic, especially when comparing this to people who are used to reading right-to-left writing like Arabic or Hebrew. (M. claimed having to learn some Hebrew when she was younger might have changed her perceptions of fronts and backs of words.)


Tellies
Why is it

I am sitting behind my desk (working).
I am sitting behind my computer (typing).
I am sitting behind my piano (playing).
I am standing behind the cooker (cooking).

but

I am sitting in front of t' telly (watching a movie).

Or at least in Dutch – ik zit achter mijn bureau, de computer, de piano; ik sta achter het fornuis, het aanrecht but ik zit voor de televisie.

Could this also have something to do with perspectives? If you imagine an old-fashioned director's office with a big mahogany desk in the middle of the room, the director would sit behind the desk from the point of view of the modest office clerk entering the majestic hall. At least this is what I imagine is what lies behind people standing behind the bar: it's from the perspective of the punters.

Or is it something with activity and passivity? All the ones where you're behind something are active. You're actively working, you're actively typing, playing the piano, preparing food. Except when you're vegging out in front of the television, and that's a rather passive activity. Is it the passivity, or just the analogy with televisions, that makes it possible to say

I am sitting in front of the computer watching a DVD.

Is it possible to say that?

Also, is there a difference between standing in front of the door and standing behind the door? It seems to me that someone who's standing in front of the door has just rung the doorbell and is waiting to be let in (passive), while someone who's behind the door is possibly hiding, waiting to surprise you or whatever, but is capable of coming in of their own accord (active).

And while we're on the subject of front doors... If I'm inside the house, someone who has just rung the doorbell is standing in front of the door while the box of candy for trick-or-treat is standing behind the door. From my perspective, this is wrong. Still, I think it's right.

Why strive?

Bas Haring, Voor een echt succesvol leven.

I thought Bas Haring was a philosopher, but it turns out he did Artificial Intelligence, and now he's a professor in Leiden, doing ‘public understanding of science’. I also thought Bas Haring was witty and not necessarily unpleasant to look at, and I'm fortunately still right about that.

This book For real successful living is about our ambitions, why they are what they are (and not something else), and why they are there in the first place. Why do we strive to be the best in something, the biggest, the strongest, the highest, the fastest? Well, if the winner of a race was the person who ran the 10K slowest, everyone would just stand still and there would be no winner. If you would get prestige by building a very small tower next to your house, no one would build a tower at all and everyone would have the same prestige.

Why would you need to compete in the first place, is another question, I suppose. But that's the question of natural selection and Darwinism and suchlike, which is obvious in the book when he talks about crabs and ducks and other animals. For those who subscribe to Intelligent Design, there may be no reason to compete in the first place? So stop annoying the rest of us?

The two main things to learn from this book:

• There's no point in saying something is better than something else. You always need to see it's better as what or for whom.


• Things that are good for the continuation of the species need not be good for the individual.

That is a crap summary. Just read the book. It's a good book for making you think.

Purchases

Music:

• Simeon ten Holt, Canto Ostinato;


• Edvard Grieg, Peer Gynt Suites 1&2 - Fra Holbergs tid - Sigurd Jorsalfar;


• Fixkes, Fixkes.

Books:

• Simon Vestdijk, Ierse nachten;


• Luc Devoldere et al. (eds)., Overeind in Babel: talen in Europa.


• Floris Cohen, De herschepping van de wereld: het onstaan van de moderne natuurwetenschap verklaard.

On the list, but as yet unbought because buying English-language books in the Netherlands is stupid as they are cheaper in Scotland anyway, especially with the pound doing so poorly against the euro currently...

• Graham Burnett, Trying Leviathan: the nineteenth-century New York court case that put the whale on trial and challenged the order of nature;


• Alexander McCall Smith, The careful use of compliments.

More bookblog impending, by the way, as soon as I finish the book...

A bit of language log

I have the annoying tendency to pick up on strange things I say or hear, then make a note on it and try to figure out what's actually going on, or what's actually going wrong. I'm talking constructions here, not necessarily the content of the examples. The examples are taken from actual conversation, which does give a little insight in my life – which after all is what a blog is for...

One
From a discussion with M., when she was talking about the difficulties keeping food warm that she was going to make at a friend's house. I meant A, but I said B.

A. Put them in whatever the woman's name is's bed.
B. Put them in whatever the woman's name's bed is.

I think this is just a production error, caused by a slightly too heavy NP (CP?) whatever the woman's name is. Maybe there is a limit to the size of the NP that can take a possessive 's; this NP was too big and things went wrong.

Two
From radio football commentary.

...maar daarna is NEC beter, gedurfder, meer risico gaan nemend gaan voetballen

Possibly another production error, pre-empting the gaan from the main clause VP.

Three
From a game of Trivial Pursuit.

Q. Wat doet men als men een vallende ster ziet?

A1. Een wens.
A2. Een wens doen.

Possibly a case of do support, but more likely a case of a mix up between lexical doen and dummy verb doen.

Four
From a rant by Hans Lebbis on television yesterday.

Dokter Phil moet dood.

This reminded me of the Scots The dishes need done, but it's not X needs V'ed, but X needs A, meaning X needs ?(to be) made A.

Now just to figure out what's actually going on. But I'm too lazy for that, and have other things to do.

I'm speaking foreign (revisited)*

In the cd shop today, upon purchasing (among other things) the cd Canto Ostinato – over an hour of very repetitive contemporary classical music, which is very entrancing – I had the following conversation with the person behind the sales counter:

Him: Ja, die is net onlangs opnieuw uitgebracht.
Me: O, is-tie?

Another one for the collection of English things I say in Dutch.

* The original (draft) title for this post was tag questions, but I'm not sure this qualifies as one.

Nationalities (revisited)

After a previous post about fluid notions of nationality in professional cycling, here's another example from (inter)national top sport. The television commentary on Lornah Kiplagat's world championship cross-country running, earlier this year in Mombasa, Kenya:

Kiplagat heeft het waargemaakt in eigen land. Wereldkampioene op de lange cross. Wat een fantastische prestatie van deze Nederlandse.

Kiplagat did not become (Dutch) sportswoman of the year 2007.

Notes of mystery

Because I am foreseeing lots of marking this week, I'm not really starting any big projects. This is the perfect time to tidy my desk, put stuff in the appropriate files (or the waste-paper bin) and generally get a bit more organized.

And then I find a piece of paper which I think – from the notes on it – dates from about September 2006. On the note is a mysterious sequence of abbreviations:

BS
IS

CB
DC
DPlay

BH
IH
BC
IC
C.

I have no idea what I meant by this. I'm chucking out the note because it's now useless. If I ever get a brainwave and think, ‘I wrote down ten abbreviations on a piece of paper that had to do with this’, this blog post will have saved them for posterity...

More Computing Services

There is more to tell, which I will do over the next week when I do not foresee a whole load of useful work to be done apart from marking EL1 exams, from which I will probably take a couple of breaks which I can then use for blogging. In the mean time, another gem from Computing Services, stressing once again that unavailability of systems is their primary goal:

Problem with access to WebCT - MALTS

We are experiencing problems with users being able to log into WebCT at present. We are investigating and will rectify the problem as soon as possible.

Users being able to log on to WebCT. Well, we can't have that, surely...

Computing Services work ethic

This morning I thought I'd check whether any of my first years had posted any panicky questions to the forum on WebCT. Unfortunately, the MyEd portal was down, with some services working, and others (among them WebCT) not. They provided a link to the homepage of the Information Services Applications Division, where I could find more information.

Not really.

But they did have a news article:

Infrastructure unplanned availability remains above 99.5% generally.

All services other than eFinancials (which experienced a weekend outage in October) are showing greater than 99.9% availability so far this year.

Surely what they mean is that unplanned unavailability remains below 0.5% (or rather 0.1%) generally, but got themselves in a bit of a knot when they tried to give a positive twist to the story. Now it seems like the availability of IT services at the university is a complete fluke, and that Computing Services had nothing to do with it. At least they never planned for this to happen. Of course, with the Computing Services' track record, this is entirely possible.

Also, it's a bit fishy and number-juggly to boast about your achievements (or chance's achievements, for that matter) and exclude the things that didn't work. That's like saying (the former) Yugoslavia is a very peaceful area, if you only ignore the gazillion wars they've fought down there.

New money

The Bank of Scotland (one of three banks in Scotland that issue paper money) issued a new series of banknotes on 17 September, and it wasn't until last Thursday that I finally managed to get new money out of the cash machine.

I like them.

Most people find them very similar to the euro banknotes. This may well be because the previous series of Bank of Scotland banknotes (as well as the current series of Royal Bank of Scotland notes, Bank of England notes, and in particular Clydesdale Bank notes) looked like it was printed in Poland in 1934, and the design finally looks like it may have been done this century. Apart from British money, the only money people here know are US dollars (which look even shiter), and euros. So I think the main reason why people think the new notes look like euros is that they look modern.

The other euro-like feature is that the design is based on bridges. But whereas euro notes feature imaginary bridges that exist only in the brain of Robert Kalina, the bridges on the new Scottish notes are real. The £10 note I have features Glenfinnan Viaduct. The one major design flaw I could spot was that it does in fact say this, in what I estimate to be a 36-point font, whereas the text Ten Pounds is only in about a 14-point font. (The reverse/front has a picture of Sir Walter Scott. Here they do have Ten Pounds in 36 points, and Sir Walter Scott in approximately 6 points.)

The Glenfinnan Viaduct, by the way, is on the way to Fort William. It apparently appears in three Harry Potter movies, notably The Chamber of Secrets where there is a whole scene of the Hogwarts Express crossing the viaduct.

But comparing the £10 note to other countries' banknotes, I find them quite similar to the 8th series of Swiss banknotes, designed by Jörgen Zintzmeyer. I find these really clever, both because of the upright rather than oblong design, and because all banknotes are equally wide but incrementally taller as the denomination increases. This goes in steps of 11 mm, and exactly the top 11 mm of each banknote includes a specifically coloured bar, the denomination, and the Swiss cross. Genius.

The Swiss are planning on changing their banknotes again, but the current plans are not necessarily an improvement.

Also, with the new Bank of Scotland design, I am now preferring their banknotes over all the others, where I previously liked the Royal Bank designs best. Clydesdale designs still suck, and I can only hope they'll get their act together and introduce something new soon...

SUSCDF 2007

This Saturday was SUSCDF, conveniently in Edinburgh. I had been part looking forward to it – as I do to most dances on the university programme, because that means seeing all those nice people that you don't get too see very often – and part dreading it. The dread was because of the dem, which I have previously said shall not be mentioned. Much.

The dem went better than expected, and probably as well as could optimistically be expected given the choreography and the music we were supposed to do it to. Glasgow had a traditional-type dem like we normally do, Celtic did the same Variations on a Theme-type dem that they always do, and Aberdeen have now managed to get seven couples in a Schiehallion reel, with eight planned for SUSCDF 2008.

Dance-wise, I don't think I've done as many dances off a programme as I did this Saturday for a long time. I only missed the two on either side of our dem, and I sat out Purple Heather Jig, as I do not understand, comprehend, grasp nor get any colour of Heather Jig. I think we raised some eyebrows when Johann asked me to waltz with him. Apparently he's wanting to improve his waltzing as a lady. (Scary images of Little Britain happening now.) I also danced with Bobby until he managed to rip a scab off his hand and started bleeding like a pig,* so I replaced him with Andy.** And I danced with Zsofia, Anna, Jen, Heather, Liz, Jenni, Holly, Jessie, Kirsty F.,*** Fran, Kirsty F.,**** Cara, Sarah, Jenni, Erika (those five in Caddam Wood, so they don't really count), Rosie, Kirsty F. again,***** and Emma.

* In Dutch you bleed like an ox, which sounds less pejorative, if only marginally so.
** What are Celtic doing right that we aren't?
*** Originally Edinburgh, now St Andrews.
**** Originally Newcastle, now Aberdeen.
***** As ****.******
****** Not the best system, these asterisks. I may have to look into using superscript, or be all old-fashioned about it. From Robert Bringhurst's Elements of Typographic Style: "For footnotes, symbols can be used if the notes are few. (The traditional order is * † ‡  || ¶. But beyond the asterisk, dagger and double dagger, this order is not familiar to most readers, and never was.) Numbers are more transparent, and their order is much less easy to confuse." Good to know Bringhurst doesn't trust all readers not to confuse the order of numbers...

The after dance party was slightly hard work. As soon as I got there I decided that it had probably been a bad plan to go, but then inertia took over and I didn't leave until quite a while later, and I was home and in bed by 3am.

Dancing

The Dunedin night that Jen and I ran together was a big success. The dances were quite manic but most people appeared to cope. Afterwards we got lots of thanks and compliments for a good programme, which was nice. The best was this old frail-looking woman who first asked me where my accent is from, and then said the programme was very nice, and that she'd also said this to 'the Jen girl'.

I don't know where my accent is from. I know where I am from, but my accent is a mutt. I have been playing with the idea of having Warren record me and put my realizations in the NeighborNet programme, to see what I come out closest to, but transcribing 110 words is a lot of work and it's not really benefiting anyone, so thus far I have been reluctant to ask.

I have now also been social convenor for New Scotland for about a month. It's quite good fun to puzzle the programmes together, and to make sure that it's not too repetitive, too difficult or too boring, to make sure that the most important dances from the most important upcoming dance programmes are covered, etc. Finding callers is maybe a bit more of a challenge, but I try to cover a couple of weeks at a time in an e-mail and I also wave the social programme around on Thursday nights and press people into calling.

This Saturday is SUSCDF. It's going to be in Edinburgh, which is conveniently close. I'm sure it's going to be a ball.

There is also a dem. We shall not talk about that. People might not survive.

Sir Bob was wrong

The good news is that I don't have to teach discourse analysis and computer-mediated communication for at least another year. And that's assuming I'll still be here next year, and that I'll still be teaching English Language 1. If I'm not, I mightn't have to teach these things for even longer.

However, in general, Fridays are not very good days. They consist of a lot of running around. I'm teaching from 10 to 12, then there's the postgraduate lunch in Teviot (something that over a year into the project still doesn't want to take off, but we keep trying), and then there's usually a research group meeting of some description from 1 to 2. Which means that by the time I come to my office ready to actually do some work, I'm completely drained of energy, and like fuck am I going to start anything new.

Mondays, in comparison, are much better. Freshly re-energized from the weekend, I do not have teaching in the morning, and the fortnightly research group is at the sensible time of 3pm. Once you get back from that, there just is not really any time to start anything new anyway, so it's okay to just sit and answer some e-mails. So I actually quite like Mondays.

Not only Bob Geldof and his Boomtown Rats had the wrong end of the stick with their I don't like Mondays. It also appears that Fridays get a much more positive review in popular culture: I remember Friday on my mind by the Easybeats, and Friday I'm in love by the Cure. Of course this is not likely to be a representative sample of the weekday song population, but as it's a Friday afternoon, I'm really not going to research this in depth.

On average, though, this year's lot appears to be a bit more on the ball than last year's, although they may not necessarily speak a whole lot more. I'm also not sure of their ontheballness comes out of a general interest in the topic – I suspect this to be the case for some of them – or out of an obsession with high marks and wanting to know exactly what to say in an exam and how to say it, rather than wanting to understand what a phoneme actually is or what the point is of conversation analysis – I am quite sure a number of my kiddies fall into this category.

Do I know what the point is of conversation analysis? No. Do I care? Not really.

By this time last year, I had seven of my then first-years having befriended me on Facebook. One group even had a tutorial group reunion (well, the people that they could remember, anyway – and quite frankly, I had forgotten about a fair number of them as well) two weeks ago, for which I was invited as well. I had expected it to be slightly awkward, but it was actually quite good fun. This year, I have more students, but none of them have tried to befriend me on Facebook yet. There was a vague attempt in one group (the Thursday group) to have a tutorial outing, but that never got properly organized. There was mention of the Big Cheese though, so I'm not exactly sorry it came to nothing...

I'm looking forward to teaching starting again in the first week of next semester, with some interesting topics: social and geographical variation in English, and history of English. The days will be getting longer by then, so Fridays may no longer be as depressing.

Dunedin Dancers

Courtesy of Jen and myself tonight:

1. Minard Castle (R 8x40)
2. Campbeltown Loch (J 4x48)
3. Schiehallion (S 64 + R 64)
4. Gothenburg's Welcome (J 8x32)
5. Neidpath Castle (S 3x32)
6. Rest and Be Thankful (R 8x32)
7. The Bees of Maggieknockater (J 4x32)
8. Caddam Wood (R 5x32)
9. Bonnie Lass of Bon Accord (S 64)
10. Glens of Angus (R 4x32)
11. The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh (R 8x40)

Nationalities

This bit from the Sportgeschiedenis Weblog made me smile:

In 1997 klopte de Oekraïner Andrej Tsjmil (de Moldavische Belg had op dat moment de Oekraïense nationaliteit) de Italiaanse Engelsman Maximillian Sciandri in Parijs - Tours in een sprint met twee. De Australische Nederlander Henk Vogels werd trouwens knap derde. De gemiddelde snelheid werd vastgesteld op 48,929 (!) km/u.

A Ukrainian who is actually a Moldavian Belgian, an Italian Englishman and an Australian Dutchman (who at other points in his career was a Dutch Australian, to make things even more transparent). Fluent identities, or something.

Important issues

Why, pray tell, did the International Olympic Committee decide to change their country code for Romania from ROM to ROU in January 2007? It doesn't make sense. The country is called România in its own language, and Romania in English, both of which would give ROM. Only French (Roumanie) would give ROU. So why change a code that makes perfect sense into something that makes less sense?

It looks ugly too.

Mess

The package of stir fry vegetables wasn't supposed to fall over and knock over the pot of yoghurt that then rolled off the worktop and made a big "thud", splashing yoghurt all over the kitchen floor and lower regions of the kitchen cupboard.

However, I don't think it was aware of that.

Myshele said it wasn't very cooperative yoghurt. This is true. It was Tesco's.

A bit of Language Log

This is probably evidence of me being such a geek that I can't even help doing linguistics in my spare time. But oh well, here goes.

The ferry from Norway to the Faroes got into a spell of bad weather over the weekend. One of the propellor engines ended up above water, turned itself off in an emergency procedure, another engine gave up because it couldn't deal with the extra demand, the whole ship turned at a right angle to the direction of the waves and started tilting back and forth, oscillating between 45 degrees either side. Not nice, and I don't think I'll take a ferry across the North Atlantic any time soon.

Today, Faroese news carries a story about two Danish for whom this was their first ferry experience, and who thought the whole ordeal was unpleasant, but apparently a necessary part of the trip. (Subtext: silly Danes who've never been on a boat before!)

Tvey av ferðafólkunum við Norrönu hendan nú famøsa túrin vóru ikki serliga bangin. Tað var nevniliga fyrstu ferð tey sigldu, og tí vistu tey ikki, at tey upplivdu nakað út yvir tað vanliga.

The bit in red took a while to parse. I wanted it to read "on Norröna's now famous trip", but couldn't figure out the possessive construction. Whether you use a defunct genitive or a way cooler accusative possessive construction, the possessor would typically follow the possessed NP, and that NP would not be definite (as the possessive construction itself makes it definite). The accusative one also doesn't work because it's restricted to familial relations – although it would be cool to see it spread to other relations as well...

After a while I realized, slightly disappointed, that we have two separate adjuncts, a PP við Norrönu and a temporal accusative NP hendan nú famøsa túrin. Maybe it's still cool that they're using a noun with very little temporal semantic content in that way? (Trying desperately to salvage the situation.)

Also,

Donsku hjúnini ætla sær at sigla niður aftur til Danmarkar.

"Down to Denmark" – now would that be because it's further South, or because Denmark (highest point 120 metres or so) is actually a lot lower than the Faroes (880 m)? Or actually, seeing as they still do directions with Norway as a point of reference (útnyrðingur 'north-west', landsynningur 'south-east'), might it have to do with Norway being even higher (2400 m, I think it was)?

And,

Tey eru annars komin heim at vitja vinfólk í Føroyum.

Interesting use of the word heim there. Obviously, the Faroes are not "home" to our friends, because if it were, they would most certainly have been on a boat before. They did not come home to visit friends in the Faroes, but they left home to do so. But apparently, the Faroes are "home" whichever way you look at it.


* Finally, samstundis sum dótturin spýið maga og merg úr sær which is a cool expression: to spit stomach and marrow out of yourself. I was wondering why there was a past participle spýið, because surely this was not a counterfactual and the little girl actually sicked all over the North Atlantic, but it's a typo for spýði, which is a boring past tense. (The infinitive is spýggja, which in turn is cool because of the skerping.)
** Bedtime now.

Urban exploring

I went for a walk along the Water of Leith with Christina yesterday.


On the way to the point where we met (which was an hour's walk, and I later found out Christina had thought I would probably take a bus) I finally took a picture of the road sign that had grabbed my attention a couple of times before. I was never a real fan of rap music, but somehow this grafitti conveys a nice nostalgic feeling...


Slateford isn't the most inspiring area of Edinburgh, and it got worse the further south I walked, but sometimes there were nice views to be had. Somehow I like this railway going toward the Pentlands.


Nice autumnal colours.


Some local fauna in the Water of Leith. Spotting the heron would be a lot easier if I had had a proper camera on me, but as I only remembered that I should have taken it when I was already more than ten minutes from home, I decided the camera on my phone would do.


Really, there was nowhere else to go.


Or was there? We just soldiered on anyway.


The Edinburgh Street Naming Committee does not discriminate.


Some more local fauna.

After that it was Apfelstrudel and vanilla ice cream at Christina's flat, and there was much tiredness.

I'm speaking foreign

A silly advertising website by Philips for their new range of electric razors. It's filled with non-sequiturs, or perhaps I'm just too thick to understand what's going on. On their main website you have to choose your country and language to proceed. The option for the Netherlands was ‘Netherlands: English’. What the fuck?

So I chose ‘Belgium: Nederlands’. I'm not sure if that was wise.

I've heard people saying that Dutch is turning into English, what with us having our own Great Vowel Shift and all, but this takes the cake.

Not very amused.

The desert is a sea of sand

In between marking first-year assignments on phonology and morphology (some people need to be very afraid), I managed to finish another book that I bought in my September shopping spree. Paul Torday's Salmon fishing in the Yemen took three baths and an hour on the futon to finish.

The book isn't written in a normal narrative style. I seem to have a sixth sense for picking up books that are slightly odd like that. This one is a collection of diary entries, e-mails, letters, interviews, interrogations and extracts from an unpublished autobiography. It makes for a very dynamic read, which is probably why it didn't take that long to read (although I do take very long baths and slightly lose track of time).

Main character in the book is Dr Alfred Jones of the National Centre for Fisheries Excellence. He lives for his work, has no social life to speak of apart from a loveless marriage of convenience, and is slightly detached from reality. Sounds familiar. He is approached by a Yemeni sheikh who is interested in introducing salmon into a wadi in (the)* Yemen. This is of course a ridiculous project but after the British government gets involved Jones is put under sufficient pressure that he does some feasibility studies. He gets more and more convinced that it can be done, and while the government – influenced by the sketchy communications officer at No 10 who sees electoral opportunities everywhere, a very dislikeable chap – get(s)** uninvolved and involved again, salmon is being introduced into the desert. It doesn't all go exactly according to plan, but oh well, and it supposedly shows that the sheikh was right that everything can be done if you believe in it enough.

I'm not sure that that is the lesson I'm supposed to learn from this. I guess it's one, the other one being that political spin doctors are evil – but we knew that already. Still, I'm kind of sad that I finished the book already, and I would have liked to see what would have happened to the salmon. (They got netted and eaten, but what would have happened to them if they had been allowed to do their business? Would they colonize the Indian Ocean and diverge into a separate subspecies? I am way too Dr Jonesy for my own good.)


* No article for me here.
** If this was a formal piece of writing, the s would be dropped.
Footnoting your own blog posts for linguistic variation is a bit sad.

Purposeful phrasing

Much back-blogging needed. Meanwhile...

Yvette Lont, councillor in Amsterdam-Zuidoost for the Christian Union, is putting in a motion for a change in the bye-laws of her party, to the effect that openly gay members of the party should no longer be allowed to represent the party in official positions. Now she's been sued by a VVD (liberal) councillor for inciting hatred and discrimination. Eddy Meyer's phrasing cannot be incidental:

Met deze actie werpt zij haar schaapskleren af en komt zij uit de kast met haar ultraorthodoxe karakter.

Source

English clock

I saw a cool clock on the gadget reviews part of a Dutch news website (here). It tells you the time not in numbers, but in words, so it has a part that has numbers one, two, three, four, ..., ten, eleven, twelve and a part that has phrases five past, ten past, quarter past, ..., ten to, five to. The website shows a nice picture of this clock.

There is also a link to Amazon, where you can buy it. Amazon has a picture as well, with two clocks. One as described above, the other one saying één, twee, drie, vier, ..., tien, elf, twaalf and vijf over, tien over, kwart over, ..., tien voor, vijf voor. In Dutch.

This gadget website usually works in a very non-journalistic way: copy, paste, don't read closely and get things wrong, and steal pictures from your source website. But I wonder why they cropped the Amazon image to show the English clock rather than the Dutch one.

I suppose it's cool or something.

Style don't

Surely it is wrong for boys to wear Ugg boots?

Faroese musings

Edd (ð)
Ð is a strange letter in Faroese. It is only there because Icelandic has it, but it is never pronounced. That is, sometimes it indicates a weird type of linking sound, and there are allomorphic alternations with d (as in deyður 'dead' - deydlingur 'dead body'), but in general it's just there for its prettiness value. This results in Faroese people having no idea where to spell it and where not to:

• In the centre of Tórshavn, there's a big rectangle painted on a wall where kids play football. In the rectangle it says MÁLÐ (correct: mál 'goal'). Someone has scribbled a question mark there, with an arrow to the Ð, but it's been there for ages, and it's sort of become an iconic symbol of either silly Faroese spelling rules or of Faroese schoolkids not mastering those rules.


• When we were having lunch in one of Tórshavn's fine establishments at Ólavsøka 2004, the menu read MATSKRÁÐ. Again, the correct form is without a ð, matskrá 'menu' (literally 'food list'). We (and with 'we' I mean 'I') scribbled out the Ð but I doubt it had any effect.


• The writing on the van that belongs to the Faroese natural history museum reads Náttúragripasavni. This should have a ð on the end.

Right, so much for the introduction. Misplaced ðs sometimes lead to some confusion or amusement, this much is clear. But the example I spotted this morning takes the cake. In an article on the main (free) Faroese news website about the musical influences for some 80s Faroese rock band that are making a comeback (heaven help us), it said one of them was Uriað Heap. Right.

Syntactic change
Less interesting maybe is an example of syntactic change in progress. I like Faroese because the verb to like doesn't take a subject, it only takes an experiencer and a patient object. (To love on the other hand takes an agent subject and a patient object. Spot the semantic difference.) So usually you would get:

Mær dámar tónleikin
me.dat like.3sg music-acc.def
'I like the music'

But on the same page as the Uriað Heap thing, in the list of current chat topics:

Hví dáma fólk betur pen enn ljót menniskjur?
why like.pl people.ntr.nom.pl better pretty.ntr.acc.pl than ugly.ntr.acc.pl person.ntr.acc.pl?
'Why do people like pretty people better than ugly people?'

Assigning case to these is a bit dodgy, as Faroese has nominative-accusative syncretism in neuter (as, in fact, all Indo-European). But fólk is definitely not the dative it should be (fólkum), and moreover, the verb agrees with a plural subject likely to be fólk rather than being impersonal and in the 3rd person singular.

Hví dámar fólkum betur pen enn ljót menniskjur?

This is not spectacular or anything. It's been going on for a while, and the same thing happened to impersonal verbs in mainland Scandinavian, Dutch and English (me thinks, for example), but it's still cool to see some syntactic change in action.

So, Dumbledore eh?

According to the Beeb and J. K. Rowling, Albus Dumbledore, the late headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was gay. Although this isn't made explicit in the book, this was Rowling's image of the man, and she even made sure that a reference in the sixth Harry Potter movie script to a childhood girlfriend of Dumbledore's, which isn't in the book either, was removed. Rowling is well aware that this gives our evangelical friends one more reason to hate the books, but who cares.

As per the BBC,

... a spokesman for gay rights group Stonewall added: "It's great that JK has said this. It shows that there's no limit to what gay and lesbian people can do, even being a wizard headmaster."

Well, yes, apart from the fact that it's actualy impossible for anyone, gay or straight, to become a wizard headmaster, as such beasts are things of fiction and do not really exist in real life.

This, by the way, has been the most read and most e-mailed news story on the BBC website all day. So it's apparently very important.

There's a time and place for everything

Dinner time conversation was about silly names I got from the Dunkirk marriage registers. Lupus who turned out to be Wolfgang, a Swiss mercenary. Or Iler, in Latin Hilarius, which was Hillary. And there were a couple of Ægidiuses, which prompted some Middle Dutch poetry recital:

Egidius, waer bestu bleven?
Mi lanct na di, gheselle myn

This in turn prompted a modern Dutch parody:

Egidius, waer bestu bleven?
Het is al twintig over zeven

Then Myshele asked for the time and it was, in fact, 19:20.

Buses

As is commonly known, driving on the wrong left side of the road is one of many things people in England Britain do wrong differently. What I've only just realized, is that English British Scottish buses tend to have the order of the information on them wrong mixed up inverted. So instead of, for example,

22 Emmen

which was the bus I took to high school, they say,

Penicuik 37

which will bring you to IKEA.

It all makes perfect sense if you insist on driving on the wrong left side of the road, of course, seeing as in both cases it's easier to see the bus numbers in a big long line of buses if you're standing on the pavement. But that doesn't make it right.

Diagnosis murder

From the Beeb:

Symptoms develop after three to 10 days, and include flu-like illness, inflammation of the brain, coma and death.

Hmm... if death is a symptom of the disease, then you're pretty much fucked from the start. Quite scary stuff, this.

I was going to comment on the world being a healthier place before mass long-distance travel, when all we had was the occasional outbreak of ergot giving entire villages a nice trippy experience. But even then there was the plague being spread by rats travelling on ships to Norway (Det kom eit skip til Bjørgvin and all that), and I don't suppose the mass long-distance travel that were the crusades were the healthiest pastimes around. And then of course there is the case of mass long-distance travel being caused (well, facilitated, more like) by an unhealthy situation (*).

(*) Exodus 7-12, mainly.(**)
(**) Airport gates, and exits more generally, are called έξοδος in Greek. I wonder whether flights to Tel Aviv depart from Gate 12...

In the past week I have...

• been to Ikea and bought a Billy and a Benno, among other things;


• finished The English by Jeremy Paxman (see below);


• had the Evil Article finally accepted in Transactions of the Philological Society;


• been sore-footed, for which I blame KH's idea that we should set with a 150 degree turnout;


• failed to get internet banking, probably because they only have my mobile and I gave them the landline and so there are ‘discrepancies’ between different sets of information;


• decided to do some NeighborNet stuff for my PhD, as well as do some geostatistics;


• contacted the necessary people to actually do NeighbourNet stuff and geostatistics;


• learned about Romance plurals;


• purchased two Faroese CDs through iTunes – Fram á hermótið by Páll Finnur Páll (*) and Hugafar á ferð by Høgni Reistrup;


• done some other things not worth mentioning.

Book review:

Paxman sets out on a mission to explain why the English are so damn, well, English. This mainly involves an explanation of how the English are so English, of what Englishness actually is. Another recurring argument in the book is that the English actually aren't very English at all; this is reserved for a tiny proportion of the English that Paxman calls ‘the Breed’. The Breed are the ones that live in the countryside, that are all about honour, dignity, patriotism and Etonian nepotism, that think "what-ho" and "jolly" are actual words, that excel at hunting and sports, that would gladly sacrifice a limb if it meant a Frog or a Kraut would lose two – all these quintessentially English things. The rest of them are really poor buggers who don't even have an identity. The Scots, Welsh and Irish are better off than the plebs of England; they may have been kicked off their land and replaced by sheep, or sent to work in the mines, but at least they have an identity.

But although Paxman's book is a very enjoyable read, and quite instructive about the essence of Englishness and its diachronic continuity within the Breed, I haven't been able to figure out the real crux: why are the English, if only a select few of them, so English? Or more importantly, why are most of them not?

(*) In Faroese this gets a dative: við Pálli Finni Pálli. Joyful geekery.

Beastly food

Welcome to Tesco's.

stir fry veggies	1.29
pâté	0.58
butter	1.12
yoghurt	0.58
milk	1.34
bread	0.68
chocolate cookies	1.07
total	6.66

And six points on my clubcard, too.

Birds and stones

Today we got rid of:

• six litres of out-of-date Irn Bru;


• three litres of out-of-date lemonade;


• four litres of out-of-date Coca-Cola (all from Freshers' Weekend 2006);


• the clog in the bathroom sink.

Accomplishment.

Why I missed my tutorial

Paraphrasing:

Sorry, but I had to do a week's military service in South Korea.

The disturbing thing is that it's true.

More bookblog

This one I forgot last time, mainly because I'd lend it to JF, so it wasn't on my bookshelf to remind me of its brilliant randomness:

• The Book of Dave by Will Self. I really only knew Self from his appearances on Shooting Stars (uvavu, uranu, ulrikakakakakakakaka!). His persona there was someone utterly devoid of human emotion, with a heavily sarcastic view of the world and an ego that would fill several continents. I think I was right; or at least, this book shows that Will Self is positively certifiable. The plot: London taxi driver Dave is going through a bit of a rough patch. His loveless marriage broken up, he doesn't get to see his son, and everyone seems to want something from him. Dave then goes completely insane and writes a massive misogynistic rant addressed to his son. This involves a complete separation of the sexes after puberty. Also, his arrogance as keeper of The Knowledge (e.g., where Woodburn Place is) shines through as well. In a fit of rage he buries the book, printed on metal for some odd reason, in his ex-wife's backyard. Centuries later, people find it and base a new religion on it. Suppressive new world order, that sort of thing. At times the book is a bit difficult to plough through, but it is a very challenging and mind-engaging read. (I still think Will Self should be locked up, for his own safety if not for ours. He can still appear on t'telly though.)

Then two of the recently-bought ones:

• Adrian Mole and the weapons of mass destruction by Sue Townsend. This reads as a diary, a year in the life of Adrian Mole. It is not a very interesting life as such, but it's woven together by a whole string of randomness. An insane relationship that is doomed to fail, a lifestyle that he can't afford, and his struggle to get a refund for a £57 deposit for a holiday in Cyprus (which he cancelled because Tony Blair had said that Iraq could develop weapons of mass destructions that could easily reach Cyprus in 45 minutes, which obviously makes it a Dangerous Place to Be).


• A spot of bother by Mark Haddon. Wow. Nothing at all like The curious incident with the dog in the night time, but possibly even better. For one, it's not written from the perspective of an autistic kid, so it's slightly easier to relate to. There are 144 chapters, divided between four perspectives. Plot summary from the back of the book (paraphrased as I've lent the book to EM now): daughter Katie is marrying Ray, whom the family don't like. Son Jamie is not willing to bring his boyfriend to the wedding, afraid that his parents will make a scene about it. Mother Jean is cheating on her husband with one of his former work colleagues. And father George gets squished in the middle of all this, while he also finds a rather bothersome spot on his skin and decides he has skin cancer. This is only the beginning, watch it evolve. Because the 144 chapters are so short, it's very easy to think, ‘oh, just one more chapter’, so it didn't take too long to finish.

The irony

A small avalanche-slash-episode of falling rocks in Tórshavn today, at undir Bryggjubakka in the harbour. A rather unfortunate event, especially for the two cars that got slightly damaged.


Photo credit: Jens Kr. Vang, www.portal.fo

Note the green sign in the background: this is supposed to be the safe point in case of an emergency.

Oops

I went to Cameron Toll. W H Smith's has 3 for 2 on everything (yes, everything!), and Waterstone's has 3 for 2 on selected items. Today's purchases are...

• A spot of bother by Mark Haddon;


• Love over Scotland by Alexander McCall Smith;


• Salmon fishing in the Yemen by Paul Torday;


• The English by Jeremy Paxman;


• Empire by Niall Ferguson; and


• Adrian Mole and the weapons of mass destruction by Sue Townsend.
  

Reviews in due course.

I also bought a DVD: Delicatessen, which is a French movie about a butcher in France just after the war, who is keeping up with demand by killing people. Could be interesting...

Meanwhile, I finished another book – Ik mis alleen de Hema by Manon Sikkel and Marion Witter. Stories about people who emigrated from the Netherlands. Some stayed abroad, some returned. For some of them it was exactly like they expected, other people's lives took a very unexpected turn. All in all rather quite enjoyable reading, but nothing world-shocking. Also, only two of the people actually said they missed the Hema. I don't, because we've got good shops here too and I was never addicted to Hema-rookworsten anyway.

New favourite word

From yesterday's Sosialurin...

Avdottin fólk og rúsdrekkakoyring

Hóast vikuskiftið hevur verið friðaligt, hava fleiri fólk verið og sovið rúsin av sær. Eisini eru 4 fólk tikin fyri rúsdrekkakoyring.

Bæði fríggja- og leygarkvøldið var mestsum fult á støðini í Jónas Broncksgøtu. Vakthavandi greiðir frá, at tey fáa nógvar áheitanir frá fólki, sum tíðliga um morgunin finna avdottin fólk í garðinum ella í túninum hjá sær. Eisini fólk, sum eru á veg heim úr býnum og síggja fólk liggja avdottin, ringja til løgregluna at boða frá.
Umframt avdottin fólk, vóru eisini fýra dømi um rúsdrekkakoyring um vikuskiftið. Tveir førarar vórðu tiknir í Suðuroynni, ein varð tikin í miðstaðarøkinum og ein varð tikin í Eysturoynni.
Vakthavandi sigur, at allir førarar høvdu eina promillu, ið var yvir tað loyvda, og onkur kann vænta at missa koyrikortið. Blóðroyndir vórðu tiknar, og einki er tó vist fyrr enn blóðroyndirnar eru afturkomnar.

It literally means ‘fallen off’, but it is used for people who are so drunk they just fall asleep. In this case, in other people's gardens – and not just the one person either. These Scandinavians and their alcohol...

Incidentally, the police station is in Jónas Bronck Street. According to the Faroese, Bronck was a famous Faroese sailor that the Bronx in New York City is named after. This is almost certainly untrue; a Swedish sailor of the same name is more likely to have given his name to the area. But hey, if you can't have an area of New York, I suppose a street in downtown Tórshavn is a decent alternative...

Culture

It's been a while since I updated with a list of books recently read. In no particular order...

Harry Potter and the deathly hallows (J K Rowling) – There's no need to say very much about this. The end was a bit anti-climactic and dragged on for a bit longer than it really should. Things were repeated again and again, which was a little bit annoying. Yes I know this by now, you've only explained it three times before! Then again, as I was later reminded of, it is a children's book.

De brug (Geert Mak) – This was this year's free book gift in the Dutch book promotion week. Mak takes us to İstanbul, to the bridge that links the European and the Asian bits of the city. The story is about the people living and working on the bridge: coffee sellers, shoeshiners, people that sell random bits of junk, and people that steal it away from you just as quickly. People that have come from the countryside to get a better life in the city, and failed. But really it's the story of the bridge itself, of İstanbul, and of Turkey.

De magie van de eilanden (Ben Hoekendijk) – A non-live travel journal of a man doing a solo crossing of the North Sea, from the Netherlands to Fair Isle, Shetland, the Faroes, Orkney, the Farne Islands, and back. Nice because I recognize a fair bit from my own travels to Shetland and the Faroes, but at times rather annoying for technical speak (slightly too detailed on how an automatic steering installation works) or his emphasis on 'spiritual' (read: quite seriously Christian) things.

Zoektocht in Katoren (Jan Terlouw) – The sequel to that great classic, Koning van Katoren. Again we see a cumbersome adventure through the country, visiting all sorts of cities, each with their own problem which is an exaggerated version of something from Real Society (people suing each other over nothing, Health and Safety rules gone berserk, animal rights in the meat industry, etc.). I always found Koning van Katoren really clever, but the issues in this book were so obvious! Or would it have been the fact that I've grown older since reading Koning van Katoren (about 20 years, in fact), and that great classic, too, is in fact political commentary very thinly disguised?

Rottumerplaat (Jan Wolkers) – The €1 edition (heavily cut) of the 1971 diary of Jan Wolkers' stay on this uninhabited island. Wolkers is basically a bit of dirty old man but at the same time very loving to animals. Oddness. But perfect for a short train ride. Also from the €1 promotional series, Heblust by Ronald Giphart. Which therefore is completely about sex, so slightly ambivalent feelings toward that one.

Think that's probably it for now.

Cleaning Services

At Support Services we are always trying to improve the service we provide to you. To improve communication and make it easier to contact the staff when you have a problem or need assistance we have now trained all our cleaning supervisors on Outlook. If you have any issues that you wish resolved regarding cleaning or suggestings for improvement then please feel free to contact the relevant supervisor.

Trained on Outlook. Suggestions for improvement? Ehm...

I hope you find the above useful.

Yes. My life is complete now. I can e-mail the cleaning guy.

This was distributed to all the desks in all the rooms. What a waste of paper. Of course, we will now all chuck these sheets and then have to deal with angry cleaners who get hernias because the waste paper bags are so heavy.

Discourse analysis

Your discourse analysis homework du jour:

Nous informons notre aimable clientèle que tout linge emporté lui sera facturé.

Nous vous remercions de votre compréhension.

La direction

What is strange about this? And what does it mean?

Marriage

Or, why I was in Duinkerken:



The joy of ancient marriage registers. I am very indebted to Johannes van de Cnocke for at least having a legible handwriting (see above). Most of the other ministers are a lot more difficult to read.

So, when I get back to Edinburgh, I can look forward to browsing through 800+ photographs of microfilm images of the marriage registers of Duinkerken, four to six photographs per spread, of the years ending in 7 between 1647 and 1697. Supposedly, and hopefully, this will give me the same kind of information* as I got from the Shetland marriage registers, and another decent chunk of PhD dissertation. From a very superficial browsing of the data, as I was taking pictures of it, it seems like there are some interesting things going on. Yay, another couple of days well spent.

* Possibly better, as for 1647 and 1657 they also list where the people were born, which gives an excellent picture of spatial mobility and social networks at the time. Unfortunately after the French came to power in 1662, this information was no longer recorded, or alternatively, everyone was just born in Duinkerken...

** iPhoto doesn't have an invert colours option, and Adobe Illustrator doesn't save as .JPG. Does anyone know of any decent picture editing software for the Mac?

Back

We left Armbouts-Kappele this morning at 9, had a short visit to Fort Mardijk (one of the most depressing places I have ever used linguistic data from), and left Duinkerken around 9.30, to arrive in The Hague about 12.45. We then had lunch, left The Hague at 14.45 to arrive at my parents' at 19.00. That last bit usually takes two and a half hours, but it was rather busy on the roads.

Now my back hurts. Stupid uncomfortable drivers' seat...

France

I am in France. This is evident from the font on the roadsigns rather than their content. Otherwise, it could just as well have been Belgium: Zuydcoote, Ghyvelde, Spycker, Armbouts-Cappel, Hondschoote, Pitgam, Teteghem, ...

Of course, it's only historical accident that this is in fact France, and not Belgium. (And another historical accident, quite related to the previous one, that it's not the Netherlands.) And that's why I'm here. Looking at population registers in the municipal archives of Duinkerken.* The marriage registers are quite interesting, and show some nice links to Flanders, at least before 1662 when Duinkerken became French. Afterwards, not very many Flemish origins are mentioned. If this means that there weren't any, that would be very interesting...

Very bored writing everything down by hand. It takes ages, because the documents (on microfilm) are handwritten in some 17th-century secretary hand. Time to bring in the camera, whoosh through decades of marriage registers and do the painstakingly boring work once I get back to Edinburgh.**

* The French sillily write Dunkerque on the road signs.
** They also insist that this should be Édimbourg.

Signage

Possibly the most opaque Canadian traffic sign. Not entirely sure what is not allowed here. No castagnettes? (We shuddered to think of the other very obvious option and possible ways to enforce it.)


Also in Montréal. Just so you know you really have to stop.


In Athens Airport. I'm always mildly amused when I drive to a place I've never been before, and they have signs up warning me that the traffic situation has changed. So what? But this is rather quite useless too: everything's the same! Honest!


Somewhere in Mitilini. Twenty years ago, this would have landed Greece on the Axis of Evil. Now it's just quaint. Bless 'em.


In the Olympic Airways plane with the deceptive registration SX-BIG. Note that this sign was stuck on the inside of the luggage bin, and that it therefore could only be read if the information it conveyed was false.


At Heathrow. "Data or files may be lost" is not something you want to hear when you're waiting for your luggage...

Some photos from Montréal and Μιτιλήνη

The flags


The flags in Montréal tended to come in fours, with the Québec flag flanked by those of Montréal, Canada, and the United States. Why the United States? I have no idea. Greece has a lot fewer flags than Canada, in my experience at least.

The skylines


Okay, so Mitilini doesn't really have a sky-line. But I didn't have a photo of the Montréal waterfront.

The local heroes


Bonus points for those who know why these people are famous. The one on the left is one Jean Drapeau, the one on the right is Vladimir Iljitsj Lenin Ελευθέριος Βενιζέλος (Elefthérios Venizélos), whom the airport in Athens is named after. (And whose statue looks in nothing like the guy on the photo on the information board next to it.)

It's all Greek to them

As everyone knows, Greek is written with the Greek alphabet. For the historical linguist geeks among you, since the time of Ancient Greek, the voiced stops β [b], γ [g] and δ [d] have become fricatives (so [v], [γ] and [ð] respectively). But sometimes they need to write the sounds [b], [d] and [g] still. Fortunately [p], [t] and [k] have voiced allophones in certain positions, so they just pretend that these phonological contexts are there in spelling.



My first encounter with this insane system was at 4am in a bookshop at Athens Airport, where we saw a book by one Γκρέγκορι Ντέιβιντ Ρόμπερτς (Gregory David Roberts). But you get used to it, and after a while it gets less of a challenge, but still quite good fun, to decipher what the bar price lists mean by Ρεντ Μπουλ, Γλενφίντιχ or Τζόνι Γουόκερ (interestingly, with l-vocalization, but incorrectly with [ʍ]).

Ils sont fous, ces Grecs.

Lesbos (Μιτιληνη)

Melt. Sigh.

Yet the semantics of that phrase are completely different to the description of Montréal.

More later.

Montréal

Melt.
Sigh.

At the zoo

Someone told me it's all happening at the zoo. I do believe it, I do believe it's true...

I joined the small expotition to Edinburgh Zoo last Sunday. We had LG, JW, JW's sister whose name I do not know, and their friend Gordon who also goes by Percy. As one does. JW is an important person who is in possession of The Membership, which gave me an additional discount on top of the student discount. I could theoretically have saved another 50p on the entrance fee by opting out of the voluntary donation that they don't really tell you is voluntary. But I was feeling charitable. Chimpanzees need a place to live as well.

There were many animals at the zoo, although there were at least equally many that should have been there according to the signs, but empirical evidence of their existence is lacking and the only possible scientific conclusions are that they are either imaginary or abducted by aliens and sold into slavery in the Andromeda nebula. (Poor sod who bought the sloth.)

The penguins went for a walk, but they did not do tap-dance nor did they burst out into polytonic renditions of classic Motown hits. Very disappointing. They must have been the wrong species.

The Avian antics were nice but also very scary. I wouldn't want to run into a turkey vulture in a dark alley on a cold November evening. (Or anywhere/anytime else.) We saw an otter having caught a little white mouse try to eat it but when he dove under for a second an evil seagull stole it. And the second one as well. I think some form of seagull deterrent near the otter enclosure is in order. Personally I was thinking about laser-guided nuclear missiles, but LG thought that was a bit harsh.

It was nice and sunny and I had a nice time and a hotdog (although not 'the greatest hotdog in the world' as they advertised on the carton).

Homer and the hippies

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/dorset/6901543.stm

The Simpsons movie comes out next month, and to get some extra publicity, a giant outline of Homer Simpson holding a doughnut has been painted next to the Cerne Abbas giant, an age-old chalk carving of a guy with certain attributes that make it quite clear why people nowadays think it was a fertility symbol.


(image stolen from the BBC website)

But the Wessex district manager of The Pagan Federation (there is such a person) isn't at all happy with this.

"I'm amazed they got permission to do something so ridiculous. It's an area of scientific interest."

Which is why Homer was painted in the field next to the giant. No longer an area of scientific interest.

"We were hoping for some dry weather but I think I have changed my mind. We'll be doing some rain magic to bring the rain and wash it away."

As we all know, the weather is made possible in cooperation with differences in athmospheric pressure, among other things. I doubt rain magic comes into the picture. I can see how a massive Homer could be offensive to people who regard the Cerne Abbas giant as a holy site, but threatening with rain magic just draws it right back into the realm of the ridiculous. Another point not scored by the neo-pagans.

Which doesn't mean I think it's an excellent idea to paint Homer on a hill, but that's beside the point.

Gezellig naar de Krim

I just saw the most horrendous television programme ever. Take a dozen couples of old age pensioners with caravans going on a mass holiday in the Crimea, and broadcast their adventures on national television. Why, pray tell, would this ever be a good idea? I only saw about ten minutes of the programme, but they were ten minutes of constant cringing.

At the fact they bought and pre-cooked-and-then-froze all their food in the Netherlands, so that they won't have to eat any of the Ukranian food. At the fact that they complain they can't get recent Dutch newspapers in the middle of nowhere in the Ukraine. At the fact they ridicule Ukranians for not speaking English. At the sorry state of their own English which makes me want to jump off the top floor of David Hume Tower in replacive shame. At the way they made custard by shaking the ingredients in a thermos - "because we don't have a mixer" - which of course wasn't closed properly so that the Ukranian campsite was covered in yellow mush.

At the fact that these are horrible examples of proletarians who should just have taken their sorry old excuses for a caravan to the fokking Veluwe - or the Sauerland or the Belgian Ardennes, if they were feeling adventurous. But most of all at the fact that all of this is on television and there are people who actually like to watch this.

Meanwhile... we had a couple of days of good weather. I did some cycling; I'm terribly out of shape (not as bad as some of the roads though) and now have severely sunburnt legs despite the suncream. I also bought two new CDs (Crowded House and Tori Amos) and two new DVDs (Flushed away and Wallace and Gromit and the Curse of the Wererabbit), some new clothes and a new book.

Bigotry

Danny Kennedy, deputy leader of the Ulster Unionist Party on the news that the British National Party may be recruiting in Northern Ireland:

"This isn't the kind of imported hate-mongering that we want or need in Northern Ireland."
(BBC News website, 3 July 2004)

Interpretation 1: We are perfectly capable of doing our own hate-mongering, and we have enough of it already, that we don't need extra hate-mongering brought in from England. (That last bit is a bit odd for the UUP, maybe?)

Interpretation 2: They're even bigoted when it comes to the origins of their bigotry.

Backblog (2): Norway

Skipping over a boring half-week with work and unsuccessfully trying to reschedule the generic Language in Context slot to Mondays, or Tuesdays, or anything but Wednesday afternoon... and we arrive at the 2nd PhD Conference in Linguistics and Philology, which was held in Bergen (Norway -- hence the post title) on June 4-6.

Flying out on the Sunday morning, a direct Widerøe flight from Edinburgh to Bergen in a relatively small propellor plane, although it was probably slightly bigger than the one I went to Shetland on last year. I had some difficulties tuning in to the flight attendant's strong Bergen accent, especially with the noise of the motors, but after five years of not actually speaking Norwegian I turned out to still be able to do so anyway. In Bergen I managed to get Norwegian money and find the airport bus to the center of town, and then quickly the hotel.

Hotel. This may be a bit of an overstatement. For £35 a night you would expect more than just a bed and a sink that doesn't actually drain, even in Norway. The light wasn't brilliant either (definitely not more than 30 W) but as it was summer and far North that didn't really matter as it didn't really get dark anyway. I quickly redefined 'hotel' as 'place to kip and nothing else' and stuck to it.

Went out wandering for the rest of the afternoon and evening, mostly oscillating between Bergenhus fort, the park at Lille Lungegårdsvann and Vågen/Bryggen. Found out where I could buy food (the Narvesen kiosk near Galleriet, or the one at Bryggen, or the Baker Brun at Zakariasbryggen) and did so. Danishes, which they call wienerbrød, are great. We have the skillingbolle, which is the local specialty: a cinnamonny Danish with a spiral of white icing. The prinsessebolle, which I can't really remember what it was but I think it's a skillingbolle without the icing. And the skolebolle, which is the skillingbolle with a big blob of set custard in the middle. Behold my breakfast for the next three days. I also need to mention the Imsdal bottled water with lime and fiber taste. Fiber, yes. Oddness.

It was fantastic weather both at Bergenhus fort...



... and at Lille Lungegårdsvann. (And also at Bryggen but I don't want to overdo it on the photo front.)



Then on Monday started the conference, which was the 'real' (right...) reason for going to Bergen. My talk was the first one up after the plenary, and it went alright. This meant that I had the rest of the conference to relax. As usual, you meet people on the first day of the conference that you hang out with for the rest of it. These were JT, a Serbian girl who grew up in Britain and is doing her PhD in Brighton on the syntax/semantics of modals; MF, a Spanish woman who is working on translation in Swansea and speaks with a Welsh lilt; and BUJ, who is from Hedmark but spent five years in Glasgow and sounds like it!

Best talk at the conference was probably the Polish girl who was talking about weak and strong adjective declensions in Old English. Interesting topic, well-presented and a convincing case. The worst talk... well, in reality this was probably the guy from Israel who rush-read through his paper with many an example in Hebrew and didn't quite succeed in telling us what he was actually talking about. But the cash prize goes to... RM from Zaporižža National University in the Ukraine. "Linguophilosophic parameters of English innovations in the sphere of new technologies." God knows what that was about; or probably he doesn't because it was completely incomprehensible and drowned in sixteen-line sentences with five-syllable words. It wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't always ask smart-arsy questions at all (!) the talks.

Also met the Icelandic incarnation of Miss Piggy. JB was chief organizer of the conference, and appears to suffer from a complexity of complexes. She really, really likes herself, is very proud of her achievements, and blames not getting all sorts of important jobs on old boys' networks. We call this a 'victim complex'. Of course these people, even though they haven't published as much as you, may well be as qualified, and just by 'being a single mother and working like a slave for eighteen hours a day' you don't always get what you want. Tough. She did get massive funding (£1m) for a project on case in Indo-European. Which, according to JB, shows that if you think big enough, it's possible to get funding, even for a woman, and even in the humanities. Think big enough. Would that be the reason for grabbing a bowl of peanuts ten minutes after the conference dinner while exclaiming, 'Gee, I'm hungry again already!'...

The flights back were okay. The plane from Bergen to Copenhagen was slightly delayed, which meant that I had to spend an extra half hour in an airport without decent shopping facilities whatsoever (yes, fags and booze, but who cares about that). The plane was a gigantic jumbo and I was sat right at the back next to a woman from Turku who had to run in Copenhagen to get her connecting flight to Stockholm. (Zigzagging your way through Scandinavia, nice...) Then had to spend some time in Copenhagen Airport until the flight to Edinburgh. Had a look at the gate where the Atlantic Airways plane to the Faroes was parked, but didn't recognize anyone. (Hey, I would easily recognize 45 Faroese people, which is 1/1000 of their population. This is a much larger proportion than what I know of the Dutch or Scottish population, and the chances of Faroese people flying to the Faroes from Denmark are also quite substantial, so it was worth a try, especially when bored.)

Danes have a strange music taste, as a quick browse through the music store showed. The new Runrig album was at number 7 in their charts. Now I like Runrig, but even in Scotland it doesn't get to that high a chart position. The Danes also like Michael Learns to Rock, which I thought stopped making music aeons ago. Apparently not.

Oh well, I bought Danish water (Egekilde) and Swedish chocolate, and then a typically Danish hotdog which was very mustardy and little meaty. (Good thing I had the Danish water...) The girl who sold me the hotdog was obviously Danish but when I asked for a hotdog in Norwegian she answered in Swedish. I would probably have understood the Danish, at least I managed to understand the Danish the rest of the airport people spoke. (Mainly the three people I had to ask for directions to the nearest cash machine which was in a very odd location.)

The plane to Edinburgh was way too small for its own good. It was a jet plane, but it was the size of the thing I went to Shetland on. That didn't really add up, and I wasn't really happy during take off, which otherwise was very pretty as you could see the bridge over the Øresund, which starts right next to the airport. (Well I think it comes out of a tunnel underneath the airport there.) Must say I didn't really like the weather report for Edinburgh: overcast and 12 degrees, after having had bright sunshine and 25 degrees in Norway (!). But I survived, and the whole experience was a Good Thing.

Now it's time to go to a dinner party at EM's.

Backblog

And then suddenly three months went by without any updates. Oops. Which means that I now have an enormous backlog of adventures to relate. I don't think I'm going to manage to remember all the way back to March, but the recent past should be alright. So here we go, going in approximate reverse chronological disorder...

Last Saturday, JH and I went to see AF's choir in concert. It was nicely done, although we both had our thoughts about the singing skills of the girl with ringlets. AF also introduced us to his new boy. I say introduced; really AF just vaguely waved in the general direction and we had to wait until the boy introduced himself. He seems nice enough, but because the choir insisted on going to some odd pub miles away, we ended the night with a cup of tea at home and didn't get to meet him properly. As an aside, I was mildly annoyed by the gay militantism in the choir. Is there really a need to re-write all the lyrics? Especially those of negro spirituals from the abolition struggle? Oh, and claiming HIV as a gay disease, I thought the whole idea was to try to convince Bush that it isn't?

Moving on... On Friday I was extremely unmotivated, so I ended up going into town. I didn't buy any clothes because H&M decided not to have a sale on, but I did buy a 10-DVD set of Tintin cartoons for £20. Childhood memories. Although of course in my childhood Tintin didn't speak with an American accent. Still, have been enjoying some of the movies (there's 21 in all) already, but am trying not to watch too many of them too soon.

Friday's non-motivationality was directly related to Thursday, when I decided to try to work on the Evil Reviewer's comments on my taboo-language article. I need to relate it more to recent literature on language death. Great. I did a nice search, found nothing in the past ten years on language death apart from some monographs along the lines of 'Look at all the different ways language behaves. If we let languages die, we'll lose all of it which will greatly hamper the study of linguistics'. Agreed and all, but incredibly irrelevant to my article. As a result, within ten minutes of starting the editing I had crumpled up the piece of paper and physically chucked it against the wall, and sent AM an e-mail saying I was thinking of telling the editor to sod off with his effing journal. Still waiting for the masterplan to bypass the Evil Reviewer and get my article published...

All of last week was celebration week, really. On Monday, CH passed her viva and we had drinks in the Pear Tree. On Wednesday, RRV passed her viva, which was celebrated in style on Thursday with a mini-banquet and a concert by RRV's trio -- two flutes and piano, well impressed as well by TK's piano skills! -- in St Cecilia's Hall. And on Friday we celebrated AR's distinction in her MSc by drinks in the Pear Tree followed by Chinese buffet at Waverley.

The Saturday before that AF asked whether I wanted to go to Treefest with him. We ran into TB at the bus stop, and later also found some Shambles walking about. And later WB said he was coming too, so it was a big group. Treefest is a nice idea: see what things you can do with wood (especially the handicraftsmen were nice, although whether making wooden cubes from a tree with a chainsaw is a craft is another question) and make sure we treat our forests and our environment nicely. Too bad it was infested with tree-hugging hippies. Yuck! I wash my hands off them!

Walked home with WB and decided to try out the wooden spatula he bought at Treefest (for £3, but then again, it did come with the guarantee that this was the most fantastic spatula ever, and once you use it, you will never use another spatula again). So we had a stirfry, the spatula worked okay, and spent the rest of the evening pottering about in WB's room which turns out to double as a music studio. Some nepotist promotion: see some of the tracks at www.barras.ws (esp. 'Jane' and the Buddy Holly cover are nice), which incidentally weren't recorded in his room but in our office!

Devolution

Yay, mail! From some bloke in Cheshire who's trying to sell New Scotland the books of dances that he wrote. Will pass on to new committee. Then my eye caught the envelope:

EDINBURGH EH_ ___
Scotland

Has devolution reached the Royal Mail?

Traffic

This morning when I put the kettle on, I saw a car drive off from our little square, with what looked like a mother bringing her daughter to school. By the time I was pouring the milk into the tea, the car had returned, with mother but without daughter. Surely if you can drive to school and back in the time it takes for a kettle to boil, you may as well walk!

Discussion skills

Why we like e-mail lists:

> Do you see this, or not?

Hmmm... No, not really. Perhaps if you try
capitalised letters or a bigger font, when
you repeat your arguments?

The author of that comment is actually a distinguished professor of mathematics at a Northern European university. Academics can have a sense of humour...

They don't actually listen, do they?

— So do you get paid to mark our essays?
— Yes, I get paid for 15 hours of marking.
— £15 per essay? That's way better than Scotmid!

Lecturers

xx mm

Surely it's not appropriate for a lecturer to end an e-mail with that?!

Philological Society

I regret to inform you that your submission has not won the Prize on this occasion, but the reviewer(s) have recommended publication in Transactions of the Philological Society, but also suggest some revisions to your manuscript. Therefore, I invite you to respond to the reviewer(s)' comments and revise your manuscript.

Some of the reviewers' comments were actually quite reasonable, even. So I'm going to have to revise the taboo language paper, as well as transform the Shetland marriages paper into the style of the journal Local Population Studies (endnotes! grr!) within a reasonable amount of time. I think they mean two to three weeks. In addition, I will shortly receive 25 first-year essays about social and geographic variation in English, ready to mark.