Of Its Time

I despair. Truly I do. Within the first sentence, which ever illiterate monkey from National Express East Coast wrote this has completely lost any hope of me partaking of their super-duper special offer.

Bis repetita placent

I saw this site courtesy of Rachel Lucas, and I found it most amusing - Latin mottos and phrases, many of them lifted from modern society, including songs and movies.

Examples include:

Braccae illae virides cum subucula rosea et tunica Caledonia-quam elenganter concinnatur
Those green pants go so well with that pink shirt and the plaid jacket

Braccae tuae aperiuntur
Your fly is open

Capillamentum? Haudquaquam conieci esse!
A wig? I never would have guessed!

Certe, toto, sentio nos in kansate non iam adesse
You know, Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore

Nae Bather

Recently, I was a passenger on an Aberdeen bus.

Given that I had a hangover and had had only a few hours' sleep, I didn't have the Magic Tune Box pumping its wares into my lugs.

Because I didn't have the Magic Tune Box on, I was subjected to the conversations of the passengers around me.

As the bus passed through the Altens industrial estate, a black man alighted on the bus, a huge white grin greeting the passengers before him.

He was barely in his seat when his phone rang.

It became evident fairly quickly that this latest arrival on the bus was from Nigeria. And that we was deeply religious.

His first word upon answering the phone was "Hallelujah" - he was evidently delighted to hear from the caller, whom it transpired was his pastor from Nigeria, who had returned to Scotland the previous night.

None of this is the reason why the man struck me as unusual - although devout Christians from Nigeria aren't ten-a-penny in Aberdeen.

What struck me was the man's accent. He spoke in a broad, sing-song Nigerian accent - but his speech was littered with words and phrases heard only in the northeast of Scotland.

On several occasions I heard him say "Nae bather" (that's baa-ther, not bay-ther), "bra" (as in good, not over the shoulder boulder holder) and, at the end of his conversation, "cheerio".

I don't know why it's stayed with me since then, but I found the conversation comical, and I only heard half of it. Maybe I was still drunk....

Groanin' Jock's Chinglish Adventures Volume IV: Let Me Care You

It's been a while since I wowed both of my regular readers with an example of Chinglish, the exciting language that bolts English words together in ways no-one from an English-speaking country (or Scotland) would ever have thought possible.

Today's example is from the giant panda enclosure at Shanghai Zoo. It's nice that the panda in question wants to care me, just like he cares himself, as we're the same age. And he gets to spend all day eating bamboo and picking his arse. I can only aspire to that kind of career.

For further examples of Groanin Jock's Chinglish Adventures, take a look here. And here. Oh, and here as well.

Groanin' Jock's Chinglish Adventures Volume III: Buried With The Died Wifeless Man

The third installment of the series that may never end takes us to the Chinese Sex Museum.

Yep, that's right, the Chinese Sex Museum. A collection of art, artefacts and hideous devices detailing the history of sex and sex culture in the world's oldest culture.

Included in the exhibition were countless phallic pieces of pottery, statues of men naked and erect and even an awful punishment device for cheating women that took the form of a saddle that you attached to a donkey that had a massive wooden penis attached to it - it's pretty much indescribable.....

Anyway, the image above is from a caption referring to a jade statue. And obviously it was used for buried with the died wifeless man.

Because every died wifeless man needs a jade statue of a woman to remind him that, not only did he not get any when he was alive, he's sure as hell not getting any now he's dead.

Groanin' Jock's Chinglish Adventures Volume II: Yellow Old Man Of May

Continuing the series that no-one's waiting for, here's my second Chinglish discovery.

This headline appeared in a magazine in which the headlines were thoughtfully translated into English, but the remainder of the text appeared in Chinese script.

Perhaps this is a way of teaching Chinese readers English; if so, I think it probably falls someway short of the mark.

Can anyone shed some light on what "Yellow Old Man of May Daughter Scissors Hand" might mean?

Groanin' Jock's Chinglish Adventures Volume I: You're Polite People

Well, we're home, and thoroughly exhausted by the combination of walking around one of the world's biggest, noisiest, dustiest, smoggiest cities, not to mention the jetlag and the fact that I was back in work at a time scandalously close to the arse crack of dawn yesterday.

Given that this is my "I'm home" post, I don't want to go into too much detail on what happened in China, but I'll come back to it in the fullness of time.

Instead, I'll firstly thank the wonderful guest posters who have filled the empty pages here at Dungroanin' during my absence - Misssy M, Erica, The Tomahawk Kid and Rachel - all of whom have done a far better job than me of being witty, entertaining and articulate.

And I'll also begin a brand new series right here, right now: Groanin' Jock's Chinglish Adventures.

Chinglish is a curious language that exists only in China. This peculiar written language tends to occur in places where Chinese directions or instructions have been translated into English in a less than coherent manner. And in Shanghai, they can be found everywhere - on street signs, in museums, in the printed media and on people's clothes.

This first one is from a street sign at a pedestrian crossing in central Shaghai.

Housesitting at Dungroanin'

Hello all fans of Groaning Jock.

Jock has kindly left me the keys to his butt 'n' ben over the next couple of weeks. Something about humanitarian aid to China... Anyway, I'm Misssy from The Misssy Martin Misssives. And while look under the bed for porn and check out if he's left any decent biscuits in the biscuit tin, I thought I'd start off with something that I think is typical Jock fayre.

Some very clever people over at Mensa have complied a list of new words, for a laugh. The game is you take a dictionary word, and alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition..

Here are some of the best ones:

1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly

3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease.

After reading these, I started to think of some of my own but I wanted to have a go at doing some that are all about this thing we do called blogging.

A Brog: A blog that it is so full of one’s own importance that it may well be considered as bragging. See most celebrity blogs for examples.

Stattering: Clicking on your stats so much that it becomes an affliction.

Going postal: Ever just written the best blog post ever and Blogger posts an error message as you click “Publish”. Well the hysterical acts of violence to your computer as a consequence are known as “going postal”

Schlurking: Not commenting on someone’s blog cos you are a pussy and frightened of the human interaction that might ensue.

Cummenting: What the readers of sex blogs do.

If you can think of any more (they don't have to be blog related) then you know where the comments box is...

See you in a couple of days after I've drained all Jock's booze cabinet.

The Queen's English

Yesterday, whilst watching television, I was subjected to an advertisement for a new movie.

I can't remember what the movie was, but at the very end of the commercial, the voice-over informed the viewers that it would be released on 'Jan Five'.

That's how he said it - Jan as in the woman's name and the number five.

When did January the Fifth become Jan Five? What advantage does the voiceover gain from shortening the date? Admittedly, it might make the commerical one second shorter, which could reduce its cost - but it's a slippery slope folks.

Any more of this shortening and our language will become unintelligable - text speak (not TXT SPK) is already creeping into print and conversation such as with the dreadful LOL, which I believe stands for 'laugh out loud'.

Make a stand people - start speaking your own language as it was intended to be spoken.

Mind your language

My parents didn't swear when my brother and I were kids. Or if they did, I never heard them do so.

Occasionally, in moments of great frustration, one of them might exclaim 'Hell's bells and buckets of blood' or 'Jesus wept', but that was about the extent of it.

The reason I bring this up is that I swear like the proverbial trooper. So it stands to reason that this is a talent that I picked up outwith the Groanin' Jock childhood homestead.

As far as I can recall, I began cursing when I changed schools in Primary Two. I moved from a class of six-year-olds to a school of only 13 pupils, all of whom sat in the same room.

This mingling with 12-year-olds must have opened my eyes to the wonderful world of obscenities, and I've never looked back.

Nowadays, my speech is liberally peppered with swear words, and none is used more than that age-old favourite - the F-word. (Though I swear too often whilst talking, I still balk at the idea of typing 'bad words' - it must be my journalistic training).

Whether in use as a noun, a verb or an adjective, I do tend to over-use the F-word. When coupled with my fondness for a badly-misused term for an illegitimate child, I have a worryingly gutter-level vocabulary for one so educated.

Which is why, today, I am making a resolution - to cut all cursing from my day-to-day speech. I will still, on occasion, use sweary words to indicate extreme displeasure - such as when battering my bandaged toe off of a door, or when Rangers concede a goal.

So, I can expect to swear at least 300 times in the next 48 hours. The more things change, the more they stay the same.