Fly me to America!

Oh my goodness, I have just discovered it is National Grammar Day this Thursday. IN AMERICA! Dammit, why do the yanks get all the *fun*?

They sell these t-shirts too, which are plainly very, very cool.

Groundhog Day

These are treacherous times.

Our deputy features editor has just revealed that he yesterday inserted a clanger into his copy on purpose to see if I would pick it up and blog about it. A cheeky little trick to pull on a press day, I say.

The offending sentence was:

It felt like groundhog day all over again

I changed it to

It felt like Groundhog Day

And went on my merry way.

However, since he revealed his treachery this morning, I have started to ask myself whether I was right to change it. He meant to convey a feeling of something happening all over again, having already been repeated several times before. However... the actual (y'know, actual) Groundhog Day does not carry this meaning.

The OED says:

Groundhog Day:
2 February, when the groundhog is said to come out of its hole at the end of hibernation. If the animal sees its shadow - ie if the weather is sunny - it is said to portend six weeks more of winter weather.

The film of the same name, however, was about a TV weatherman who wakes up to the same day over and over again (can't imagine how that would feel) - and it was clearly to this meaning that my dear colleague was referring.

So... was I right to change it? Has the movie meaning superseded the dictionary meaning? Or did I effectively change his comment so that it likened a sustainability forum to a woodchuck coming out of its hole? Hmm...

Circumventing the ready meal

(A bit like Romancing the Stone, but less... er... romantic)

The wilds of Crawley appear fairly free of dastardly lexical deeds today. However, this one did raise a chuckle:

[Company] redesigned the packaging so that all the information was on a watch strap-shaped strip of cardboard circumventing the meal.

Alarm bells ring... rightly so, it transpires. The OED says:

Circumvent:
find a way around [an obstacle], overcome (a problem or difficulty) typically in a clever and surreptitious way: terrorists found the airport checks easy to circumvent.

Sneaky little cardboard strip!

The Guardian has a Word of Mouth blog post on foodie mispronunciations today, with such beauties as crudités pronounced "crudd-ites" and mange tout as "mango trout".

My favourite response so far comes from Pippatree:

Not a mispronunciation, but a mistranslation. As a student in a French conversation class, we were discussing food; fast food and ready meals in particular. I made the point that I thought there are too many preservatives in ready-prepared meals. Unfortunately and embarrassingly, 'preservative' in French is conservateur and not, as I assumed, préservatif, although too many condoms in ready meals would also be an issue for me.

Substuff = millionaire(ss)

This Is Our Last Notice To You. We wish to notify you again that you were listed as a beneficiary to the total sum of US$18,500,000.00 Dollars in the intent of the deceased (name now withheld since this is our second letter to you). We contacted you because you bear the surname identity and therefore can present you as the beneficiary to the inheritance since there is no written will. Our legal services aim to provide our private clients with a complete service. We are happy to prepare Wills, set-up and administer Trusts, carry out the Administration Of Estates and prepare and administer Powers Of Attorney. All the papers will be processed in your acceptance. In your acceptance of this deal, we request that you kindly forward to us your letter of acceptance, your current telephone and fax numbers and a forwarding address to enable us file necessary documents at our high court probate division for the release of this sum of money in your favour. Yours faithfully, Brian Anderson

Methinks Brian Anderson would be a richer fraudster if he could write a bit better.

Picky pants

Perhaps I was in a picky mood this morning - moi? Anyway, I noticed a couple of tricksy little bits of English.

This headline and standfirst in the Guardian:

BA boss needs to wear a velvet glove
Striking British Airways cabin crew are at fault but Willie Walsh needs to keep in mind they are key to the airline's success

I struggled to read the standfirst, because (prompted, presumably, by the velvet glove in the headline) I read 'striking' to mean 'attractive', or 'bold-looking'. Of course, it means 'on strike'. Duh. Maybe I just have a latent desire for striking velvet gloves... (by which I mean attractive velvet gloves rather than velvet gloves that refuse to perform their glove-like duties until I satisfy their pay demands, or a desire to commit violence towards velvet gloves). Still, it's worth bearing in mind that the word acts as an adjective as well as a verb.

And this sentence, over at The Times:

Lord Mandelson, the Business Secretary, insisted that nobody at No 10 would endure bullying as he defended the Prime Minister from allegations over his behaviour towards staff.

My issue here is with the word 'as'. It is being used to describe two things that are happening at the same time, but the problem is that there are three things going on here - not two:

1. Lord Mandelson insisting
2. People not enduring bullying
3. Lord Mandelson defending the Prime Minister
   As a result, it reads somewhat clumsily. Nobody will be bullied during Lord Mandelson's defence of the Prime Minister? I should hope not.

I'd also question whether 'endure' is the correct choice of word - defined by the OED as: 'suffer [something painful or difficult] with patience'. Not quite what he meant, I assume, and the word 'suffer' or 'experience' would probably be more apt.

In fact, no more Mr Nice Guy. I hate this sentence! "Nobody would endure bullying"? Well have they in the past, then? Or not? They did but no longer? What are you telling me, Mr Mandelson? I don't understand!

Closer to home, we've got the usual compliment/complement and comprise/include problems... I feel a post coming on.

The inner pervert

Lurking Tourette's syndrome: we all have it. My keyboard expressed it for me on Friday, by omitting the crucial 'o' in "the opportunities are countless". Yes, the crucial 'o' - not either of the ones in 'opportunity'. Anyway, now I have my shiny new keyboard (which is disappointingly silent and cannot be clattered upon, no matter how hard I bash), I'm safe - right?

Wrong!

In the words of Sage Davies: "We all have it latently and our subconscious is constantly trying to express it."

It's true. The BBC had a 'pubic' on its homepage the other day, where it should have had a 'public'. And a member of our subs desk recently transformed Richard Pennycook into Richard Pennycock in a headline (rectified before publishing – and no comment, one presumes, on Mr Pennycook).

That same person - let us not dillydally over what may or may not be weighing upon his/her mind - also recently wrote the following headline. Bear in mind this is in nice big print and the eye takes in the first line first...

Shuddering over past cock-
ups and mistakes? They
formed your best training

This was, I think wisely, changed to the following:

Shuddering over previous
cock-ups and errors? They
formed your best training

Last week, in his online Q&A, The Times' chief revise editor Richard Dixon admitted:

At the Telegraph, I innocently wrote a cricket headline: "Willey stands firm for unbeaten 97". It is memorable, at least to me and the poor chief sub who let it through.

And the chief sub here owns up to having had a rather red-faced moment as a trainee at the Reading Chronicle:

Willy gets cocky

It was a story about a little boy - called William - who dressed up as a chicken for a birthday party. Luckily, the proofreaders intervened.

The conclusion? Whether you know it or not, you have an inner pervert just waiting to get out. And the less you look like one on the outside, the more embarrassing it will be when it happens. How to avoid it? Put your dirty head on and look again!

Finally, I couldn't resist. The cock-up headline was just begging to be rewritten as a haiku - you know it. So, here's my offering:

Shuddering over
Cock-ups and errors now past?
They were your training.

Who's been writing what?

When I arrived at work today, someone (identity as yet unknown) had kindly left David Marsh's Mind your language column on my desk. His topic this week is the upset caused by the Guardian's policy of using the word 'actor' to describe both actors and actresses - or male and female actors, as the case may be.

Personally, I find the decision to modernise language in such a way that it conveys less information than its previous version odd. 'Actress' tells me in one word what 'female actor' tells me in two.

Marsh's argument is that in most cases the sex of the subject is irrelevant.

"There is normally no need to differentiate between the sexes - and if there is, the words male and female are perfectly adequate: Lady Gaga won a Brit for best international female artist, not artiste, chanteuse or songstress."

The subject certainly seems to arouse passions. When I mentioned it earlier, it even awoke the wrath of the art desk - usually immune to all discussions of house style. Their verdict: the abolition of 'actress' is "ridiculous". This sub-editress/sub-editrix is inclined to agree.

No such fripperies for Sally Baker, who in her Feedback column on Saturday tackled the tricky subject of reporting suicide. When does information become too much information, or, worse, an instruction manual? And when is it acceptable to print a picture of a public suicide? It's not something I have ever had to confront, here in the world of trade magazines. But an interesting - and important - read.

The world's longest sentence

This is from a Sutton United match report. I think it's the longest sentence in the world:

"The result maintained U’s place in the playoff positions at the head of a group of no fewer than ten clubs within six points of each other, their position strengthened by having the best goal difference in the division apart from Dartford, and games in hand over most of the sides around them, including the three immediately above them, but they will feel they should have been clear on points in fifth place after playing for a little more than half an hour against ten men, and after Sam Gargan had equalised Simon Parker’s first half opener with sixteen minutes left the relative ambitions of both sides were demonstrated as U’s pushed for a winner that so nearly arrived when Gargan’s shot hit the inside of the post, while Tooting striker Paul Vines, presented in injury time with the chance to launch a counter attack that, had it produce a goal would have left U’s with no time to recover, chose instead to run the ball towards the corner flag and use up time."

Phew!

This post was kindly brought to you by Mrs Phillips.

The cauliapple

I would like to announce the arrival of a new kind of fregetable, which will debut on page 38 of our hallowed magazine tomorrow.

To the uninitiated, the picture may appear to be of some rotten apples, while the caption says "unlabelled cauliflowers were found at the premises".

"They've made a giant balls-up!" you may cry.

But no, dear reader, we are simply - and without drama - bringing you a new species. The unlabelled cauliapple.

Note: the cauliapple cock-up was brought to you by a triangular breakdown in communication between subs, art and hacks.
Group hug!

The keyboard strikes back

Note to self: if the 'O' on your keyboard is a little bit dodgy (possibly due to a Hula Hoop fragment getting lodged under there during a fit of press day comfort eating), adjectives such as 'countless' are loaded with danger.

Spelling test!

Have a go at Miss Spell's Class, courtesy of Dictionary.com.

It had the cheek to give me a grade B the first time! Not, may I hasten to add, that I got any of the spellings wrong, but because I took 98 seconds (Vince interrupted me with work-related demands halfway through - precisely the kind of behaviour for which we christened him The Bastard in the first place).

My best so far: 34 seconds.

Ah, g'wan!

Press day madness

Reader, there was no possibility of writing a blog that day.

A heavy haspiration

The first work email I get this morning is from the Chief. It is short and to the point:

"a: it's a hotel, a historic, not an hotel, an historic."

I beg to differ, Brighton Argus style guide (now online)

Aside from the worries I have about the mental health of a man who spends his spare time reading style guides for local newspapers of cities he doesn't live in (and he's not even a sub!), I thought this was an interesting gripe.

Before I continue, let's just point out that aspiration (a kind of short pant!) is important in this debate. To aspirate, says the OED, is to produce a sound with an exhalation of breath. So, if we're talking h-wise, hotel, happy and Hove are aspirated, but heir and honour are not. Hot!

Fowler's says, rather charmingly:

Opinion is divided over the form to use before h-words in which the first syllable is unstressed: the thoroughly modern thing to do is to use a (never an) together with an aspirated h (a habitual, a heroic, a historical, a Homeric, a hypothesis), but not to demur if others use an with minimal or nil aspiration given to the following h (an historic, an horrific, etc).

No demurring, you old-fashioned types!

The Times Style Guide, however, supports the Chief.

use an before unaspirated h - an heir, an honest woman, an honour; also, prefer an hotel to a hotel, an historic to a historic, an heroic rather than a heroic

Kit and I err on the side of the modern on this one. We are sticking to a historical event, a habitual tic, etc. But I'll admit to the occasional wistful sigh.

A little trivia on the subject, courtesy of Fowler's:

Three special cases:
an hotel (with no aspiration on the second word) is now old-fashioned, but by no means extinct.

In humble, the h was originally mute and the pronunciation prevailed until the 19c, but is now obsolete: it should therefore be preceded by a, not an.

In American English, herb, being pronounced with silent h, is always preceded by an, but the same word in British English, being pronounced with an aspirated h, by a.

Bet this post has got y'all aspirating heavily...

Chief sub: on hyphens

"It's one of those small joys in life, the difference in meaning a tiny little hyphen can make. Kind of proof of the divine."

The future perfect continuous passive

Thank you, Chief!

Headlines make headlines

Everyone is talking about headlines, it seems.

David Marsh, The Guardian's style guide editor, took on cliches today, in his Mind your language column, while yesterday Sally Baker, feedback editor at The Times, discussed the tricksiness of summing up a story accurately in a headline, in her Feedback column.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we are still reeling from the stray "bogging" that made it into the blogging feature in this week's issue. Eek.

Made-up words

On occasion, I discover that a word I had always thought existed is in fact a figment of my imagination. Does anyone else have these?

To misle - until quite recently, I believed there was such a word, because of all the times I had read "he misled her", etc. And I gave it a slightly sneakier meaning than 'mislead' - more along the lines of 'hoodwink' (which is an excellent word!).

And a couple of other similar things I'll own up to:

Misunderestimate - a mating of misunderstand and underestimate. I've never actually written this one, but when I'm speaking of misunderstandings and underestimations, it's always lurking there waiting to spring out.

Survery - my fingers won't let me type 'survey' without inserting an 'r'. Perhaps a hangover from that long-ago dissertation on slavery? Or perhaps I have a subconscious obsession with serveries.

Anyone else care to confess?

Bovine TV

Someone, about two metres to my left, just wrote the headline:

Culling won’t stop bovine TV, says study

Oopsie! Um... TB!

Romance: decimated?

On Saturday night, I presented a handsome man with a Champagne truffle. Just one, you ask? Yes, just one. But it was a large one. So large, in fact, that anyone trying to bite into it would have looked (rather unromantically) a bit like a suckling pig. Being a gentleman, the recipient opted instead for a knife and a plate, intending to elegantly slice the truffle into small pieces that could be shared. However, upon the first application of the knife, the truffle shattered/crumbled/burst into a heap of (very tasty, thank you Montezuma's) crumbs.

"you've decimated it!" I cried.

"Decimated it?" asked he, with a look of undisguised I've-got-her-now glee. "What do you think decimated means?"

It was then that I realised the truffle gift was nothing compared with what I had just done. This was the real gift!

I had thought that 'to decimate' meant to destroy, particularly when something is reduced to small pieces. However, knowing that he knew something I didn't, I had a go. Decimate - decimal... I ventured that perhaps it meant to divide by 10.

Nearly. According to my truffling companion, the word comes from a Roman military practice. If a legion was lacking in discipline, the rulers would kill one in every 10 of the soldiers. This restored order, apparently.

But that's not the end of the story. Reunited with my OED this morning, I discovered it wasn't quite so simple.

Decimate:

1. kill, destroy, or remove a large proportion of. Drastically reduce the strength or effectiveness of.
2. (historical) kill one in every 10 of (a group of people) as a punishment for the whole group.
   

Usage:

Historically, the meaning of the word decimate is 'kill one in every ten of (a group of people)'. This sense has been more or less totally superseded by the later, more general sense 'kill or destroy (a large proportion of)', as in the virus has decimated the population. Some traditionalists argue that this and other later senses are incorrect, but it is clear that this is now part of standard English.

So I was wrong-ish, but not far off. I had meant to convey that he had shattered the truffle, rather than killed or totally destroyed it. And he was right, but labelled a 'traditionalist'.

Ah, sweet romance.

The milk bomb

The first thing I do when I arrive at work today is open the fridge, with the intention of putting my lunch in it. Unbeknownst to me, the fridge is a ticking dairybomb, just waiting to be detonated. On the inside, a glass bottle of milk (full, but not sealed) teeters on the bottom ledge, waiting for a bleary-eyed Monday-morning sub to set it free. And I do, wreaking milky mayhem upon the world.

Good morning everyone, it's Monday - hurrah!

danglers

I love a good dangling participle. The name alone makes me smirk. Check it out:

“Consumers are very clear on what Fairtrade means and they understand that, by buying Fairtrade products, the producers in developing countries see real benefits,” says [Fairtrade person].

Canya tell what it is yet?

In this sentence, to the grammatically anal, it is the producers who are buying the Fairtrade products – and consumers are very clear on this.

Let me dig out some more... The TalkTalk dictionary (who knew there was such a thing?) offers up the following:

Walking back home yesterday, a tree nearly fell on my head.

If properly secured, you shouldn't be able to remove the cover.

Here, the tree is walking home rather than the person, and the person is properly secured and therefore unable to remove the cover.

Fowler's Modern English Usage offers, from a speech made by Lord Belstead on Radio 4 in 1988 following the resignation of Lord Whitelaw as Leader of the House of Lords (I do sometimes question the word 'Modern' in the book's title!):

Being unique, I am not going in any way to imitate him.

He meant Lord Whitelaw was unique, obviously. But the position of the participle ('being') at the start of the sentence, automatically links to the subject in the following clause ('I').

And some funny ones, from TwoBells.com:

Leaping off the cliff, I saw the mountain goat land safely 20 feet below me.

Running with courage in their veins and determination in their hearts, the beaches around Troy were soon overrun by Achilles and his Myrmidons.

Meheheh.

My own attempt at being funny:

Applying a second coat of lipstick, he thought again how beautiful she was.

To avoid 'em is simple: just make sure the first word of the sentence applies (that's the participle) to the first word after the comma (that's the subject).

Sneakily posting my blog, I kept one ear open for an editorial approach from the rear.
Listening to Mike singing the praises of his Pantone mug, I had a sudden realisation that he was as much of a nerd as me. Just in the design world.

Enough!

I leave you with this, a sentence to which I was so tempted to add the word 'international', just for good measure.

Only 2% of global world supply of cocoa is currently certified.

Show showers

My mother dearest texts to tell me that the Metro has made a booboo this morning. Because that is the kind of conversation we have!

Centre front (my mum says - think that means on the cover...)

An office worker battles through a show shower

In other news, it's press day, we are one sub down, and my cheek has - for some unknown reason - swollen up like a chipmunk's.

Self-cannibalisation

A quick peer into the eerie world of PR. Asked what the significance of their new chocolate bar was, a large and well-known company replied:

In tests, the chosen variants showed high reach, and frequency in addition to incremental occasions, while also showing a low level of self-cannibalisation.

Now I know what they mean... but when you are trying to sell your tasty new snack, surely anything that conjures up an image of gnawing at one's own flesh should be avoided?

It continues:

Our consumers are living in a time-starved world and are constantly balancing the value from their time.

Time-starved, eh? All the more reason to... eat a chocolate bar?

And more:

We exist to make you smile, so we’ve made a new range of products of even more of the delicious ingredients you love added in.

And there was me thinking it was all about money. Ahh, but it's smiles! Love it.

Oh. And. Note to self. It is programme. Programme. No skimping on the m and the e! Program is for Americans. Programme for us Brits. Unless we are talking computer programs, in which case we come over all a bit yankee. But otherwise, programme, programme, programme!

three dots

Those three little dots are driving me mad.

Three dots. Space before? Space after?

The way I see it, there are two usages for the little buggers.

1. as an ellipsis, to show that something has been left out
2. to imply continuation or trailing off

In my opinion, the first should have a space before and after. "She went to ... School in Bognor Regis." And if it's at the end of a sentence, you have four dots instead - one being the full stop.

In the second case, I don't think there should be a space between the end of the sentence and the three dots. "I think it should just be allowed to trail..." In face, if there were a space before the three dots it could lead to confusion - you might think they signalled omission.

Although I can find plenty of guidance on the use of dots as ellipses, I can't find anything about the second usage.

If you know, please spill the beans (or if you just want to tell me you think I'm right - that tends to go down pretty well too)!

Hordes of discreet sub-editors...

David Marsh, editor of the Guardian's style guide, has written a column in praise of subs today. Quite right too! However, I am not entirely sure I could live up to the following claim. I'm all for subs, but can't help but think there must be more useful people to be marooned with. Bear Grylls. Sean Bean (just me?) And who wants their cry of "I have less and less reasons to live" to be met with "Do you mean 'less reason', or 'fewer reasons'?"

If you are ever shipwrecked with a journalist, God help you, Charlie Brooker might be funnier and Polly Toynbee better at explaining the advantages of the alternative vote system, but trust me: you will be much better off with a sub if you need an all-round journalist to write, edit and produce the desert island newspaper and website.

In the feedback section, I noticed, someone had a pop at the Guardian over hoard and horde. And I had a sudden panic that I didn't know the difference. I then realised I did know the difference. And I then realised that even though I knew the difference, it's a mistake I too would likely have overlooked (I let through "water metre" last week, luckily picked up by Kit in time). But no longer! So thank you to Leopold1904 and his/her scathing observations.

Here, for the unenlightened, that you may be enlightened.

hoard:
a stock or store of money or valued objects, typically one that is secret or guarded

horde:
a large group of people
an army or tribe of nomadic warriors
a loosely knit small social group

And while I'm at it, let's do discreet and discrete, too. I've been meaning to for a while.

discreet:
careful and circumspect in one's speech and actions, especially in order to avoid causing offence or to gain an advantage

discrete:
individually separate and distinct

Ahhh, that's better. Nothing like a bit of OED to start a week. Now musing on whether I should make myself a little style guide for my blog. A style guide all of my own... ooohhhh...

I know, I know...

... it's Saturday morning. But.

[Facebook friend] is off to buy a Mose's basket today

So who is this Mose, then?

A plug for James

Very impressed with James' London Weekly activity (and feeling rather bad at poking fun at him for his inventive spellings of Invincible).

So here, Mr Ball, I plug you to ALL SEVEN of my readers.

Kind readers, I give you Mr Ball and the Case of the Mysterious London Weekly.

This is how capitals look in my nightmares...

"As a Company Continual improvement and ‘nurturing’ talent are key aspects of our HR Strategy."

Bizarre caption in the Metro this morning

Under a picture of a charging rhino:

Charge! Ailsa, a six-week-old white Rhino, was born after a wildlife fan watching via webcam in Cyprus saw the mother's waters break at the Blair Drummond safari park in Stirling, Scotland.

Does that sound weird to anyone else? To me it sounds like a) she was born at six weeks, and b) she was born because the webcam watcher saw the mother's waters break. Hmm... bad brain or bad caption...

This week's favourites so far...

There is always much merriment to be had with palettes and palates, especially on a mag such as ours, which regularly mentions both. This week's offering:

Actually we know that children’s palettes develop based on what they are fed from an early age. They don’t miss what they’ve never had.

Meanwhile, in the world of vegetables, all was not well. It was, in fact, almost armageddon:

It is “one minute to midnight in terms of the destruction of UK
horticulture”, a leading vegetable grower has warned.

Okay. Now I know I am being purposefully obtuse here and that this may say more about the wrongful workings of my own brain rather than the actual clarity of the writing... but... to me...

Men, people under 34, and small basket buyers are less likely to use a loyalty card than women and older people.

Translates as:

Men, defined as people aged 34 or less, and people who buy small baskets, prefer to use women and old people than loyalty cards.

It seems I am not the only one. Webby volunteered:

Human males, of whom fewer than 34 exist, and midget purchasers of wickerware...

Someone call the men in white coats...

Oh, and then I spotted an interesting one, which has two very different possible readings.

Customers won't have to pay any more.

In this case, the writer meant "the customer won't have to pay an increased amount" - but it could equally mean "the customer no longer needs to pay". Scary.

And ps.

D'y know what I hate? "on the back of". Such and such a company made record profits, "on the back of" 5% value growth". What does it mean?? Nothing, I think... Eww. Why oh why?