Place names

Heckmondwike, the consequences…

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A gathering of tea cups or mugs, unwashed. Left in a place of work, the collective noun is as we all know by now a ‘heckmondwike’. But the consequences of such a thing when dishwashers are present is even more aggravating and confirms my dislike of these infernal machines.

I’ve already gone on about how unsociable they are, but with the possibility of a ‘heck’ ( one is allowed to shorten the noun when in common parlance ) there comes the likelihood of a ‘oswaldtwistle‘, or more commonly the shortened version a ‘twistle’. As anyone with any knowledge of English will know this is the word used for retrieving a dirty mug from a dishwasher when there are none left in the vast store cupboard that normally holds at least twenty to try and minimise the risk. It also means ‘ a very bad turn of mood’ like when a spotty oik assistant in a shop ignores you when looking at mobile phone and heads for the chap next to you who’s just walked in. The wheeling of a mobile shopping bag guarantees that this  spotty oik will deem you completely invisible. Hence the phrase on the return of a shopping trip with aforementioned mobile shopping bag: “I dropped into Carphone Warehouse to see if they would give me an upgrade on my iPhone 6 for something even more expensive and the oik ignored me completely and talked to some young bloke about how cool the iPhone 4 was. I got into a right twistle, and stomped out.

I’ve a liking ,which is obvious from the last couple of posts, to making up new meanings from place names. The inspiration is a book called the Meaning of Liff which was written by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd, the former the writer of Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and the latter a humorist who does lots of stuff on Radio 4. The book was published years ago and to me is their finest work. Seek it out and enjoy. I’ve done my own version recently which is based on Gloucestershire place names only and is called “Glossary”. I’ll be posting extracts and drawings from it over the coming months. The drawing has been posted before but it bears repeating, if you’ve seen it before then calm down, no need to get into a twistle, there will be a brand new drawing in the next postinginvisible

Unintentional Diversion

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I thought that might make a great name for a book. I’m not big on reading novels, I prefer to read about things that are supposed to be true. Like biographies and history stuff, but you could argue that not a lot of these are strictly ‘true’ being someone’s version of someone or someone’s version of events long past.

I suppose it could be a racing driver’s autobiography ( no pun intended ). Now there’s a book that I’ll find hard to pick up, having no interest in driving part from getting from A to B and zero interest in cars. Though I do think we all have too many of them for our common good and most of them sit around doing nothing, apart from losing value all day.

So wither the title?

Well I’ve been out all day, driving, and in this country if you drive from North to South or visa versa, you’ll have no problem finding your way quickly. However going against the grain and driving across the country is fraught with the possibilities of getting lost. Some months ago I tried this very thing and attempted to reach Buckinghamshire. Those of you out of the UK might think this is a made up name where Postman Pat resides in a land of cottages and summer sunshine. Driving, alone, in the daylight, I could not find it. I was supposed to be going for lunch with some chums, but by the time I got even close they would have been on the pud and ready for home, so I turned around and went home. In my world Buckinghamshire does not exist, and should not.

Today I had to go to Corby ” Home of the World Famous Trouser Press”, I am told.I was collecting chairs bought on eBay, long story: not very interesting. Remembering disappearing Buckinghamshire I made sure that I was completely ready for the trip. Not far, but against the grain. To add to the help I used a sat nav thingy on my mobile phone.

Normally in the car with company I would expect the odd word, like: “Should we be going on the M1?” a phrase guaranteed to sap my self confidence. But this time I was alone apart from Sally Satnav. She was extremely helpful, telling me to take the third exit off the roundabout or whatever, in plenty of time and never once questioning if we should indeed be on the M1, which we should not have. I did detect a hint of impatience when she spoke the dreaded word: “Recalculating”but that aside she was perfect company. We got there fine without mishap, apart from the unintentional diversion onto the M1, and a tour of the Northamptonshire countryside.

Chairs loaded onto the car I set off back across the country, remembering my mistake with the M1. As I approached the area where I’d gone wrong, there on the side was an illuminated sign advising me of a change of road layout and to ‘Ignore Satnav!’. She’d already told me to take a left so steeling myself for a bit of a telling off, I pressed on.

I’m sure there was a bit of a sigh from her when tight lipped she told me to stay on this road for 20 miles… there was a tone of resignation in her voice. Was she leading me astray. Perhaps her mood would change and she’d say: ” I live quite close to here, we could call in for a coffee, if you get my drift?” Or would she never speak to me again.

She chose the latter, the battery on my phone ran out. Her patience with me was exhausted. I made my way home alone with no sign of any ‘unintentional diversion’.spaghetti2

 

Pitchcombe, what nonsense is this?

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Pitchcombe

Combe is from the latin for dung and in this instance pitchcombe is the word used for the hurling of dung. In particular cow dung that has dried enough for it to be successfully lifted as a complete circle and then thrown. It is thought that Pitchombe preceded Frisbee as a marketing name, but has since fallen out of common parlance.

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Another of my nonsensical meaning for Gloucestershire place names which I’m hoping to publish quite soon in a book entitled “Glossary”, its going to be quite a small book!

Pitchcombe is in actual fact on a hill overlooking Stroud and a very pretty place too. Worth a visit but look out for frisbees, especially the low flying ones.

Matson, a fine view of Painswick

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Dear old Matson is just on the edge of Gloucester and has a fine view of the Painswick hills, it has a reputation as a tough area but it also has a strong community spirit. I had a good friend who used to live there and he loved it. This is another in my series of the real meaning of Gloucestershire place names which I’m hoping to make into a very small book entitled “Glossary: the real meaning of Gloucestershire place names”. Available quite soon which you’ll be able to purchase for a very small amount.

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Matson

Poor carpentry/DIY

One of those jobs done in a house where you wondered why they ever started, like a mini bar in the corner of a lounge made from stone cladding to match the outside of the house, and with a dark wooden shelf. None of the cupboard doors open properly and if they did would reveal a bottle of sweet sherry from 1968 and another bottle that appears of unknown origin containing a vivid green liquid that has shells stuck to the outside. The label of the latter is unreadable but is probably Spanish as there are plastic castanets stuck to the bottle neck.You’d be wise not to drink it, even when someone bets you a lot of money that you can’t.

Maisemore

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Maisemore

A daisy chain worn and made by small girls that they make on bright blue summer days for each other. Boys are naturally excluded from this activity. Mothers marvel at their offspring’s dexterity to make them when normally at home they can barely get food into their mouths or tie a shoelace. They forgive them everything as they exclaim: “ Oh look, she’s made a maismore”

Maisemore is actually on the edge of the City of Gloucester and is a relatively small village close to the River Severn. It’s prone to flooding, but I’m sure there are a fine supply of daisies in the area.

Guiting power, the unknown force.

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Guiting Power

The uncanny way that a vicar is able to pedal a very heavy bicycle at a constant speed no matter what the gradient of the slope or the load carried in the front basket. There is always a front basket.

Continuing my series on possible meaning of Gloucestershire names, this place is in the Cotswolds and probably does not see a lot of these gentlemen these days.

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Bishop’s Cleeve, well it could be.

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Bishop’s Cleeve

The word cleeve is generally thought to relate to the way a valley is formed, so it’s a geographical term. So a Cleeve is a wooded valley. How it relates to a Bishop is unknown, could be a favourite walk of the Bishop or possibly a parade through the area by religious people.

Can also mean the dark area between a barmaids full bosom, but this is conjecture.

Another place name meaning, I like the idea that a Bishop would go walking in full regalia through a wooded valley. As you can see from the map here it’s near Woodmancote so my theory about a wooded valley holds weight.

Bishcleeve

More about the true meaning of Gloucestershire names

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Hucclecote

One of those parkas your dad or granddad used to own in the seventies that you never bothered to throw away. The undefined fur on the collar is somewhat perished and moth eaten. It has no waterproofing qualities at all and never did, and if mistakenly worn in wet conditions will act like blotting paper.

May have the slight smell of patchouli oil, the rennants of a visit to a music festival but more likely to give off the odour of cow manure.

Here’s another of my recent drawings for my little book of Gloucestershire names and their true meaning. I’m working on the book but it’s a bit behind schedule at present. It’s typical of those projects of one’s own where one agonises on what it should look like instead of just doing it.

More to come.

Didbrook

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A ‘didbrook’ is a blow to the belly which results in the recipient expelling all available oxygen from the body in one breath. It’s a term used often in rugby: ” He got a right old did brook dinner” is a phrase used often by spectators at rugby matches in the Gloucester area.

Didbrook is in actual fact a charming village in the Forest of Dean area of Gloucestershire, but I’m sure I’ve overheard the phrase at ‘the shed’ which is one Gloucester Rugby’s spectator’s stands where many speak like this.