Q: Hi AWC, what does it mean when Sheryl Crow says “apropos of nothing” in the hit 1994 song All I Wanna Do? 

A: What do YOU think it means?

Q: Hmmm, is it some kind of payment system, like EFTPOS? She’s singing in a bar after all. 

A: It is not. First, let’s clarify the pronunciation. You say it “ap-ruh-POH”.

Q: Okay.

A: And the word “apropos” has a few uses, so let’s start there shall we?

Q: Fine. We have apropos of nothing to lose, after all! 

A: That is not one of the uses.

Q: Hey, all I wanna do is have some fun…

A: According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “apropos” came to English from French in the 1660s, from the French”á propos” – “to the purpose”, from the original Latin “propos” – meaning a “thing said in conversation, talk; purpose, plan”.

Q: 1660s? Just in time for the Great Fire of London!

A: Well, the original role for “apropos” in English was as an adverb, meaning ‘opportunely’. So one might say that considering all the disease and rat-infested filth in the city at that time, the Great Fire of London arrived “apropos”.

Q: And it still means opportunely?

A: It does. It can also relate to the seasonality. So blossoms in spring appear apropos.

Q: That’s quite the contrast from disease and filth.

A: We try to mix up our examples.

Q: Nice.

A: By 1690, “apropos” was also being used similarly as an adjective – describing something that was relevant or opportune. For example, “The hunting lodge has a giant stag’s head above the fireplace, which feels very apropos.”

Q: So is “apropos” related to “appropriate”?

A: Etymologically, no. But their meanings are very similar today.

Q: What about the word “propose” then?

A: Yes it is related, but curiously, that word started out as “propound” – from the Latin “proponere”. However over time, the French came in and simply swapped out the ending to fit with one that suited THEIR purpose.

Q: They just did it for no real reason?

A: That’s right, apropos of nothing!

Q: Ahhhh, I see what you did there. So, that has brought us back to all this “apropos of nothing” silliness.

A: It has. And to be fair to the above uses, while they are valid and pop up from time to time, they’re less commonly seen than the use of “apropos of” as a preposition – something that took hold around the 1760s. Certainly well before 1994.

Q: So, what’s the meaning here?

A: “Apropos of” goes back to the original Latin, relating to “a thing said in conversation”. Essentially, “apropos of” is just a fancy way to say “with regard or reference to”. It gets used when bringing up some other fact or anything relevant to the topic at hand.

Q: Unless of course…

A: Unless of course something is “apropos of nothing”! Not relevant or without reference to anything. So, in the earlier example, the French just came and changed “propound” to “propose” with no etymological reference – apropos of nothing. 

Q: And Sheryl Crow?

A: Her lyric states that a man sitting next to her just says something to her out of nowhere. “It’s apropos of nothing” she goes on to add. Not in relation to anything.

Q: Well, she was drinking at noon on a Tuesday, so it was likely to happen.

A: It was.

Q: Do you have another real world example for me? It doesn’t have to be from a song.

A: Okay, well you might say that “a tree fell in the forest, apropos of nothing”. No storm. No lumberjacks etc. It just fell.

Q: Ah yes. But the real question is did it make a sound?

A: Haha. Annoyingly, sometimes “apropos of” drops the “of” while still meaning “with regard/reference to”. For example, “Apropos the planned changes, more discussion is needed.”

Q: Or you could just say “regarding” and stop being pompous!

A: True. And “pompous” is another great French-derived word.

Q: Okay, so to recap. “Apropos” can describe something relevant or opportune. But it can also be a preposition, usually with “of”, meaning “with regard to”.

A: That’s right. So if something is “apropos of nothing” it’s unrelated to anything. 

Q: Any final fun facts?

A: Yes actually. During the 2020 COVID outbreak, the US mint coincidentally brought out a quarter dollar coin with a design of a bat (the animal thought to have started the pandemic). Many called this release “ironic” – but the better term to describe it would actually have been “apropos” (relevant and opportune).

Q: Don’t even get me started on Alanis Morisette’s abuse of the definition of “ironic”…

A: Haha, we’ll save that for another day.

Q: Right now, all I wanna do is have some fun. And I got a feeling I'm not the only one…?

A: Ummm nope. You’re the only one.

Q: Ugh, I wonder if you’ve ever had a day of fun in your whole life.

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Q: Hi AWC, why do we refer to body parts when talking about something being expensive?

A: Such as?

Q: To pay “through the nose” or to pay “an arm and a leg”?

A: Ah! The phrase “paying through the nose” does indeed mean to pay a large amount, and Macquarie Dictionary suggests that its origin could go all the way back to the 9th century.

Q: Gosh, that’s old.

A: They point to the “nose” tax imposed on the Irish by the Danes who invaded at that time. 

Q: A nose tax? What, so if you had a big nose you went bankrupt?

A: Haha, not exactly. It seems it was called this because if you didn’t pay this particular tax, the Danes would slit your nose!

Q: Is that where “to cut off your nose despite your face” also comes from?

A: You mean “to cut off your nose TO SPITE your face”.

Q: Do I?

A: Yes, you do – as it’s all about spite. But no, it’s not related. Out of interest, that phrase means to end up disadvantaging yourself while attempting to hurt someone (the “spite” part). It first appeared in a 1796 dictionary – cutting off people’s noses was a common way to exact revenge in the Middle Ages.

Q: Probably a blessing not to have to smell things back then!

A: Anyway, the Oxford Dictionary believes the more likely origin of paying “through the nose” is much later – from a 1666 text that suggested that paying excessively was akin to a metaphor of bleeding through your nose. 

Q: Rather ironic, as the cheapest seats are usually the “nosebleed” section – way up high!

A: True. Apparently, during the 1600s, “rhino” (Greek for “nose”) was also a slang word for “money”. The nose/money connection seems unclear beyond this however.

Q: I’m pretty sure rhino horns are worth a lot of money. I learnt that on Safari.

A: Wow, didn’t realise you’d been to Africa!

Q: No, I meant “Safari” the web browser…bahahaa.

A: Okay, shall we talk about “an arm and a leg”?

Q: I’m going to go out on a limb and say that yes, we should.

A: Hilarious. Well, in this case it’s costing you TWO limbs. The phrase “to give my right arm” (to desire something greatly) has been around since the 1600s, as has one origin theory.

Q: What theory?

A: According to Grammar Monster, it came from the Irish halfpenny coins in the 1680s. Apparently, King Charles II (yes, the last King Charles before the current one) had copper halfpennies made for use in Ireland. And the two men who made them were named Sir Thomas Armstrong and Colonel George Legge.

Q: Okay, I see where THIS is going.

A: Yep. So, these coins ended up in use by the Irish over in America and “it will cost you an Arm and a Leg” was simply a way to say “it will cost you a halfpenny”. Over time, the link to the names was lost, so people assumed it meant very expensive.

Q: Hmmm, it all sounds very convenient. Got any other theories?

A: Yeah. Less of a theory and more actual usage. A 1908 article recounted hunting a bear claimed “it cost an arm and a leg, besides the eye”. Then, as World War I and II saw the advent of machine guns and explosives on the battlefield, these conflicts quite literally cost soldiers “an arm and a leg”.

Q: So when did it stop being about missing limbs and start being about pricey hotel rooms?

A: Around 1948, we begin to see “an arm and a leg” used figuratively. The evolution seems clear – losing limbs during the war had been an actual high price to pay, so now it simply denoted a high price to pay for everything from diamond rings to .

Q: I like the 20th century origin story better than those two conveniently named coin-makers.

A: We agree.

Q: So to recap, to pay “through the nose” may be from a 9th century nose cutting tax or simply a metaphor for nose-bleedingly high prices.

A: That’s right.

Q: And to pay “an arm and a leg” is the figurative evolution of people who literally paid a high price – sometimes with their lives – during war.

A: Correct! 

Q: They say talk is cheap, but this one was expensive…

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Q: Hi AWC, I feel like raisin a topic today.

A: Are you trying to be clever by using the word “raisin”?

Q: Hmmmph. Yes.

A: What would you like to know about raisins?

Q: Well, it’s actually about THEM versus sultanas. What’s the difference? I know they’re dried grapes, but is it simply red and green grapes? And what’s the deal with currants?

A: We can certainly look at “currant affairs” too.

Q: Haha. So, they’re all dried grapes, yeah?

A: They certainly are. But it’s not as simple as the colour of a grape – just like some white wines are actually made from red grapes.

Q: Wait, seriously?

A: Yeah, the skin colour is not as important as you might think.

Q: What a lovely lesson.

A: So let’s start with “raisins” – the word literally meaning “grape” in French, where it came from. 

Q: So if you owned a French house that grows grapes, you could call it your “Raisin Maison”?

A: Very cute. So, raisins are dark in colour not due to the type of grape, but rather the fact that a grape will darken as it dries – in this case, a specific dehydrating process that takes weeks. Some claim a variety known as Muscat is required, but in truth, many different varieties are used – both green and red/black grapes.

Q: What about sultanas?

A: Again, we’re drying grapes, but this time they are more specifically from large green seedless grapes. These will give a lighter “golden” brown colour and for this reason, America doesn’t actually use the name “sultana” – instead preferring the label “golden raisins”. These almost universally use the Thompson Seedless grape and are grown typically in California. 

Q: So they’re lighter?

A: Yes, especially in America where they tend to use a preservative called sulphur dioxide. Some darker sultanas here in Australia don’t have that – often labelled “natural” sultanas.

Q: What about the word? And how does the “Sultan of Brunei” fit into all this?

A: The name “sultan” came from French in the 1500s, referring to rulers of Arabic and Muslim lands. The wife of a sultan was indeed a “sultana”, and together they ruled a “sultanate”.

Q: I have visions of a sultana reclining and being fed grapes by her servants. But is our grapey word related?

A: It certainly is. In fact, it was because at the time the best green seedless grapes were grown in a particular region in Turkey, that they named the resulting delicacy after that region’s sultan’s wife. The name appears to have caught on during the 1840s. 

Q: So fairly current then!

A: And speaking of currants – these also come from grapes, but this time an even more specific type. – the Black Corinth grape. The dried variety is sometimes referred to as the “Corinth raisin” or the “Zante currant” – after its origins to the Greek island of Zakynthos.

Q: Mama mia!

A: Here we go again. The Black Corinth is a dark grape that will give a dried fruit similar in colour to a typical raisin, but a lot smaller in size.

Q: Are these currants related to blackcurrants, red currants etc?

A: Importantly, NO. Despite the name, whenever you see reference to red “currants” – very similar to “gooseberries” – and other fruit like blackcurrants, they are completely different. They come from the Ribes berry shrub/plant and NOT a grape.

Q: So you don’t dry out red currants to make the little shrivelled raisin-like currants?

A: No. Totally different fruit. Berries vs grapes. That’s why to avoid confusion, the grape variety (the one that you DO dry out) is best called the “Zante currant”.

Q: I never knew that! So which had the name first?

A: The grape one did – which it got from its Greek location. The “th” in “Corinth” was mistaken as an “s” and gave us “Curans” – eventually “currants” – the name first appearing around 1500 as they were exported from Greece. The unrelated berry plant would be named about 80 years later, in a moment of stupidity.

Q: And what about the word “current”?

A: No relation. It came to English around 1300 from the Latin “currere” – meaning to run or move quickly – like the current you might find in a river (but eventually other things). By the 1400s, it applied to things “presently in effect”, with the terms: “current events” and “current affairs” both arriving in the late 1700s. “Currency” also comes from the same Latin base.

Q: So, to recap, raisins are many varieties of dried grapes. Sultanas are lighter, from more specific seedless green grapes. And finally, currants (aka Zante currants) are really from just one type of dried grape.

A: That’s a grape way to put it!

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Q: Hi AWC, can you help with a boat question?

A: Is it about the popular reality show Below Deck? Because we don’t really want to be giving out spoilers…

Q: No it’s about navigation on a boat.

A: Perhaps a compass would help? Or you could get one of those sextant things and navigate by the stars.

Q: Ah, you misunderstand. I mean ON the boat. I always get my afts and ports and bows and starboards mixed up. Can you help?

A: We certainly can! Probably the easiest place to start is with the “left” and “right” words – “port” and “starboard” as you face forwards. The left side is “port” and the easiest way to remember it is that they have the same number of letters.

Q: That’s handy. But WHY call the left side “port”? The harbour won’t always be on the left!

A: Well it WAS back in the 1540s when this word was first used. The reason being that on many boats of that time, the steering oar was on the right side, meaning that the left side of the wharf was up against the wharf – the “port” side!

Q: Well okay! But why not just call the right side, “oar” or something?

A: Well it IS related to that – but rather the “steer” part. The original word came from Old English “steorbord” meaning “steer-board” – the “bord” was the ship’s side. 

Q: Aha!

A: In fact, the original name for the left side was “larboard” – which related to “laden” and the side of the ship that you load things onto. But in the 16th century, left became “port” largely to make it less confusing when said aloud on the high seas.

Q: That would have been confusing.

A: Just as confusing, the left side was also sometimes known as the “backboard” during this time – despite having nothing to do with the back of the ship.

Q: Well that brings us nicely to actual names for the back of a ship. What are they?

A: The most common name for the back of the ship is the “stern”. Its companion at the front is the “bow”. 

Q: Origin stories?

A: Once more, the “stern” relates to steering, as it was at the back where you’d find the rudder or steering helm. It seems to have come to English very early – the 1200s – from the Norse word ‘stjorn’ (“steering”) or the Old Frisian word ‘stiarne’ (“rudder”). Later, during the 19th century, some steamboats had the name “stern-wheelers” as they had the big wheel at the back.

Q: So it’s nothing to do with being harsh – to be stern?

A: Nope. That adjective has a different origin, from Old English and Germanic root words that related to being rigid or stiff.

Q: Okay, so you said “bow” is the front. Is that because when they pick up the boat from the dealer, it has a giant bow on it? They did that with my Toyota Corolla.

A: Cute idea, but no. The word “bow” (rhyming with “cow”, not “mow”) arrived in the 14th century, from the Middle English “boue” – meaning to bend. The bow on a ship therefore is from where the sides start bending in to meet each other.

Q: Kind of like the shape of a bow, yeah?

A: That’s right. Same word, different pronunciation! Incidentally, the word “bow” in relation to bending in reverence – such as to bow to the King – didn’t come along until three centuries later, around 1650.

Q: Alright, that’s four biggies covered. But then what is “aft”? 

A: Okay, so aft – from the Old English “aeftan” – simply means behind or farthest back. In the case of a boat, it is more of an area than a specific point, and is typically referred to as the area towards the stern or back.

Q: What is its opposite?

A: That’s even easier – the “forward” is the area towards the front of a boat. Sometimes this is shortened to “fore”, such as in the nautical term “fore-and-aft” – meaning from one end of the ship to the other.

Q: So they’re basically the same as bow and stern?

A: No. There is one important difference. The bow and stern refer to the outside face of the boat/ship. Meanwhile, the fore(ward) and aft are the insides.

Q: For example, a cruise ship might say the viewing deck is forward, while the adults only pool is aft?

A: That’s right. Anything inside the edges of the vessel. So the forward is up near the bow end, while the aft is back towards the stern.

Q: So in Titanic, Rose and Jack meet at the aft, when she’s about to jump off the stern. And then later, they do that arms-out thing forward at the bow?

A: That’s right. Although the important thing to remember is that Jack saved Rose from jumping but then Rose went on to hog that floating door all to herself.

Q: Unthinkable!

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Q: Hey AWC, can we talk about cake?

A: We’re always happy to discuss cake.

Q: The other day there was cake in the break room, and my friend said to just cut them a small “slither”. But, it’s “sliver” isn’t it?

A: You’re right! But these two words get confused a LOT, despite one being a slippery verb and the other is usually a thinly sliced noun.

Q: Can you elaborate?

A: Of course. According to our friends at the Macquarie Dictionary, the main meaning of “sliver” is “a slender piece, as of wood, split, broken, or cut off, usually lengthwise or with the grain.”

Q: So, specifically wood?

A: That’s how it started out – from the Old English word “toslifan”, meaning to split or cleave, appearing first around the late 14th century. The word “splinter” was literally the name of a sliver of wood.

Q: Oh, I HATE getting splinters.

A: They can be very painful – including politically. The term “splinter group” originated in 1935 and is defined by Merriam Webster as “a group of people that has separated from a larger group (such as a political party)”.

Q: Can you also sliver something?

A: You sure can – although the verb didn’t come along till later, about the 1600s. And it simply means to cut into slivers. Of course, while a sliver started out as a piece of wood, today it’s any thin slice – wood, bone, cake. It can even be used to describe “a sliver of moonlight” or figuratively, such as “a sliver of hope”.

Q: A sliver of silver moonlight, haha.

A: Yeah, that is a little confusing.

Q: But at least it’s not WRONG like a “slither of moonlight”, right?

A: Right. You don’t want anything slithering near your slice of cake. Most commonly, “slither” is defined as a verb: ‘to slide down or along a surface, especially unsteadily or with more or less friction or noise.’ And the most common thing that slithers is?

Q: A politician?

A: No.

Q: A used-car salesman?

A: Try again.

Q: Insurance broker!

A: The answer we were looking for was a snake.

Q: Ah yep, that also works. 

A: The word comes from the Old English “slidrian” – entering the dictionary during the 15th century first as “slidder” and originally simply meaning to slip or slide. 

Q: Ohh – like a Middle Ages water theme park!

A: Not exactly. It was during the 16th century that Middle English underwent a widespread phonetic shift as spelling caught up to changes in pronunciation from “d” sounds to a “th” sound. Many English words including “mother”, “father”, “weather”, “gather” and “slither” underwent this change. Curiously, the word wouldn’t be applied to reptiles such as snakes until the 1840s – quite late in the piece.

Q: And what about “slidder” – is that still a word?

A: Yes and no. You’ll find it in some dictionaries – but not all. It still retains its originally slippery meaning, but is probably a word to avoid as people might think you’ve got it wrong.

Q: Okay sure, I’m gonna let that one slide.

A: Incidentally, the phrase “to let something slide” (as in to not consider or ignore) might sound quite modern, but actually dates all the way back to 14th century Chaucer and later appears in Shakespeare’s works.

Q: Fascinating. But WHY do so many people get “sliver” and “slither” confused? They’re clearly two different words!

A: The answer appears to be a mix of factors – the main one being the obvious similar “th” and “v” sounds. There’s also the fact that they’re words that aren’t used a lot. “Sliver” is especially uncommon – which may explain why people will more commonly use “slither” incorrectly than the other way around.

Q: So basically, it’s ignorance?

A: Yep. And it’s common too – with even newspapers guilty of reporting that a sports team only has “a slither of hope”. There’s also been a trend to people pronouncing things like “smooth” as “smoove” – further mashing the two sounds together. But that’s no excuse here.

Q: It really is just a sliding scale of poor usage.

A: It really is. By the way, the term “sliding scale” came to English in 1842, initially in reference to payments – but now can refer to all manner of things.

Q: So any tips on remembering which word to use?

A: Sure. Think of the “V” in “sliver” like the shape of a slice of cake (or wood, or moonlight!). And the “TH” is like “python” – something that slithers!

Q: I like it. That tip most definitely takes the cake!

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Q: Hey AWC, let’s talk about miles.

A: Is he a friend of yours?

Q: No, the distance.

A: Ah. Sure – what would you like to know?

Q: First up, how far is a “country mile”? Is it different from a normal one?

A: You’re referring to the idiom, typically used to indicate a large distance – for example, “She won by a country mile” or “no one lived within a country mile of him”.

Q: So is it an actual distance?

A: Not specifically. Macquarie Dictionary lists it as “an indeterminate measure of great distance”. But often, like the winning example above, it is more figurative in its usage – simply meaning a long way. 

Q: But did it start out as a measurement?

A: Not an exact one. It originated in England in the early 1700s and simply referred to the winding nature of country roads and how a mile along such a road often feels longer than a straight road. In Australia, we have also used the terms “bush mile” and “kangaroo mile” in the past for a similar thing – the latter in a similar way to “as the crow flies”.

Q: Why is it even called a “mile”?

A: The Latin mille meant one thousand and Ancient Rome measured a mile as “one thousand double paces”. This worked out to be about 4800 feet, but over the centuries, the exact measure of a mile fluctuated up to as much as 6600 feet. Eventually, late in Queen Elizabeth I’s rule in 1592, it was locked in at “5280 feet”.

Q: A nice round number…

A: Haha, yeah. There was some method to the madness – as the standardisation process decided a mile would be precisely eight “furlongs” (660 feet).

Q: A furlong?

A: Yeah, it was the average length of a furrowed field back then. It used to be an important measure in title deeds for English land. Today it still occasionally pops up in horse racing.

Q: So it’s been around furlong, then?

A: Hilarious.

Q: Thanks. So back to the mile – what is its equivalent in the metric system?

A: 1609 metres. Roughly four laps of a running track and a bit more. They still run mile races – and it was back in May 1954 that Englishman Roger Bannister became the first person to run a sub 4-minute mile.

Q: He won by a country mile!

A: Haha, exactly. As most people know, the USA has famously resisted a change to the metric system and still uses miles for road signs and speeds. The same goes for the UK, which despite switching largely to metric for many things, continues to use miles.

Q: And even here in Australia, we still use it in a generic way, yeah?

A: That’s right. So we might say that “we drove for miles before we found this place” or “they’ve reviewed miles of footage”. It’s synonymous with “a large amount or a long way, depending on the context – just as “country mile” is.

Q: So, we’ve discussed “country miles”. But what about “nautical miles”? Why the distinction there? 

A: It’s confusing, because nautical miles should never have been called “miles” at all – it’s a completely different measuring system based on navigating through water and the curve of the Earth. From the equator to each pole, you have a 90-degree angle – or 90 degrees of latitude. Each of these degrees can be broken into sixty ‘minutes’ – one of these being a nautical mile. 

Q: So a nautical mile is 1/60th of a degree of latitude?

A: Yep! And that distance is about 1852 metres – longer than a standard mile. Sixty nautical miles – 69 standard miles (111km) – marks a single degree of latitude along the surface of the planet.

Q: So if Sydney is just under 34 degrees south of the equator, does that mean it’s 34 x 69 miles from it?

A: That’s right! About 2340 miles.

Q: Okay, let’s get more figurative. What about someone talking “a mile-a-minute?”

A: When used in that way, yes it simply means to talk fast. But according to the Oxford English Dictionary, it actually had a literal origin – in a 1957 publication of Railway Magazine that listed “mile-a-minute” train lines, i.e. trains that ran at speeds of 60mph.

Q: And “going the extra mile”?

A: This seems to have come into use around 1900 but its origin is from the Bible, specifically the book of Matthew. Jewish people had been ordered to carry Roman soldiers’ heavy gear for one mile if asked, something they weren’t happy about. However, Jesus suggested they love their enemies by instead carrying their gear for two miles.

Q: Speaking of loving and getting your gear off, what’s the story with the “mile high club”? 

A: This term appears to have originated in the late 1960s, although famously the first members of the “club” are claimed to have been autopilot inventor Lawrence Sperry and Dorothy Rice Sims, in 1916. 

Q: He took her for a ride in his plane!

A: He most certainly did. There is actually a much earlier record from the 1780s of a bet for someone to perform such an act in a hot air balloon “one thousand yards from the earth”, although this is never confirmed to have happened.

Q: Yeah, sounds like a lot of hot air.

A: Any other “mile” adjacent terms you’d like to know about?

Q: How about “give him an inch and he’ll take a mile”?

A: Good one. It comes from a 1546 collection of proverbs by John Heywood – originally written as “Give him an inch and he'll take an ell”. 

Q: An ell?

A: Yeah, it was a cloth measurement of about 45 inches. The term came back into use in the late 1800s, when “ell” was replaced by “mile” – to further emphasise the “taking advantage” meaning.

Q: Miles and inches certainly lend themselves to phrases a lot more than their metric equivalents.

A: Pound for pound, it’s true.

Q: We’re miles away from where we started, but to recap, a “country mile” is a figurative way to say “a long way” – either by distance or amount. So called because the winding roads in the country seem to take longer.

A: That’s it.

Q: I feel like we’ve reached a milestone!

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Q: Hey AWC, can we talk about convent gardens?

A: Do you mean “Covent Garden” – a district in London that includes the Royal Opera House (itself often simply referred to as Covent Garden)?

Q: Nope. I mean the gardens found in convents. That nuns prune trees in. With secateurs. 

A: Okay, sorry, you’ve lost us.

Q: I keep hearing my friends talk about nuns’ secateurs whenever I abruptly change the subject. And quite frankly, I’m getting very confused.

A: Ahhhh, we think you might mean “non sequiturs”.

Q: Oh! Is that a thing?

A: Yes, it is a thing. Translated from the Latin ‘it does not follow’. Macquarie Dictionary defines this further as “an inference or a conclusion which does not follow from the premises”. 

Q: Sorry, I don’t follow.

A: Okay, so there are a few examples. But the simplest one is following one piece of information with something completely unrelated. For example, “Autumn is my favourite season. I have two puppies.”

Q: Because the puppies don’t have anything to do with autumn?

A: Exactly. Consider: “Autumn is my favourite season. I have two notebooks filled with golden leaves.” Here, the second information relates to the first. It follows.

Q: I follow. But seriously, what a waste of a good notebook. I prefer to buy them and never write in them at all, just sniffing and admiring them occasionally.

A: Each to their own…

Q: And that’s it then? A non sequitur is a random statement?

A: Well, sort of – although it’s only random because of what it follows. It alone could be true, just out of place. Here’s another example. Ask us the time.

Q: What time is it?

A: We just got two puppies.

Q: Huh?

A: Exactly. It’s not a false statement, just not one that was asked for.

Q: Although, maybe they’re ‘watch dogs’ – then they’d know the time!

A: Hilarious. 

Q: So why do they happen?

A: People often say out loud only part of what they’re thinking, but forget that others cannot fill in the gaps. So you might say to a friend, “I haven’t watered my plants today” and then you remember the dead plant sitting on top of your broken microwave and follow with, “What time does the appliance shop close?”

Q: It’s just the clock I can’t get working…

A: Yeah, those microwave clocks are tricky.

Q: So, why go to all the effort of giving these things fancy names?

A: Haha, good question. Perhaps because of their literary usefulness.

Q: Oh I see! Do tell.

A: Well, the whiplash effect of non sequiturs can make them rather effective in writing – often used in drama for an unexpected jolt or in comedy for their absurdity.

Q: Examples?

A: “It was a spring day, the sort that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of warm earth. Suicide weather.” That’s from Girl Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen.

Q: Wow okay. Got a funny example?

A: One of the more well known non sequitur characters is Orr from Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. He would talk of fixing a leak, only to next respond about eating crab apples as a child, much to everyone’s confusion.

Q: I guess you had to be there…

A: The Simpsons character Ralph Wiggum is also famous for them. A classic one can be found right here.

Q: That’s hilarious, because my cat’s breath DOES smell like cat food!

A: Anyway, the term “non sequitur” also gets thrown about often with regard to drawing false conclusions. A simple example might be: “Jerry is a great plumber. So therefore he should run for mayor.”

Q: I say go for it Jerry – follow your dreams. Drain that swamp!

A: Yes, yes, maybe so. But the way it was written didn’t really provide any logic to why you’d draw that conclusion. Being great at one thing doesn’t guarantee being great at another.

Q: Amen to that. Actually, that reminds me to see how my pastor is going with his new pasta restaurant…

A: Drawing these false conclusions often happens when it seems like there is a logical connection. An example of this might be to say that “my neighbour drives his red car fast, so therefore everyone with a red car drives fast”.

Q: Ahhh okay. But it’s true, red ones do go faster.

A: That is not true. Russia is the country with the largest land area.

Q: What?

A: Oh sorry, just throwing in a non sequitur to check you were paying attention. 

Q: Nice!

A: Another of these ‘logic fallacy’ examples is: “Sad movies make me cry. So if I’m crying right now, I must be watching a sad movie.”

Q: Not true! You could be chopping onions. Or reading your power bill.

A: Exactly. This type of “if A equals B, and B equals C, then A must equal C” false reasoning is sometimes lumped in as a “non sequitur”. Although there is a better word for them – “syllogisms”.

Q: So, to recap – “non sequitur” translates as “it does not follow” and can simply be unrelated statements OR used in literature for their jolting effect. They can also be an example of false logic.

A: That’s it. Oh, and would you like to hear one final thing about the puppies?

Q: Yes!

A: Jerry Seinfeld was born in 1954.

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Q: Hey AWC, can we talk about big cats?

A: We’d be lion if we said “no”.

Q: Hilarious. My big question is which ones are the same as others but just have a different name for the colour or pattern. Does that make sense?

A: It does. And you’re right, a lot of big cats do belong to the same family – known as “Panthera”.

Q: Wait, isn’t that also a heavy metal band?

A: Close – but you’re thinking of the band Pantera, who actually started touring again after 20 years. 

Q: Ah, okay. So what cats are in this “Panthera” family?

A: The tiger, lion, jaguar, leopard and snow leopard. A tiger has stripes and a Jaguar, leopard and snow leopard all have patterned “rosettes”.

Q: So can I address the elephant in the room?

A: Yes please, before all these big cats get to it.

Q: Well, with a family name like “Panthera” – where is the PANTHER? Isn’t it black or pink or something?

A: Well, the cartoon character “The Pink Panther” and its iconic theme tune were both created in 1963 for the opening sequence to a live action comedy-mystery film by the same name. It featured Inspector Jacques Clouseau (originally portrayed by Peter Sellers) – and the Pink Panther in that film was actually the name of a diamond.

Q: How odd. But there was a cartoon series about a pink panther too, right?

A: Yes, it was basically a spin-off from that film.

Q: And Jacques Clouseau also had lots of undersea adventures, oui?

A: Non. You’re confusing the fictional character with the very real 20th century explorer Jacques Cousteau.

Q: I knew there was something fishy about him.

A: Shall we look at black panthers now?

Q: Yes please. Wakanda Forever!

A: No, not that one. The important thing here is that a panther is not actually a separate species. A “black panther” simply refers to the black pigmented version of two of the panthera animals – the leopard and jaguar. You can usually still see the rosettes on the black.

Q: Okay, but what about cougars? It’s not just the term some people use for older women having fun, right?

A: Haha, cougars are a thing – although pay attention as it gets a little confusing. Remember how the “Panthera” family had five species in it? 

Q: I remember it like it was just one minute ago.

A: Okay, good. Because there is also the “Puma” family and that has just ONE species in it – the cougar.

Q: Soooo, but… wait. Then WHAT is a puma?

A: Exactly. Just like the panther, there is no separate cat called a puma, HOWEVER, the American cougar has since 1730 also been called a LOT of names – including a mountain lion, puma concolor, catamount or panther. They’re the same thing.

Q: Wait, PANTHER? What’s that doing in this family? Didn’t we cover that already?

A: Okay, don’t get your panthers in a knot. It is a bit messy. UK English typically associates the name “panther” solely with the black varieties of leopards or jaguars. However, in America – where cougars roam the hills – ‘panther’ is also synonymous with that species of mountain lion.

Q: So let’s recap. We’ve only really looked at six cats so far. Lions, tigers, leopards, jaguars and snow leopards in one family. And the cougar in the other, yeah?

A: That’s it. Black panthers are actually leopards or jaguars, while cougars can also go by a lot of names – including panther.

Q: What a mess.

A: Oh, just wait until they start crossbreeding!

Q: Ugggh. But first, where do “cheetahs”  fit into this?

A: They belong to a third family called “Acinonyx” – of which they’re the only living member. And while they might look like a skinny leopard at first glance (its name ‘chita’ even came from Hindu for “leopard”), they’re actually unrelated – with solid spots whereas a leopard has those rosette things we mentioned earlier.

Q: A leopard never changes its rosettes!

A: That’s right. Although it has changed its classification over time. The name “leopard” came from the Latin “lion” (leo) and “panther” (pard) – back when people thought it was a hybrid of these two animals. Science would later prove otherwise, but the name stuck.

Q: Speaking of science and hybrids, you mentioned crossbreeding?

A: That’s right. The Panthera family of cats have been cross bred in captivity. The naming rule is that the male goes at the start. So a male lion with a female tiger is a “liger”. A male tiger with a female lion is a “tigon”. Other combos include “leopons” (male leopard, female lion) and a “liguar” (male lion, female jaguar).

Q: Ligers and tigons and hybrids, oh my!

A: Haha, yeah, best not to dwell too much on those.

Q: A tail of two kitties!

A: Indeed.

Q: Well, thanks for helping me herd all these cats. Who knew that panthers and pumas were just other cats in disguise?

A: We did. We knew.

Q: Okay, I’m going to press “PAWS” on this topic now!

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Q: Hey AWC, where does “hide one’s light under a bushel” come from?

A: Ah, the idiom that Macquarie Dictionary defines as “to conceal one’s abilities or good qualities”?

Q: Sounds about right.

A: Shall we talk about bushels first?

Q: Um, sure. I’m guessing it’s a small bush, yeah?

A: Nope.

Q: Wait, what? But all this time I thought the phrase must be related to the dangers of putting tiki torches under garden hedges or other decorative shrubs.

A: You may be surprised to learn that a “bushel” is a unit of measurement for dry goods. 

Q: That is surprising. So how much is a bushel?

A: In the old imperial system, it was the equivalent to 8 gallons. 

Q: So, like what Darth Vader measured things in?

A: No, not THAT imperial system. 

Q: Oh good. Because I thought Star Wars was all about parsecs.

A: Nope, we’re talking about the pre-metric measuring system – one that America still uses. Their version of a “bushel” is equal to about 8.25 “dry gallons”. 

Q: And everyone else smart just uses litres?

A: Yeah and it’s about 35 litres.

Q: Where does this weird measurement come from?

A: The practice goes all the way back to the 10th century. They didn’t have reliable scales, so things were simply measured by how much you could fit into a “bushel basket”.

Q: Sounds like a real basket case.

A: Basically. So a “bushel of apples” and a “bushel of wheat” may have weighed different amounts, but both were based on filling the basket.

Q: I assume there WAS an amount though, for each thing?

A: Well yeah. Wheat, for example, was about 60 pounds – or a million kernels.

Q: Imagine having the job of counting those…

A: Well the bushel removed the need for that! 

Q: Oh yeah. So, how old is the word itself?

A: “Bushel” (and “peck” – which is a quarter of a bushel) turned up in English in the 13th century, during the post-1066 influx of French words. “Bushel” came from the Old French word “boissel” – an ancient grain measure that translated as “a handful”.

Q: Seems much bigger than a handful!

A: True, but that’s simply the origin. According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the exact measure of a bushel not only varied by the commodity but also the place. Britain standardised their bushel in the 1800s, but America’s continued to be the Wild West depending on the state you were in. 

Q: That’s apt, as America WAS the Wild West in the 1800s.

A: True. For anyone not trading these goods, “bushel” simply came to mean “a large quantity or number”.

Q: So, back to my original question. Why are we hiding a light under this basket?

A: Good question! “To hide (one’s) light under a bushel” comes directly from the book of Matthew (5:15) in the Bible. It involved a parable of “the lamp under a bushel” – told by Jesus to his followers in his “Sermon on the Mount”.

Q: Sermon of the Mount?

A: Yeah, think of it as him giving a big Ted Talk on a mountain.

Q: Great acoustics.

A: Yeah, so this talk was all about how to live their lives. In this parable, sometimes also called “the lamp under a bowl”, he was telling his believers not to hide their faith. In modern times, this meaning has become the more secular “don’t conceal your talents or abilities”. 

Q: So what was the actual context?

A: Essentially it was: “Do not light a lamp and then put it under a bushel basket; it is set on a lampstand, where it gives light to all in the house.” 

Q: Wise words.

A: Very illuminating.

Q: Haha. But wait, Jesus was doing his speaking tour 2000 years ago and yet “bushel” as a word isn’t that old, right?

A: Good point. But remember, the Bible itself has been re-translated throughout the centuries, especially from the 1500s on. And it was a New Testament translation of the parable by William Tyndale during this time that is credited with first using the word “bushel”. It would go on to inform the famous King James Version of the Bible in the 1600s. And the “hide one’s light under a bushel” proverb from then on.

Q: So, to recap – in the Bible, Jesus did a Ted Talk on a mountain and told his followers not to be shy about their beliefs. It was told as a story of hiding a lamp under a bowl/basket, later given the name “bushel”. 

A: That’s right. The phrase is fairly old-fashioned these days, but it continues to mean hiding your talents.

Q: And has absolutely nothing to do with setting fire to your garden?

A: Correct. But you ALSO should never hide a lit tiki torch under a bush. Do not try that at home…

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Q: Hey AWC, where does “shemozzle“ come from?

A: As in, “it ended up being quite the shemozzle”?

Q: Well yeah, like a mess or chaos etc, right?

A: That’s the one. Macquarie Dictionary has it listed as “a confused state of affairs; muddle. An uproar; row.“ Meanwhile, America’s Merriam-Webster offers a similar meaning, but lists the variant “schemozzle“ first.

Q: Meh. Variant, schmariant…

A: Haha, well all this is giving clues as to where the word comes from.

Q: The land of Varia?

A: No such place. No, it’s Yiddish in origin.

Q: Oh, from the land of Yidd?

A: Fair enough. Let’s explain that term first. “Yiddish“ was a term likely in use from the 1700s but that came to dictionaries in the 1870s from the High German word – “judisch“ and then “jiddisch“. At this time, Jewish people were spread across the world and the Yiddish language evolved separately from Hebrew as a common tongue in these communities.

Q: Oh! My uncle once tried to get a job at a stamp-licker when he was young, but was told he had a common tongue.

A: Ummm, that’s something different. Anyway, “Yiddish“ is always capitalised and started out just as the name for the language (like “Dutch“ or “French“). Then in the late 1880s, it started being used as an adjective too. (“Yiddish music” etc.)

Q: And I’m guessing Yiddish loves its “sh“ or “sch“ words, yeah?

A: It sure does – mirroring its High German origins. And according to the Online Etymology Dictionary, this one seems to have derived from the Yiddish word “schlemazel” – meaning “a born loser, or unlucky person”.

Q: That’s ALSO what they told my uncle. This is uncanny!

A: Haha. “Shemozzle“ appears to have entered British slang quite early, in 1889 – meaning “an unhappy plight“. And the word’s unique onomatopoeic quality has likely helped it endure till today.

Q: Not unique in Yiddish though I bet. 

A: True. In fact, closely associated with being a “schlemazel“ was to be a “schlemiel“ – more clumsy than unlucky. A popular quip compares the two by saying: “A shlemiel is the fellow who climbs to the top of a ladder with a bucket of paint and then drops it. A schlemazel is the fellow on whose head the bucket falls!”

Q: Oh dear, what a klutz!

A: Yes – a “schlemiel“ IS similar to being a “klutz“. And no prizes for guessing where that word comes from!

Q: Klutz is also Yiddish?

A: It sure is.

Q: Can I have a prize anyway? Because many will think it sounds German.

A: This was our earlier point. Yiddish started developing as a language in the Alsace region on the German/French border around 1000 years ago. As well as picking up elements from Hebrew, it drew heavily on Germanic words.

Q: What other Yiddish words do we commonly use in English today?

A: Good question! If a movie is overly sentimental, we might use the term “schmaltzy“ – which comes from the Yiddish for “chicken fat”! It dates from 1935.

Q: Hilarious.

A: You’ve probably also heard people – usually men – being called a “schmuck“. It entered English in the 1890s as a term for a “contemptible person”; however Jewish typically found the word taboo, as it is another word for the male genitalia!

Q: Awkward.

A: Sticking with similar starting sounds, if you have something you’re known for doing, perhaps some kind of routine, that is your “schtick“. It came to English in 1959 as theatre jargon for a stage act or gimmick.

Q: So dancing in that funny rubber-legs way was Elvis Presley’s schtick?

A: It certainly was. Another word – “spiel“ – comes from the German “to play” and was originally applied to playing circus music, then from 1896 as any kind of sales pitch.

Q: I didn’t realise we used so many Yiddish words!

A: Here’s another one: “s(c)hmooze“ – another 1890s arrival to English and meaning “to chat intimately”. 

Q: Fascinating! One more?

A: How about “glitch“? That dates back to 1953 from the Yiddish word “glitsh“ meaning “slip”. It was likely taken from the German ‘gleiten’ – to glide. It started its life as technical jargon, but became widespread during the US space program in the 1960s. 

Q: “Houston, we have a glitch!”

A: Exactly. And of course, despite some theories suggesting it was earlier, the term “glitch in the Matrix” – certainly in the context it’s used today – does indeed come from the 1999 film, The Matrix. 

Q: So, to recap – Yiddish evolved as a language with strong German influences, giving us a shemozzle of words that all sound kind of similar. Many entered English in the 1890s and the rest throughout the 20th century. How was that spiel?

A: Haha, you can schmooze with the best of them.

Q: Mazel Tov!

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