Bunburying

Because I is well high-brow, last night I went to see the filmed version of the National Theatre’s ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ (the handbag one) by Oscar Wilde. It was very funny, and also brought this word to my attention. If you’ve ever made up a friend as an excuse to dodge plans or just because you needed to disappear for a bit of peace and quiet, then congratulations – you’ve been Bunburying.

In the play, Algernon Moncrieff (Ncuti Gatwa in the National Theatre show) invents an ill friend called Bunbury. Poor old Bunbury’s terrible health means he needs constant attention – usually whenever Algy fancies a weekend in the country or wants to get out of a dull engagement. Genius, right? Here’s a quote when he introduces the concept to his friend Jack:

‘You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest, in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose.’

Wilde, of course, uses the idea of Bunburying to skewer the hypocrisy of Victorian society. But for the rest of us, it could be the perfect way to stay home and watch Netflix in our PJs instead of having to go out and actually talk to people. Also, if you do decide to Bunbury someone, don’t feel guilty – you’re simply carrying on a proud literary tradition.

Why Bunbury? No one really knows, but there are of course some theories, many of which lean into the idea that Wilde used it imply a secretive double life due to his homosexuality. (In case you’re not as high brow as me, many linguistic aspects of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ have been interpreted as allusions to gay culture and stereotypes.) For example, one put forward by none other than occultist and self-proclaimed prophet Aleister Crowley – who knew Wilde – was that Bunbury was a portmanteau word (i.e. two words smushed together), coined after Wilde took a train to Banbury, met a man there, then arranged a second liaison at Sunbury. Or it might just be named after the village in Cheshire.

The opening night of ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ marked the peak of Wilde's popularity. But it was followed shortly afterwards by his downfall – he was convicted and imprisoned for ‘homosexual acts’ only a few months later. Due to this, the play closed after only 86 performances, and would be the last comic or dramatic work Wilde would produce. Despite that, it’s now regarded as one of the greatest comedies in the English language, and has been performed continuously since its debut.

diadromous

‘Diadromous’ is a scientific word used to describe fish that migrate between fresh and salt water at different stages of their life. Diadromous fish are divided into two categories – those that move from the sea to rivers to spawn (like salmon) are called anadromous, while those that go in the opposite direction (like eels) are called catadromous. Ooh, that’s actual proper science.

‘Diadromous’ comes from a Greek word, diadromos, meaning ‘running through’ or ‘passing through’. It first appeared in English in the early 20th century.

Even this picture gives me the willies

If you know me personally, you might know that I have a bit of a phobia of fish in general (called ichthyophobia, fact fans), and particularly of sharks (I didn’t see Jaws until I was well into my twenties for precisely that reason). But it’s okay, because sharks only live in the sea, which I don’t go near very often. OR DO THEY? Let me introduce you to the bull shark which, unlike most sharks, can thrive (THRIVE) in both salt and fresh water, and regularly moves between the two. Oh, and bull sharks are also one of the most dangerous sharks in the world – they’re aggressive, have a powerful bite and often hunt in shallow, murky waters. Along with great white sharks and tiger sharks, they’re responsible for the highest number of recorded shark attacks on humans.

Bull sharks’ salt/fresh water adaptability has lead to them being found far inland in rivers and lakes including, famously, at the Carbrook Golf Club in Queensland, Australia. A flood in the 1990s swept six bull sharks into the golf course’s water hazard. When the water receded, they were stuck there, which made for an interesting game of golf, I’m sure.

The bull sharks’ invasion of the golf course has actually been good for both the club, and for science. The club made the most of the publicity by adding a shark to their logo, renaming their youth programme the ‘Junior Shark Academy’, and holding feedings at tournaments and corporate events – including one wedding in 2009 where all six sharks appeared at once (is that a good or a bad omen, I wonder?). Science-wise, previously no one had studied how long bull sharks could survive in low-salinity water – they had only been recorded twice before surviving for years in isolated bodies of water. One group made it at least four years in a freshwater lake in Panama in the 1980s, while another survived a decade in high salinity in South Africa’s Lake St Lucia after becoming trapped in 2002. Our golfing sharks stayed in the water hazard for at least 17 years – more than half a bull shark’s lifespan – which was unprecedented. It showed scientists that there’s presumably no limit to how long these sharks can live in freshwater environments like lakes and rivers, and that they could theoretically spend their entire lifetime in these habitats. Great.

No sharks have been seen at Carbrook since 2015 (although a comment on the YouTube video below begs to differ). But I’m sure people still think twice about retrieving any balls that find their way into that water hazard.

lampoon

If you lampoon someone or something, you take the piss out of them in a satirical way, often exposing their flaws or hypocrisy. As well as being a verb, lampoon can also be a noun – so you could publish a lampoon of someone, for example (even though that sounds weird).

Rabelais – Il était très drôle

‘Lampoon’ first appeared in print in English in 1645. Both the noun and the verb come from a French word, ‘lampons’, a form of the verb ‘lamper’, which means ‘to drink to the bottom’. So what does downing a pint (or downing un demi-litre as we’re in France) have to do with taking the mick out of someone? Well, apparently the word ‘Lampons!’, meaning ‘Let us guzzle!’ was a frequent refrain in 17th-century French satirical poems. For example, it appears in ‘Le Vin’ (which translates as ‘Wine’ – I knew all that Duolingo French would pay off eventually), a poem by François Rabelais, a 16th-century French writer known for being a bit rude. Rabelais also used it in ‘Gargantua et Pantagruel’, a series of satirical novels, as a drinking song:

‘Buvez toujours, ne cessez,
Lampons! Lampons!
C'est à ce coup que nous paierons!’

(‘Drink on, never stop,
Let us guzzle! Let us guzzle!
This time, we’ll pay!’)

Thanks to his literary legacy, Rabelais got his own adjective –‘Rabelaisian’. It means ‘marked by gross robust humour, extravagance of caricature or bold naturalism’. Not bad for a former monk, right?

scavenger

A scavenger is a creature that survives by picking through leftovers, scraps, rubbish and dead things. Think vultures circling roadkill, foxes raiding bins or that friend who says they’re on a diet then eats all your chips.

You wouldn’t want to mess with that, would you?

‘Scavenger’ didn’t always conjure up images of vultures and bin-diggers though. In fact, its origins are less animal-ly and more administrative. It comes from ‘scavager’, which is from an Anglo-French word, ‘scawageour’, which means ‘collector of scavage’. WTF is scavage, I hear you say. Well, in ye olde medieval times, ‘scavage’ was a tax (grrr) levied by towns and cities on goods sold by non-residents. This was actually a fairly well-intentioned tax, as it was supposed to give resident merchants a competitive advantage.

You might think that scavenger came to mean one who roots through crap as a way to insult the taxman (or woman). But it actually happened because the officers in charge of collecting this tax were later made responsible for keeping streets clean (I’m not entirely sure how these two skills became interchangeable, but I suspect it was to do with budget cuts).

Over time, ‘scavenger’ stopped referring to people altogether (apart from the chip guy I mentioned above) and settled on animals that lived off refuse, carrion and other unappetising delights.

Fun scavenger facts:

• vultures have stomach acid that’s so strong it can digest anthrax, botulism and cholera. I don’t want to know how they found this out. They also have a diet that’s 90% bone. Yum

• hyenas are often mistaken for scavengers, but they actually hunt most of their food – spotted hyenas (the most well-known type) catch up to 80% of their food themselves and have a hunting success rate that rivals lions. They are, however, very opportunistic and won’t turn down an easy meal if they happen to find one on the floor. Same as me, to be fair

• my parents once saw a seagull steal a piece of cake with a whole fork in it – a metal one too.

It’s worth saying that scavengers play a vital role in our ecosystem by getting rid of all the dead crap on the ground. So without them, the world would be a much messier place.