matutolypea

I can guarantee you’ve had matutolypea at some point in your life. Don’t panic – it’s not some horrible internal disease or toe fungus. It’s when you wake up in the morning feeling grumpy and out of sorts. So it’s basically a posh way of saying that you got out of bed the wrong side.

A very old figurine that may or may not be Hakuna Matata, sorry Matuta Mater (from Wikipedia).

Etymology wise, despite its grand appearance, matutolypea is actually pretty straightforward. It’s a word of two halves. The ‘matuto’ bit comes from ‘Matuta Mater’, an ancient Roman goddess of the dawn. She was worshipped on the western and southern edges of the Roman empire and would later matutate (this is a bad play on words, sorry) into the slightly better-known Aurora. The second part of matutolypea comes from the Greek word ‘lype’, which means ‘grief or sorrow’. So it basically translates as ‘morning mourning’, which is pleasing (unless you’ve got it, or live with someone who does).

Even with these impressive classical roots, ‘matutolypea’ seems to be a fairly modern word, first turning up in print in the 1990s. Sadly, you won’t find it in any mainstream dictionaries either (but that’s never stopped me before).

Despite Matuta being largely forgotten when it comes to goddesses, we get lots of other morning-type words from her name, some more well known than others. They include ‘matins’ which are morning church services, ‘matinee’ for an afternoon performance and ‘matutinal’ which means something is happening in the morning (these have come to us via the French word ‘matin’, which I’m sure you’ll remember from school means ‘morning’).

Your challenge for this week is to say something like this to as many people as you can:

‘Don’t talk to me for at least an hour until my matutolypea subsides.’

And feel free to let me know their reaction in the comments.

inaptronym

If a word has the prefix ‘in-’ before it, like this one, then it usually means ‘no’ or ‘not’ (sometimes it just means ‘in’, but let’s ignore that for the purposes of this post). Think ‘independent’ (i.e. not dependent), ‘invisible’ (i.e. not visible) and inoffensive (i.e. well, you get it now). So before we get into what an inaptronym is, let’s talk about aptronyms. An aptronym is a name that suits its owner in an apt (usually funny) way. Like Les McBurney, firefighter (yes, that is a real person – regular readers (hello parents!) might remember that I previously wrote a blog post about my favourite aptronyms which featured Les, as well as weather forecaster Sarah Blizzard and plastic surgeon Dr Alter). All of this means you’ve probably already worked out what an inaptronym is – when someone’s name is very inappropriate for what they do. Before I get into the funny real-life examples of inaptronyms (which, let’s face it, is why we’re all here), you must sit through some etymology. Sorry.

‘-onym’ comes from the Greek word for ‘name’, and has a starring role in words like ‘synonym’ (a word that has the same meaning as another word – literally ‘named with’) and ‘patronym’ (a name derived from a father’s). And the ‘apt’ bit is just that – apt. Aptronym is a relatively young word, although accounts differ as to who actually coined it. It might have been created by an American columnist and author called Franklin P. Adams, although the OED cites it as having appeared in an awesomely named dictionary, Funk & Wagnall’s, way back in 1921. The concept itself (also known as nominative determinism) isn’t young though, and goes all the way back to Aristotle, who called it ou ta tuchonta onomata (did you just start singing ‘Hakuna Matata’ from The Lion King?) or ‘purposeful names’.

Okay, on to the candidates for ‘best inaptronym’.

• Frank Beard, the only member of ZZ Top who didn’t have a beard

• Rob Banks, an officer with Avon and Somerset police force

• Peter Bowler, a cricketer who was mainly a batsman

• Samuel Foote, an actor who only had one foot.

But the winner for me, is one Jaime Lachica Sin. He was the 30th Roman Catholic Archbishop of Manila and also a cardinal which means his official title was… wait for it: Cardinal Sin.

Amazing.

samhainophobia

Samhainophobia is a morbid fear of Hallowe’en. But why isn’t it called halloweenophobia, I hear you ask? Well, the word comes from ‘Samhain’, the name of an ancient Gaelic festival, which means ‘summer’s end’. Like our modern-day Hallowe’en, it was held on 31 October, and observed in Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man. In fact, Samhain is first mentioned in Irish literature as far back as the ninth century. It’s what’s known as a liminal festival, which means it marks the end of one thing and the start of another (in this case summer and winter). It was also the one day a year when the boundaries between realms became thin, allowing the spirits of the Otherworld (a supernatural realm in Celtic mythology) to cross over to Earth. The dead were also said to return for one night to visit their living relatives. Samhain was celebrated with partying and feasting and all that good stuff, as well as some (non-human, thankfully) sacrifices to the pagan gods for a good year ahead.

So, when did Samhain mutate into Hallowe’en? In the ninth century the Catholic church brought in a new feast day to celebrate saints called, unimaginatively, All Saints’ Day. And the old English words for ‘All Saints’ are ‘All Hallows’. The Catholic church already had form for co-opting pagan festival dates and traditions (see Christmas and Easter), so quickly rebranded Samhain as All Hallows’ Even (AKA ‘Eve’), which became Hallowe’en (that’s what the apostrophe is there for – to show that a letter is missing).

You might think trick or treating (or ‘trickle treeting’ as I saw it referred to on social media last week) is a modern-day American invention, but it actually has its roots in Samhain too. Poor children in medieval Europe would go door to door begging for food and money during the feast day, offering to pray for the souls of their neighbours’ recently departed relatives. This later morphed into the more familiar kids-mugging-you-for-sweets we get today.

Carving pumpkins is another ancient tradition, going all the way back to the 1660s. You can blame an Irishman called Stingy Jack for this – to cut a very long story short, he was a pisshead who had a run in with the Devil, and ended up walking the earth for all eternity with only a candle in a carved turnip to light his way. People began to make their own versions of Jack’s lanterns from various root vegetables, and put them in their windows or doorways to frighten him or any other wandering evil spirits away. Immigrants to the US brought jack-o’-lanterns with them, soon switching to the presumably more-available native pumpkins.

(If you’ve got some leftover pumpkins from Hallowe’en and you’re happy that Stingy Jack isn’t coming to get you, chuck them in your garden or some local woods. Apparently squirrels and rabbits love ’em. Farms and zoos might like them as well, so whatever you do, don’t bin them. Alright, lecture over.)