What kind of profanity is this?

April 6, 2026

Regular readers will be familiar with Strong Language, a group blog about swearing that I co-founded with James Harbeck in 2014. If you’re interested in swearing as a linguistic or cultural phenomenon, I recommend bookmarking or subscribing to it.

New posts by our excellent contributors are less frequent now, but that makes it easier to catch up if you haven’t visited before or feel like browsing the archives. The blog has over 400 posts: fascinating and colourful explorations of profanity for readers not averse to such material.

I also contribute to Strong Language now and then, and this post on Sentence first introduces the last few that I wrote. What follows below is not very sweary – there’s one reference to a strong swear – but if this type of language freaks you out like it does Ned Flanders, or just plain doesn’t interest you, you may prefer to bail out here.

Two frames from a comic. 1. Ned Flanders smiles, his eyes closed briefly as he trims a hedge and listens to music. He says: “I *know* this music must be the tool of the devil, but that *sax* riff is just *freakin’ heavenly*!” 2. He startles, his eyes wide open, his hand raised to his open mouth. He says: “*Golly*, did I just say the *‘f’ word*?”

From “Be-bop-a-Lisa” in Simpsons Comics no. 6 (1994). Script & pencils: Bill Morrison; Inks: Tim Bavington; Colours: Cindy Vance. Editor: Steve Vance

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Eavan Boland and the emergence of a poetic self

March 29, 2026

I picked up Object Lessons (1995) by Eavan Boland (1944–2020) thinking it was a memoir, but it’s more focused than that: a meditation on the emergence of her identity as a poet, specifically a woman poet and an Irish poet.

Cover of Eavan Boland's book Object Lessons, Vintage paperback edition. The subtitle is "The Life of the Woman and the Poet in Our Time." It has a large photo by Donovan Wylie, monochrome with a faint blue tint, of a rural landscape, a lake with reeds in the foreground and hills and mountains beyond it, under a moody cloudy sky. A cover quote from Bernard O'Donoghue in the TLS says, "A masterpiece".This identity is further complicated by her emigration from Ireland as a five-year-old girl when her father, a diplomat, took up work in London in the mid-20th century:

Hardly anything else that happened to me as a child was as important as this: that I left one country and came to another. That an ordinary displacement made an extraordinary distance between the word place and the word mine.

In England, everyday words reinforced her sense of difference and lack: ‘They [the other children at school] could say “orchard” instead of “garden” with the offhand grace imparted by nine-tenths of the law. I could not.’ But it would be an Irish English word that crystallized her alienation:

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Don’t have a menty b about this bloggy p

February 10, 2026

An open linguistic question was raised recently on Bluesky by Darach Ó Séaghdha: What do we call those cutesie slang phrases that have become productive in the UK lately, like genny lec for ‘general election’ and menty b for ‘mental breakdown’?

In response I wrote a short thread, which I already disagree with. So I’ll pick up the discussion here on Sentence first, where there’s more room, it’s easier to find, and it’s probably less ephemeral than on social media.

We can show this linguistic fad as having two main stereotyped patterns or formulas, which overlap morphologically. For type 1, we take a word or short phrase, clip (i.e., truncate, abbreviate) the first stressed syllable, add a y-suffix, and reduce the next word or stressed syllable to its initial letter:

mental breakdown → menty b
nervous breakdown → nervy b
a hundred percent → hundy p
tomato ketchup → tommy k
sauvignon blanc → savvy b
ChatGPT → chatty g
lockdown → locky d
pandemic → panny d
Clapham Junction → Clappy J

For type 2, we clip the first stressed syllable, add a y-suffix (same as type 1 so far), clip the next word or stressed syllable, and, optionally, add an s-suffix:

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Sipping a word like brandy

February 2, 2026

Penguin paperback copy of Doris Lessing's book The Habit of Loving. It's off-white with a black-and-white illustration of a woman and man dancing, the woman facing away with her hands on his shoulders, his hands clasped behind her back. He's in a dark suit; she's in a light dress with spaghetti straps and a rose on the back. Her hair is tied up; his eyes are closed. Two thick orange bands run vertically down either side of the cover, and two thin black lines run horizontally, framing the illustration. The book's cost is given as 2'6 in old UK money.In Doris Lessing’s story ‘A Road to the Big City’, published in her 1957 collection The Habit of Loving (my Penguin paperback edition, pictured, is from 1960), two young women, sisters, are travelling by train in Johannesburg.

Marie, the younger, and Lilla sit at a table with a middle-aged man and allow him to buy them drinks. Lilla, who considers her sister unworldly, chooses brandy for them both. It’s Marie’s first time drinking it.

The three get to talking about their plans and backgrounds:

‘Mom is old-fashioned,’ said Marie. She said the word old-fashioned carefully; it was not hers, but Lilla’s; she was tasting it, in the way she sipped at the brandy, trying it out, determined to like it.

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A list of animals who

December 15, 2025

The recent death of the great Jane Goodall brought me back to an old post about the use of who-pronouns with non-human animals, as in ‘swallows who flew past her window’, as opposed to ‘swallows that/which flew past her window’.

Goodall’s first scientific paper was returned to her with who replaced by which, and he or she replaced by it, in reference to chimpanzees. Goodall promptly reinstated her choice of pronouns, presumably seeing them as markers of the animals’ intrinsic value, and their substitution as an unwarranted moral demotion.1

Since then I’ve made note of other examples of animals who that I’ve read in books.2 This post compiles them in one place, where they form a kind of homemade menagerie of zoolinguistic solidarity. It extends, as we have seen, to swallows:

She watched the sudden, fast shadows of swallows who flew past her window in fleeting pairs, subtracting light from her room, and marvelled how living things could suspend themselves in mid-air. (Claire Keegan, ‘Men and Women’, in Antarctica)

And, from the same writer, sheep:

I sit by the window and keep an eye on the sheep who stare, bewildered, from the car.

Ducks:

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to Agatha Christie (v.tr.)

October 11, 2025

The conversion of nouns to verbs (to impact, to medal, to leverage, to architect) is a continual object of criticism and word rage. But language has been verbing for as long as it has languaged. In fact, there’s nothing that can’t be verbed if you put your mind to it.

‘What about someone’s name?’ you might ask. ‘What about Agatha Christie?’

I’m glad you picked that example. Because the new FX series Alien: Earth offers this great line in its second episode, ‘Mr. October’ (a mild swear word follows):

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Link love: language (80)

July 10, 2025

Before they gather any more digital dust, here are a few dozen links on a linguistic theme – etymology, grammar, slang, dialect, gesture, writing, spelling, animal communication, etc. – for your reading and listening pleasure.

Ope.

On slop.

Holy mackerel!

On balk and baulk.

Whence the backslash?

The grammar of “was trulyn’t”.

On deep reading vs “digital orality”.

Janet Malcolm vs English as she is spoke.

Pronoun research: an annotated bibliography.

What does it mean to live without handwriting?

Hallucinating Parrots, a new blog on the linguistics of AI.

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