Scitting an old word or two
I have some more of Neil’s photos to illustrate today’s ramble about nothing in particular. The highlight of my Monday morning reminded me of an old lad joke, which is probably an old dad joke now and involves the use of the vernacular. The word in question was originally scitte in Old English, and according to the Google book n-gram viewer, didn’t come into printed usage until the 1950s, which is strangely understandable, but I am not sure 100% correct. I expect it was widely spoken, and probably printed in other forms, which is what I will do. Instead of using the modern version of scitte, I’ll call it poo, which apparently, appeared in print well before 1800. Anyway, back to the lad joke. If you’re one of those people who don’t approve of this kind of joke (i.e. ones that aren’t that funny and are not very PC), then don’t read the next paragraph, but enjoy Neil’s picture and then scroll down quickly.
The old joke goes like this. One man saying to another: ‘What would you do if a bird pooed on your windscreen?’ Other chap answers, ‘I wouldn’t take her out again.’ And that’s the dodgy joke over with. It came to mind as I was walking down the hill past the car park yesterday morning minding my own business and creating my next chapter in my head. All of a sudden, some bird scitted on my head, bang smack in the middle, green and much of it, and I wasn’t even stationary beneath a telegraph wire or anything. Great shot – and yes I meant to say shot there, but it was also a great… You know what I mean. Luckily, I had a bottle of water with me, so was able to wash my hair in the street. I had to wash my hand too because the first thing you do is say, ‘What’s that?’ put your hand to your head, and there you go. Some say it’s good luck, some say it’s just a Monday morning thing, I just said what it was, with Oh in front and an ! behind, and carried on.
Actually, while I was musing on my next chapter, at the back of my mind was this rumour/truth/yet to be seen thing that’s started filtering around expat circles. That those of us who still have a yUK bank account registered to our Greek address, may/will have the account taken away from us. Some say it’s only Barclaycards, others say it’s only certain banks, others, like me, say, check with your bank and see what they say, which is what I am doing. I have a Greek account and have had it for years, but I’d be loathed to see my old UK one go as I’ve had it 40 years and am rather sentimental about it. Mainly, because when I set it up in Deal, Kent when I was about 18, I went into the branch and everything was civil and pleasant, and the people were lovely. Anyway, this is something to look out for and, no doubt, another great gift of the gaff that’s Brexit, or Brexscitte, perhaps.
I shall probably get told off now, both for telling a dodgy joke and for having a go at Brexit. Apparently, my ‘constant bashing’ of the yUK on my blog is ‘tedious’, according to one commentator. It’s not as tedious as having your bank account taken away from you, not being able to vote in any democratic process, and 101 other gifts of the gaff, and don’t expect me to stop moaning about it either. Oh, here’s a thing I learnt the other day and put on my other, writing blog when I was researching for historical fiction. Do you know what a Romoner was? According to a dictionary of Victorian words, Romoners are ‘fellows pretending to be acquainted with the occult sciences, fortune tellers.’ Just made me think of Remainers being folk who will have to refrain from saying ‘I told you so’ when the scitte hits the fan.