I pulled out my hibernating Aestlight shawl last night. I started it over the Christmas holidays last year and it was promptly put into hibernation on Boxing Day. I now remember why: I find all the garterstitch deadly dull. I now have to decide whether to pull out all that garterstitch or find some inner backbone to get those last twenty rows done before I pick up stit… aghr, I think I’ll just call it a day.

The Kidsilk Haze in Jelly was just sitting randomly on our kitchen table. I really like those two colours and textures together. Hmmm..

Also on the kitchen table: my needle book made by Chookiebirdie, aka Lorna Reid. This little book has kept me company for a few years now.

I have visited Lorna’s studio many times (she is just a few doors down from my very good friend, Ms Old Maiden Aunt) and eventually decided that I would love her to make me a small needle book. I did not give Lorna many guidelines – just that I loved moss green. Lorna promptly delivered this lovely needle book: moss green and aqua and orange and an owl. Everything is so beautifully finished.

I spot something in the background too. I wonder what that could be? I’ll hopefully get you a proper shot of that “mystery object” later this week if the notoriously fickle April weather complies. For now, let’s just say I cast off last night and I’m ever so slightly oh my word.

A few links for you:

• The Art of Fashion. Exactly what it says on the tin. I could happily read an entire book on this topic.
• Most Underappreciated Films of the Last Decade: a nice run-down which provides inspiration for our DVD nights.
• Hugh Grant(!) – yes, that Hugh Grant(!!) – steps right into the fray with an excellent article about British politics, British media, Rupert Murdoch, whistle-blowing, and phone-tapping. A must-read if you have the slightest inkling what I’m on about. Hugh, I loved you in Maurice (especially with your moustache-of-repression) and forgive you for everything you’ve done since.
• This little girl knows her Star Wars (YouTube link) I especially like her bow and the Storm-Trooper’s fist-pump. Made me grin like an idiot.
• And speaking of videos and me grinning like an idiot, let me recommend When Harry Met Sally 2. Does the very thought strike fear into your heart? You should be first in line to watch this.
• The Dumbing Down Of Quilting. Also, take time to read the comments. The arrogance displayed by some of the people (including the blogger) is astounding. My jaw hit the floor, so it did*

(* does anyone know if the “so it did” emphatic subclause in a declarative sentence is particularly Glaswegian?)

Guess which type of brain I have.

Ten days in Denmark. The longest I have been back since my big move some four years ago. Today I was standing in my local supermarket wondering why an elderly couple was speaking Danish. As it turned out, they were not – but right now my brain automatically assumes background noise must be in Danish and I have to makes a conscious decision in order to recognise the language as Scots English. Likewise, I’m searching for words: what’s English for parabolantenner or ‘Bare på beløbet, tak’? I know these words, of course, but I have to dig deep before they pop into my head.

Interestingly enough, I only have these problems with spoken language, not written. I’m sure there is a perfectly good (neurological) reason for this.

However, I refuse to believe there is a valid neurological explanation for the way the Danish language is being mangled by people who really ought to know better. Danish is being invaded by English – and it is not even correct English in many instances. I have never been a militant language purist (the way I acquire and use language prevents me from being too holier-than-thou) but I think I am becoming an old grumpy lady. WHY write “den perfect carwash du altid har drømt om” when the correct phrasing would be “den perfekte bilvask du altid har drømt om“. WHY WHY did my gran‘s woman’s weekly write about “en crunchy banankage” when Danish already has several words meaning “crunchy” AND most of the magazine’s readers do not understand English in the first place? WHY WHY WHY would a major national newspaper gleefully write “livet er one long bundy jump” in the middle of an interview with a Danish designer thus mangling BOTH Danish and English? I nearly cracked when I was sitting next to a bunch of Swedish golf-buddies on the plane back to Scotland who kept shouting “EXACT!” but I’m told that is a valid Swedish expression which admittedly feels a bit deflating after I’ve been foaming at the mouth since Monday night.

Last day of my holiday today. I shall celebrate with some knitting and some tidying. I finished reading David Mitchell’s latest novel last night but I need to mull over it before writing anything about it.

“It is a sign of a deeply disturbed civilization where Tree huggers and Whale huggers in their weirdness are acceptable… while no one embraces the last speakers of a language.” -Werner Herzog

Found here which looks at whether we should preserve languages and whether a world with monolithic language usage would be a bad thing? More on this later.

Mooncalf left an astute comment on my last entry wherein I had a mini-rant about Danish lifestyle blogs being smug and self-satisfied. She linked two blog entries, both of which reacts to the Martha Stewart-ness of some blogs. I really enjoyed reading the entries and I have taken some of their points to heart. I think it is important to remember that all blogs are edited in one way or another. We all have messy tables, bad days, sweaters that do not fit, unread books and frozen pizzas. I tend to shy away from confessional blogging (and I’m also notoriously private for someone who has blogged continuously for almost nine years), but I do attempt to create a fairly realistic picture of my life whilst leaving out things I would feel uncomfortable sharing.

So, bearing all this in mind, please ask me a question.

And, going back to the idea of language, notions of identity etc etc, I found this little tidbit in one of my commonplace books:

“As there is no selfhood without some other, a national canon — whether attached to land or language — is constituted in such a way that its identity has both intra- and intercultural aspects. In other words, it is mediated by the memory of the other and its development always involves at least two cultures. The court of Louis XIV, English Classicism, or the Weimar Klassik defined itself with reference to Graeco-Roman Antiquity. Thus, it is possible to argue that national canons reveal an interacting with other creeds. They are intercultural manifestations, conflictual as well as mutually complementary, configurations that are, in relation to each other, not only powerfully reciprocal but also strongly oppositional.” -Mihály Szegedy-Maszák

I think that pretty much reveals my stance on whether we should preserve* languages or not.

(* I’m not of a prescriptive bend, mind.)

Today Translations spokesman, Mick Thorburn said: “Over the last few months we’ve had clients asking us for Glaswegian translators.

(..)

“Usually, the role would involve translating documents but in this case its more likely to be assisting foreign visitors to the city whose ‘business English’ is not good enough to understand the local dialect.”

(..)

He added: “We’re not necessarily looking for people who are particularly skilled in linguistics, just candidates who can help out clients who may struggle with native Glaswegian.”

I remember arriving in Glasgow and not being able to understand most of what was being said around me. While getting some Glaswegian colleagues helped (although I have never found a use for the phrase “that fake bake is pure dead brilliant, hen”), I struggled until I twigged that Glaswegian is basically akin to my Danish uncles attempting to speak English. There is a certain flatness to Glaswegian intonation that is very, very similar to mid-Zealandic intonation and some words spoken with a broad Glaswegian accent sound more like their Danish counterpart than the actual standard English word: home becomes hame which sounds quite like a slurred mid-Zealandic hjem. For a girl who has tried to escape rural Denmark for most of her life, all this feels a bit like a cosmic joke.

Thanks to my friend Lise, I spent most of my lunch reading about the 16th best football team in the word ever. The most recent incarnation is through to next year’s World Cup which bodes well for the amount of (tense) knitting I’ll get done. Huzzah!

For fa’en is David’s favourite Danish expression, though. He says that swearing in Danish means you don’t really swear. Hmm. When I came across this youtube clip explaining the Norwegian swearword Faen, I knew David would get a kick out of it. He did and so will you, I promise.

Afterwards, go to this Metafilter thread for commentary and an insight into Scandinavian neighbourly “love”:

“After living in Finland, I just can’t take Swedes seriously.”

“I mean, Norwegian is, without a doubt, the wussiest of all Nordic languages. Icelandic and Finnish are the two hardest languages, then comes Danish due to its awesome gutturalness, then Swedish, then Norwegian.”

“I lived in Iceland where national sports involved remarking on how the Finns are always drunk and how Danish sounds like Icelandic spoken by a retarded sheep. I do firmly believe that both of these are true.”

JK: Which one is Simon Bird [Daily Mirror's north-east football writer]?

SB: Me.

JK: You’re a c*nt.

SB: Thank you.

JK: Which one is Hickman [Niall, football writer for the Express]? You are out of order. Absolutely f*cking out of order. If you do it again, I am telling you you can f*ck off and go to another ground. I will not come and stand for that f*cking crap. No f*cking way, lies. F*ck, you’re saying I turned up and they [Newcastle's players] f*cked off.

And the press conference just gets better and better from there. Thank you, Live-In Boyfriend, for pointing this one out. It’s hysterical.

So Obama is betting on the word’s enduring power as a reformer of American life. Historically he has good reason for, from the beginning, words and texts have constructed American realities, not the other way round. The spell cast on Americans by the mantle of words goes all the way back to the first Great Awakening in the 1740s when flocks thrilled to Methodist preachers such as George Whitefield. Evangelical passion remains a brilliant strand in the weave of American discourse, but when it made way for the reasoning of the enlightenment deists and unitarians who made the revolution, another element of American speech-power sounded loud and clear: the reverence for classical oratory.

The Republican bet is that all this is a thing of the past; that, self-evidently, we live in the age of images, and words are just the add-ons to the beguilement of the eye; that all we have are soundbites. Obama’s is the more stunning gamble; that so far from the digital age killing off the reign of the word, it has actually given logos a whole new lease of life.

Simon Schama on Barack Obama’s acceptance speech, August 28, 2008.

Unsurprisingly my brain went ‘ping!’ when I realised Schama was trying to make a point about the performative and transformative powers of language. Always nice to be thrown some discourse analysis over breakfast. Even more unsurprising: the comments to the piece are almost all uniformly refusing to take up Schama’s gauntlet.

Speaking of which, I just finished knitting my first major project (I’m going to be self-indulgent enough to post a picture once I know the recipient has received it). The cherry trees outside are beginning to bloom. And while I am still struggling with stamina and energy, I do think I am getting better ever so slowly.

In the wake of Peter Carey being interviewed, I sat wondering about writers and language. I always thought that if you were the Peter Carey sort of writer – i.e. acclaimed, award-winning, Booker darling, taught in universities – you would have a natural affinity for language whether spoken or written. You would effortlessly construct arguments using precise, yet beautiful language. Or am I sorely mistaken? Are writers like Peter Carey (and Martin Amis and Graham Swift and Alan Hollinghurst etc) like me? When speaking, I am still an able communicator but I feel most at ease with language when I am typing away.

Gosh, maybe writers are really just like you and me! But with an agent and a publishing deal and a NYC penthouse, of course.

In unrelated news: I do not miss living in a country which expels people without a trial. I have been asked to highlight a Facebook group for Danes protesting the lack of trial. Go join. Or write indignant letters to your local MP.