A ‘swullocking’ summer, a PM toppled by ‘backfriends’ and an ’empleomaniac’ in the Kremlin! SUSIE DENT looks back on another year of weird words
As someone immersed in dictionaries, I’ve long known that a word can paint a thousand pictures, summoning memories and feelings as vividly as any photo.
You only have to hear ‘groovy’ or ‘far out’ to be transported straight to the Sixties, while ‘bling’, ‘booyah’, and ‘wazzzzup?’ leap out from the Nineties as surely as ‘Netflix and Chill’ belongs to the Noughties.
For almost a decade now, I’ve been posting a ‘Word of the Day’ on Twitter, each inspired by something that caught my eye: a news story that was impossible to miss, a nugget I’d read, an event on TV.
An avowed bookworm, I often try to resurrect words that have fallen out of use yet seem so useful for today. And I’ve come to realise that together they create their own snapshot of the times we’ve lived through — an album of ‘language selfies’, if you like.
On February 24, Vladimir Putin ordered Russia’s unfathomable invasion of Ukraine. The despotic president amply fulfils the definition of an ‘empleomaniac’: one desperate to hold on to power no matter what the cost
When I look back over my tweets from the past 12 months, I can still make out the footprints of the moments that inspired them.
From Partygate to Putin, victory for the Lionesses to heartache for the Lions or, indeed, the death of the longest-reigning monarch in British history this year has been, as they used to say in the 1500s, a real ‘merry-go-sorry’.
So in the spirit of end-of-year reflection, I’ve gathered together the best of the bunch — words that, though often centuries old, for me speak effortlessly and eloquently of 2022…
Suspire
As the year opened, the prospect of yet more variants of Covid was all too real. Continued uncertainty, combined with a cautious optimism that we had turned a corner, had many of us letting out a deep breath. To ‘suspire’, in the 16th century, was to sigh deeply, either from relief, sadness or yearning.
Forwaked
Many of us will remember waiting from January until May for the results of Sue Gray’s protracted investigation into so-called ‘Partygate’. When this finally came, the findings seemed frustratingly bare. Many of us were thoroughly ‘forwaked’, wearied from watching and waiting.
Empleomaniac
On February 24, Vladimir Putin ordered Russia’s unfathomable invasion of Ukraine. The despotic president amply fulfils the definition of an ‘empleomaniac’: one desperate to hold on to power no matter what the cost.
For those of us elsewhere, the Old English word ‘uhtceare’ might be more appropriate. Pronounced ‘ucht-chay-a-ru’ and meaning ‘dawn anxiety’, the return of Cold War nuclear Armageddon fears certainly kept many of us lying awake in the small hours.
Retrouvailles
In March we received the wonderful news that Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe was to be released back to Britain by Iranian authorities after more than six years in detention. What better word to describe the reunion with her tirelessly campaigning husband Richard and her seven-year-old daughter Gabriella than the French ‘retrouvailles’, meaning the joy of being reunited after a long time apart?
Nefandous
Soon reports began to emerge of horrific war crimes in Ukraine at the hands of Russian soldiers. One word from the 17th century sprang to mind: ‘nefandous’, meaning ‘too evil to speak of’.
Swullocking
Here in Britain, the summer brought welcome heat — but to a quite ridiculous degree. July’s heatwave made for truly ‘swullocking’ times. This Old English dialect word bundles together ‘scorching’, ‘sweltering’ and ‘stifling’ in a single powerful package. Many of us decided to ‘estivate’ — to spend the days of intense heat in a state of torpor.
July’s heatwave made for truly ‘swullocking’ times. This Old English dialect word bundles together ‘scorching’, ‘sweltering’ and ‘stifling’ in a single powerful package
Petrichor
When the rain finally — finally! — came, we jumped for joy, not least because of the glorious scent of ‘petrichor’, a word that describes the unmistakable and distinctive scent of rain hitting scorched earth.
Backfriend
The unity that had held Boris Johnson’s premiership together dissolved in July, with many in his own Cabinet turning on him. Among those deemed the most disloyal was Michael Gove, who might subsequently be labelled a ‘backfriend’, an epithet from the 15th century meaning ‘an enemy who pretends friendship’.
The unity that had held Boris Johnson’s premiership together dissolved in July, with many in his own Cabinet turning on him
Limerence
Perhaps love does conquer all! Fans were delighted to see Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck rekindle their romance and get hitched in Las Vegas this summer. Far better to witness their ‘limerence’ (intense infatuation) than anything approaching ‘cavoli riscaldati’, Italian for a pointless attempt to revive a romance. (‘Cavoli riscaldati’ translates neatly as ‘reheated cabbage’ — never a good idea.)
Goshbustified
In July, England’s Lionesses brought to an end 56 years of hurt with victory against Germany in the final of the Euros. Not even the stoniest of hearts could fail to be moved by the nation’s outburst of joy at this ‘flippercanorious’ (marvellous) result. We were, in a word, ‘goshbustified’ — a gloriously eccentric word from 1830s America meaning ‘excessively pleased’.
In July, England’s Lionesses brought to an end 56 years of hurt with victory against Germany in the final of the Euros
Hamsterkauf
One knock-on effect of war in Europe, paired with the after-effects of Covid, is that fuel prices have soared. We also faced momentary shortages on the forecourts this autumn, with nervous customers jostling to fill jerry cans with spare petrol. In Germany, panic buying is known as ‘Hamsterkauf’ (hamster buying), thanks to the small rodents’ habit of filling their cheeks to bursting.
Desiderate
September 8 brought acute sadness when news came from Buckingham Palace that Her Majesty the Queen had died. ‘Grief,’ Elizabeth II once said, ‘is the price we pay for love.’ And how we loved her. One word worth knowing for the weeks following her death was ‘desiderate’ — to long for something we once had, but which has now gone.
Carolean
It seemed unthinkable that the second Elizabethan Age had come to an end. Enter the ‘Carolean’ era, a word we never quite realised we’d need that means simply ‘relating to the reign of Charles’.
It seemed unthinkable that the second Elizabethan Age had come to an end – enter the ‘Carolean’ era
Huff-cap
Amid all this, you had to feel for Liz Truss, whose flash-in-the-pan stint as Prime Minister ended almost as soon as it started. The less forgiving among us might enjoy the 17th-century word ‘huff-cap’, describing one who barges into situations and leaves chaos in their wake. ‘Panglossian’ (hopelessly optimistic) and ‘imprescient’ (lacking in foresight) also spring to mind.
Circumbendibus
And with Truss’s departure came yet another leadership battle to be Britain’s new, new PM. In political speech, ‘circumbendibus’ is an entirely circular argument. Perhaps it might also be applied to the conveyor belt of leaders heading into No 10.
Weltschmerz
In November, world leaders gathered in Egypt for the Cop27 climate change summit. Many of us have heard of the German ‘Weltschmerz’, a word that literally means ‘world-pain’ and which defines a profound sense that things are not as they should be. As crucial goals among leaders at the summit receded from view, the pain of the world seemed very real.
Fernweh
What about life on Mars instead? On November 16, Nasa sent Artemis I into space, the most powerful rocket ever launched into orbit. An exciting new era of cosmic exploration has begun in earnest. Perhaps we will all soon be feeling a sense of ‘Fernweh’, an intensely wistful German term meaning ‘the longing to be far away’.
On November 16, Nasa sent Artemis I into space, the most powerful rocket ever launched into orbit. Perhaps we will all soon be feeling a sense of ‘Fernweh’
Recrudescence
Certainly, there are things down here on planet Earth that we may want to escape. And November saw Donald Trump announce his candidacy to be President again in 2024. ‘Recrudescence’ is the return of something unpleasant after a period of relief.
Anticipointment
We could at least all take comfort in the World Cup. That is, if we were prepared to momentarily suspend judgment on host nation Qatar’s terrible record on human rights. For England fans, the sense of ‘betwitterment’ (pleasing excitement) this December was high — but ‘anticipointment’ duly followed when Harry Kane missed that vital penalty against France.
Heller
Back home, things got frosty. One ‘heller’ of a day (a bitter, bone-grindingly cold one) succeeded another — until the heat returned via a couple in California who thawed the freeze away. I’m talking about Harry and Meghan, of course, whose Netflix documentary proved for some that the couple were contumacious breedbates (resentful argument-pickers). Others among us felt an entirely more ruthful (compassionate) response to their experience. One thing is for sure, though: this has been a case of ‘brabblement’ — squabbling at very close quarters.
Respair
As the year draws to close, and cost-of-living woes loom, the temptation might be to ‘latibulate’. (With only one record in the Dictionary, this word is surely due a comeback. It means to ‘find a corner and hide in it’.) But I for one am holding out for both ‘resipiscence’ and ‘respair’ in 2023 — two words from centuries past that mean the return both of a better frame of mind and of fresh hope; a recovery from despair.
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