“Blog”, they said. I didn’t know what they were talking about. “The Wittery thing was your idea, so you can do the blogging”, they said. I am an ideas man myself. I am not so hot at this writing mullarkey.
“Fine”, I said. Before the word was even out of my mouth, I had hatched a cunning plan; the writers will help me with the blog. They are word wizards after all. Sorted. That will make this blog quite scrumptious.
I promised to do the first few posts all by myself, so that I could introduce myself. They all call me Witto, so you can too. Welcome to The Wittery, where we champion funny business, happy customers and engaged web visitors.
(p.s. At the risk of offending my native countrymen, I have chosen to use American spelling at The Wittery. Do you think anyone will notice?)
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“I am not so hot at this writing mullarkey.”
Dear Witto:
I believe the word is ‘malarky’ (sometimes spelled ‘malarkey.’)
Unless you are inventing a new word…in which case…I LIKE IT!
Sincerely,
Margaret Miller
Dear Margaret,
Thank you kindly for your observation. I occasionally take a bit of poetic license with my spelling. I have spelt this particular word in honor of Mrs Mullarkey who was a neighbor of mine in my childhood. She was a sweet lady who has since gone to pastures new.
Mullarkey. I like this, it sounds like a name that would be suited to those mixed meats thingamies that Marks and Spencer are promoting for Christmas. You know, it’s a turkey but when you cut into it they’ve cleverly hidden a chunk of pork in there, and as if that were not gastronomic confusion enough, they’ve wrapped the whole thing in sheets of beef.
Mullarky, I think, might be turkey, with a mulled wine aardvark rump stuffing. I can see the TV ad now… “This isn’t just any old mullarkey, it’s M&S mullarkey.” I dunno though, perhaps mulled larks ought to feature or is that too Pythonesque?
As for the US – UK language debate – in my other guise as a freelancer of 20+ it does seem that the US spelling is most popular for internet purposes. It’s not so much favouritism but simply a fact that there are more people in the world who use the US version of English. My natural writing voice is UK but when ghosting I am happy to write in both depending on client’s requirements. My advice to you, as you say you are not a writer first and foremost, is to write in your natural voice. The world will figure it out! Good luck with all your witty endeavours.
Mrs Miser
Dear Sir(s)
I believe that the Mrs Mullarkey referred to in your delightful notes was my late Great Aunt, Mary Mullarkey. Pastures new indeed, and hopefully, very restful ones.
Aunt Mary was, in fact, a huge fan both of Monty Python and of Mulled Larks. I remember many a Christmas Eve, gathering around the radiator for a delicious, warming, feathery mug of mulled larks. But be careful. “A lark boiled is a lark spoiled” she used to scream at the top of her fragile old lungs. Also, fifteen minutes of mulling is five minutes too many. Or in the words of scary Mary (that’s what we called her when she locked us in the coal shed) “Don’t stew it, stew-pid!”.
I wish you all the best with your endeavours. And if you’re in the mood for any more of Aunt Mary’s delightful recipes, Jamie Oliver is doing a special on them in January. Pay special attention to his Pickled Pigeon Pie. There’s actually no pigeon in the pies… I’ve said too much already.
Yours
Michael Matthew Mullarkey Esq
Dear Witto
Just came across your site whilst bidding for some work on People per Hour – serious stuff I’m afraid;need to earn before I can indulge my passion for satire and dry humour particularly at the expense of those in the public eye.
Will be signing up when I have finished this as it seems to convey my kind of humour and my outlook on life – English born of Irish father who finished his formal schooling in Ireland during the height of the troubles – trust me you needed a sense of humour to survive that and the Sisters of Mercy!!!
However if I may venture another opinion about Mullarkey – it seems whenever you watch those old black and white movies from the 40’s and 50’s every American cop usually has an Irish accent and is called either Flanagan, Houlihan, O’Brien, O’Rafferty. How come I have never heard of one called Mullarkey?
All the best for this venture, as my mother used to say – “Trust the Irish to get in everywhere!”
Dear Michael,
I’m afraid I can’t shed much light on the Mullarkey American cop conundrum thing. I don’t recall my dear neighbor, Mrs Mullarkey, ever mentioning any relations in the US police force. She was very fond of black and white movies though.
If Michael Matthew Mulllarkey esq. drops by again, he might be able to enlighten you. (Aside to MMM esq: my sincere condolences on the loss of your aunt. I am shocked and astounded to learn that she used to lock you in the coal shed. Perhaps it was an exercise in character building.)
Who says that you can only get paid for serious freelance writing? Isn’t it time to turn that particular tide?
Can I just clarify something? Probably not.
I’ll just say this instead – from what I can see of it, ‘blogging’ is just an IT-literate form of blagging. (etymology uncertain, but then what the hell are insects to do with it anyway?)Should pose no problem for my celtic cousins in the emerald isle, who have all the advantages of possessing the blarney stone.
Can’t wait for the office outing to the blarney stone – now there’s an idea!
PS it’s great being dyslexic in Wales – the land of snog.
May I intrude? Thank you. I may have some information which could throw some light – and indeed anything else within reach – on the origins of the Mullarkey / Malarky / Malarkey nomenclature. Digging through the family archives in a remote french village in Normandy, I came across a few antiquated notes from the eleventh century which suggest that a certain Mademoiselle Jeanne d’Arques (no relation) had travelled in Guillaume’s entourage to England, engaged to provide cleaning and housekeeping services to the Norman army.
Mlle Arques was evidently a little too blessed in the strength department and developed a reputation for breaking, shattering and bending anything she laid her hands on. Indeed, Guillaume was forced to review her performance after a favourite sword was snapped in three during one of her vigorous polishing sessions.
This is where it gets interesting. During a set-to at Hastings, Mlle Arques’ cambric bonnet was knocked off by a passing horse. The astonishment of the French army can only be imagined, when they saw that Mlle Arques was not the blushing French maid they had come to know and tolerate, but a swarthy tattooed countrywoman of vast bulk and full beard. Indeed, so astonished was a certain Monsieur Bernard Clot, a bowman, having only the night previously declared his ardour and made her his, that he loosed an arrow by mistake and won the Battle of Hastings.
The English, well known for their appallingly bad French accents, managed to mangle her name in subsequent reports of the day and set her name in the freshly poured concrete of history. As for Monsieur Clot, he wanted none of Mlle Arques but she threatened to polish his honour with a Brillo pad and eventually bore him seventeen children.
I hope that answers some questions for those seeking their roots.