Douglas Adams - John Lloyd Read online

  THE

  Deeper

  MEANING

  OF

  LIFF

  Douglas Adams is the creator of Dirk Gently, Last Chance to See and all four volumes of The Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy. He has a magnificent pulverbatch.

  John Lloyd is the producer behind Not the Nine O’Clock News, Spitting Image, Blackadder and a number of affcots.

  Also by

  Douglas Adams

  & John Lloyd

  in Pan Books

  THE

  MEANING

  OF

  LIFF

  First published 1990 by Pan Books Limited and Faber & Faber Limited

  This paperback edition published 1992 by

  PAN BOOKS LIMITED

  a division of Pan Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Cavaye Place London SW10 9PG

  and Basingstoke

  in association with Faber & Faber Limited

  Associated companies throughout the world

  ISBN 0-330-32220-6

  Copyright © Douglas Adams and John Lloyd 1990

  Illustrations © Bert Kitchen 1990

  Maps © Chapman Bounford & Associates 1990

  The moral rights of the authors have been asserted

  All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from

  the British Library

  Photoset by Parker Typesetting Service, Leicester

  Printed in England by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

  With grateful thanks to Eugen Beer, Jane Belson, Jon Canter, Alex Catto, Helen Fielding, Stephen Fry, Gaye Green, Scan Hardie, PBJ, Helen Rhys Jones, Laurie Rowley, Peter Spence and Caroline Warner for some of the more interesting and repellent ideas in this book.

  Contents

  PREFACES

  MAPS

  THE DEEPER

  MEANING OF LIFF

  INDEX

  APPENDIX

  Prefaces

  PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION, 1983

  In Life1 there are many hundreds of common experiences, feelings, situations and even objects which we all know and recognize, but for which no word exists. On the other hand, the world is littered with thousands of spare words which spend their time doing nothing but loafing about on signposts pointing at places. Our job, as we see it, is to get these words down off the signposts and into the mouths of babes and sucklings and so on, where they can start earning their keep in everyday conversation and make a more positive contribution to society.

  Douglas Adams, John Lloyd, Malibu, 1982

  PREFACE TO THE 1984 REPRINT

  What we said in the first preface pretty much stands, I think.

  Douglas Adams, New York, 1983

  PREFACE TO THE SECOND 1984 REPRINT

  Can’t think of anything much to add to the previous preface. It’s nice, here, though.

  Douglas Adams, Seychelles, 1984

  Is it?

  John Lloyd, Birmingham, 1984

  PREFACE TO THE 1986 REPRINT

  There was a point I was going to make in this preface but it’s one of those things that you just can’t remember when you actually sit down to write it.

  Douglas Adams, Madagascar, 1985

  PREFACE TO THE 1987 REPRINT

  No. It came back to me briefly when I was in Brazil, but I didn’t have a pen with me.

  Douglas Adams, Hong Kong, 1986

  PREFACE TO THE 1988 REPRINT

  Did you get the preface I faxed you from New Zealand?

  Douglas Adams, Zaïre, 1988

  PREFACE TO THE 1989 REPRINT

  No.

  John Lloyd, Lambeth, 1989

  PREFACE TO THE SECOND 1989 REPRINT

  Pity. That was a good one. Can’t remember how it went now.

  Douglas Adams, Beijing, 1989

  PREFACE TO THE THIRD 1989 REPRINT

  Did we make the point about all these words actually being real place names?

  Douglas Adams, Mauritius, 1989

  PREFACE TO THE FOURTH 1989 REPRINT

  Yes.

  John Lloyd, Lambeth, 1989

  PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF THE DEEPER MEANING OF LIFF, 1990

  Well, there’s not much we need to add to that then, really, is there?

  Douglas Adams, John Lloyd, Sydney, 1990

  1 And, indeed, in Liff.

  Maps

  The Deeper Meaning of Liff

  A

  Aalst (n.)

  One who changes his name to be nearer the front.

  Aasleagh (n.)

  A liqueur made only for drinking at the end of a revoltingly long bottle party when all the drinkable drink has been drunk.

  Abalemma (n.)

  The agonizing situation in which there is only one possible decision but you still can’t take it.

  Aberbeeg (vb.)

  Of amateur actors, to adopt a Mexican accent when called upon to play any variety of foreigner (except Pakistanis—for whom a Welsh accent is considered sufficient).

  Abercrave (vb.)

  To desire strongly to swing from the pole on the rear footplate of a bus.

  Abert (vb.)

  To change a baby’s name at the last possible moment.

  Aberystwyth (n.)

  A nostalgic yearning which is in itself more pleasant than the thing being yearned for.

  Abilene (adj.)

  Descriptive of the pleasing coolness on the reverse side of the pillow.

  Abinger (n.)

  One who washes up everything except the frying pan, the cheese-grater and the saucepan which the chocolate sauce has been made in.

  Abligo (n.)

  One who prides himself on not even knowing what day of the week it is.

  Aboyne (vb.)

  To beat an expert at a game of skill by playing so appallingly that none of his clever tactics or strategies are of any use to him.

  Abruzzo (n.)

  The worn patch of ground under a swing.

  Absecon (n.)

  An annual conference held at the Dragonara Hotel, Leeds, for people who haven’t got any other conferences to go to.

  Abwong (vb.)

  To bounce cheerfully on a bed.

  Acklins (pl. n.)

  The odd twinges you get in parts of your body when you scratch other parts.

  Acle (n.)

  The rogue pin which shirtmakers conceal in a hidden fold of a new shirt. Its function is to stab you when you don the garment.

  Addis Ababa (n.)

  The torrent of incomprehensible gibberish which emanates from the loudspeakers on top of cars covered in stickers.

  Adlestrop (n.)

  The part of a suitcase which is designed to get snarled up on conveyor belts at airports. Some of the more modern adlestrop designs have a special ‘quick release’ feature which enables the case to flip open at this point and fling your underclothes into the conveyor belt’s gearing mechanism.

  Adrigole (n.)

  The centre piece of a merry-go-round on which the man with the tickets stands unnervingly still.

  Affcot (n.)

  The sort of fart you hope people will talk after.

  Affpuddle (n.)

  A puddle which is hidden under a pivoted paving stone. You only know it’s there when you step on the pa
ving stone and the puddle shoots up your leg.

  Ahenny (adj.)

  The way people stand when examining other people’s bookshelves.

  Aigburth (n.)

  Any piece of readily identifiable anatomy found amongst cooked meat.

  Ainderby Quernhow (n.)

  One who continually bemoans the ‘loss’ of the word ‘gay’ to the English language, even though they had never used the word in any context at all until they started complaining that they couldn’t use it anymore.

  Ainderby Steeple (n.)

  One who asks you a question with the apparent motive of wanting to hear your answer, but who cuts short your opening sentence by leaning forward and saying ‘and I’ll tell you why I ask…’ and then talking solidly for the next hour.

  Ainsworth (n.)

  The length of time it takes to get served in a camera shop. Hence, also, how long we will have to wait for the abolition of income tax or the Second Coming.

  Aird of Sleat (n.)

  (Archaic) Ancient Scottish curse placed from afar on the stretch of land now occupied by Heathrow Airport.

  Aith (n.)

  The single bristle that sticks out sideways on a cheap paintbrush.

  Albacete (n.)

  A single surprisingly long hair growing in the middle of nowhere.

  Albuquerque (n.)

  The shapeless squiggle which is utterly unlike your normal signature, but which is, nevertheless, all you are able to produce when asked formally to identify yourself. Muslims, whose religion forbids the making of graven images, use albuquerques to decorate their towels, menu cards and pyjamas.

  Alcoy (adj.)

  Wanting to be bullied into having another drink.

  Aldclune (n.)

  One who collects ten-year-old telephone directories.

  Alltami (n.)

  The ancient art of being able to balance the hot and cold shower taps.

  Ambatolampy (n.)

  The bizarre assortment of objects collected by a sleepwalker.

  Ambleside (n.)

  The talk given about the Facts of Life by a father to his son whilst walking in the garden on a Sunday afternoon.

  Amersham (n.)

  The sneeze which tickles but never comes. (Thought to derive from the Metropolitan Line tube station of the same name where the rails always rattle but the train never arrives.)

  Amlwch (n.)

  A British Rail sandwich which has been kept soft by being regularly washed and resealed in clingfilm.

  Ampus (n.)

  A lurid bruise which you can’t remember getting.

  Anantnag (vb.)

  (Eskimo term) To bang your thumbs between the oars when rowing.

  Anjozorobe (n.)

  A loose, coloured garment someone brings you back from their travels which they honestly expect you to wear.

  Araglin (n.)

  (Archaic) The medieval practical joke played by young squires on a knight aspirant the afternoon he is due to start his vigil. As the knight arrives at the castle the squires suddenly attempt to raise the drawbridge as the knight and his charger step on it.

  Ardcrony (n.)

  A remote acquaintance passed off as ‘a very good friend of mine’ by someone trying to impress people.

  Ardelve (vb.)

  To make a big display of searching all your pockets when approached by a charity collector.

  Ardentinny (n.)

  One who rubs his hands eagerly together when he sits down in a restaurant.

  Ardslignish (adj.)

  Descriptive of the behaviour of Sellotape when you are tired.

  Articlave (n.)

  A clever architectural construction designed to give the illusion from the top deck of a bus that it is far too big for the road.

  Ashdod (n.)

  Any object against which a smoker habitually knocks out his pipe.

  Aubusson (n.)

  The hairstyle a girl adopts for a special occasion which suddenly gives you a sense of what she will look like in twenty years’ time.

  Aynho (vb.)

  Of waiters, never to have a pen.

  B

  Babworth (n.)

  Something which justifies having a really good cry.

  Badachonacher (n.)

  An on-off relationship which never gets resolved.

  Badgebup (n.)

  The splotch on a child’s face where the ice-cream cone has missed.

  Baldock (n.)

  The sharp prong on top of a tree stump where the tree has snapped off before being completely sawn through.

  Balemartine (n.)

  The look which says, ‘Stop talking to that woman at once.’

  Ballycumber (n.)

  One of the six half-read books lying somewhere in your bed.

  Balzan (n.)

  The noise of a dustbin lid coming off in the middle of the night.

  Banff (adj.)

  Pertaining to, or descriptive of, that kind of facial expression which is impossible to achieve except when having a passport photograph taken, which results in happas (q.v.).

  Banteer (n.)

  (Archaic) A lusty and raucous old ballad sung after a particularly spectacular araglin (q.v.) has been pulled off.

  Barstibley (n.)

  A humorous device such as a china horse or small naked porcelain infant which jocular hosts use to piss water into your scotch with.

  Bathel (vb.)

  To pretend to have read the book under discussion when in fact you’ve only seen the TV series.

  Baughurst (n.)

  That kind of large fierce ugly woman who owns a small fierce ugly dog.

  Baumber (n.)

  A fitted elasticated bottom sheet which turns your mattress banana-shaped.

  Bauple (n.)

  An indeterminate pustule which could be either a spot or a bite.

  Bealings (pl. n.)

  (Archaic) The unsavoury parts of a moat which a knight has to pour out of his armour after being the victim of an araglin (q.v.). In medieval Flanders, soup made from bealings was a very slightly sought-after delicacy.

  Beaulieu Hill (n.)

  The optimum vantage point from which to view people undressing in the bedroom across the street.

  Beccles (pl. n.)

  The small bone buttons placed in bacon sandwiches by unemployed dentists.

  Bedfont (n.)

  A lurching sensation in the pit of the stomach experienced at breakfast in a hotel, occasioned by the realization that it is about now that the chambermaid will have discovered the embarrassing stain on your bottom sheet.

  Belding (n.)

  The technical name for a stallion after its first ball has been cut off. Any notice which reads ‘Beware of the Belding’ should be taken very, very seriously.

  Belper (n.)

  A knob of someone else’s chewing gum which you unexpectedly find your hand resting on under the passenger seat of your car or on somebody’s thigh under their skirt.

  Benburb (n.)

  The sort of man who becomes a returning officer.

  Beppu (n.)

  The triumphant slamming shut of a book after reading the final page.

  Bepton (n.)

  One who beams benignly after burping.

  Berepper (n.)

  The irrevocable and sturdy fart released in the presence of royalty, which sounds like quite a small motorbike passing by (but not enough to be confused with one).

  Berkhamsted (n.)

  The massive three-course midmorning blow-out enjoyed by a dieter who has already done his or her slimming duty by having a spoonful of cottage cheese for breakfast.

  Berriwillock (n.)

  An unknown workmate who writes ‘All the best’ on your leaving card.

  Berry Pomeroy (n.)

  1. The shape of a gourmet’s lips.

  2. The droplet of saliva which hangs from them.

  Bickerstaffe (n.)

  The person in an office that everyone whinges about in the pub. Many la
rge corporations deliberately employ bickerstaffes in each department. For example, Mr Robert Maxwell was both Chairman and Chief Bickerstaffe of Mirror Group Newspapers.

  Bilbster (n.)

  A bauple (q.v.) so hideous and enormous that you have to cover it with sticking plaster and pretend you’ve cut yourself shaving.

  Bindle (vb.)

  To slip foreign coins into a customer’s change.

  Bishop’s Caundle (n.)

  An opening gambit before a game of chess whereby the missing pieces are replaced by small ornaments from the mantelpiece.

  Blandford Forum (n.)

  Any Radio 4 chat show.

  Blean (n.)

  Scientific measure of luminosity: I glimmer = 100,000 bleans.

  Usherettes’ torches are designed to produce between 2.5 and 4 bleans, enabling them to assist you in falling down stairs, treading on people or putting your hand into a Neapolitan tub when reaching for change.

  Blithbury (n.)

  A look someone gives you which indicates that they’re much too drunk to have understood anything you’ve said to them in the last twenty minutes.

  Blitterlees (pl. n.)

  The little slivers of bamboo picked off a cane chair by a nervous guest which litter the carpet beneath and tell the chair’s owner that the whole piece of furniture is about to uncoil terribly and slowly until it resembles a giant pencil sharpening.

  Bodmin (n.)

  The irrational and inevitable discrepancy between the amount pooled and the amount needed when a large group of people try to pay a bill together after a meal.

  Bogue (n.)

  The expanse of skin that appears between the top of your socks and the bottom of your trousers when you sit down.

  ‘The Duke of Ilford threw himself onto the chesterfield, brazenly displaying his bogues to the dowager Lady Ingatestone.’ (Come Soon, Strange Horseman, by Barbara Cartland)

  Boinka (n.)

  The noise through the wall which tells you that the people next door enjoy a better sex life than you do.

  Bolsover (n.)

  One of those brown plastic trays with bumps on, placed upside down in boxes of chocolates to make you think you’re getting two layers.

  Bonkle (vb.)

  Of plumbing in old hotels, to make loud and unexplained noises in the night, particularly at about five o’clock in the morning.

  Boolteens (pl. n.)

  The small scatterings of foreign coins and halfpennies which inhabit dressing tables. Since they are never used and never thrown away boolteens account for a significant drain on the world’s money supply.