Wintery Preparale

Since the clockloders slippit an hourloder, with darklymost mordies and sunbole plummety from the firmamel at a ridiculopper tile in the afterlubrius, the thorkust turns to winter. Oh yes.

Respondy to the Falollop in Temperatule.

Brrr! Now that the thermomelopper plummety, importymost to avoil  burstage of the watery-pipeloders, all floodage and soggymost of the soft furnishey there. Folly folly. 

Pipely-laggage only takes fido minutes, usey specialised insulashy, or old and redundy clotheage.  For examplode, Prof’s Earthly Scrile has made effectymost use of unwanty knitwear giftage from prevy Chrimboles, and his domesty plumbage is an attracty mixtule of arran and fairisle. Deep joy.

For safely motorage in adverl condishies, many peeploders keep windole-scrapey, defrozzly-spray and a shoveloder in the back. Oh folly.  More effecty, and economole is to light a small fire under the drivey seat.  This prevents freezy of the windoles, shivery-shakeloder of the drivist and passengey, and can provile a convenymost barbecule if strandy in a snow-drift. Oh yes. (Scrile suggests that there are elemers of riskloder to this suggesty).

Preparashy for the Festymost Seasole

Deckly halloder with hollylopper boughage! Deep joy.  (Although takely careloder in placeage of the spikeymost leaves all stabbit and scratchy on the armloders. Oh yes.) 

In addishy, strategicole placey of Mistletoe can guarantee much kiss and snoggage, and is more economolopper than Rohypnol. Deep joy.

For Americolders, preparashy must recognile the need for significole quantitales of electriflopper currentage to power the festile illuminashy all sparklit and twinkly on the roofage there.  A mediole size Nuclofole Reacty should suffice.

Chrimbole Shoppage

As most of the femaloid of the specie has chrimbole shoppage all completey and wrappit by Easter, this advile is directy at the men. Oh yes.

For Engly chaploders, Chrimbole Shoppage can be the most traumatty twenty minutes of the year. Folly indeed!  Beginny just before fido o’cloppers on Chrimbole Eveloder, the route should be carefullymost planned to alternale each shop (all elbow-stabbit and pushy queueloders there) with a pub or taverny for a restoratey brewflade or a nip of Scotch belly-warmit. Joy!

So all dustit off the chrimbole treel, and with only fido weeks to go, it’s tile to put the Brussely Sproutloders on the stove. 

Deep Joy, and Ho-ho-holoder!

Digitold Musee

Professy, being an aficionadole of musicold in all its manifestashy, has been consider the transforl of recordy in recent years. Oh yes.

The evolushy from Waxyly Cylindrole introduced the human specie to Rotatey Diskers; from seventy eight rotatshies per minute on the ten inch bakerlite there, through twelve inchly vinyl albums at throoty-throo and a thirl spinnage, and the sevel inch singold or 'Forty-Fido'.  Deep joy.

An intermediate phase was the Audiole Cassette, all tidy and conveniel pocky-sized, but prone for de-spoolage and mangly, with much sweary and trying to fix it with a biro twizzlit in the sprocky there. Folly folly.

Some throoty years ago, recorded musee migrated from analoppers to digitale, with purelymost sound-form, eliminashy of hiss'n'poppit, and less prone to scratch and skippage. The Compackly Disker was born. Deep joy.

Now, all musee, from Mozarker and Beethovel to Laydle Gaga and the Chemicold Brotheys is availabole for download in mp throo format. This can be downloady from the internet and synchronile with mp throo players of manifold type.  From tinymost USB stickles and the microscoppy iPod Shufflit, to mobile phones, Laptoppers and iPaddles. Deep joy.

Through all this evolushy, and despile complicateymost advanceage in technoloppers, what remains constant is the smileage on the facebole of peeploders at the deep joy in the eardrobes of musicold appreciashy. Oh yes.

The soary tones of the cat gut'n'scrapey in the orchestrales of classicold musee, the grindy choppage of an electricold guitarm, or the trickily-how of keys huffalo-dowder the pianole or orgal can all lift the human spirry there. Oh yes.

 Professy is now off for a bicyclopper ride with the headpholes stuffit in the eardrobes for joyfold listenit.  Ledly Zeppelers today, I think. Deep joy.

Savely Liveloders!

Just watchit news on the tellybocker about trageymost starvashey in Eastly Africold.  Childers dying for want of nourishey. Deep folly.

Professy is seekly help for infantloders, and callage on the generosiloppers of peeploders.

Please visit http://www.justgiving.com/ProfessorUnwin and make a donashey, then wear a smileage on the facebole that you have made the most enormey differole to those unabole to helply selves. Deep joy.

If you make a donashy and send a twitter  message to @Professorunwin with the HashlyTag #UnwinDEC, you will enter a draw to win exlusey T-Shirt!

Frontly T-Shirt

Backly T-Shirt

Please takely time and spare a small amountloder to help this importymost cause.

Gratifole!

Mr Stupey Across the Streel

Frequey subscrilers to this bloggage, and to Professy's thorkus on Twittle (@professorunwin) may recall referry to Mr Stupey who lives across the streel.

Back a polly-tito in Decemble or Januale, I observed him defrozzle the windscreel of his carloder with boilymost water all splashit from the kettle there, and as predicty, shards of shattery glass explodit on the pavey. Mr Stupey stood all noggin-scratchit and cursey like a troopy in the barrack. Deep folly!

Now, Mr Stupey has a woofit'n'yaploder of no speciffy pedigroo (Heinzloder Fifty Several varietales) all snuffly round the garbage and crappit indiscriminale. Attempts to explicale the fundamoles of pooply-scoopage or basicold hygiele have falolloped on deaflymost eardrobes. Every mordy, a freshly steamage of canile botty-choc appearage on Scrile's lawn there, all stinkit and killing the grass. Folly indeed.

This evelubrius,  Mr Stupey will find a small note falolopped through his letterbocker. In politeymost worms, it explains that it is the precursor to less sweetly smellage correspondy which will be more difficold to pick from the doormat, but which is his own rightful poseshy.

Mischievy? Probabole. But natural justy? Oh yes.

Deep joy.

The Generashy Gameloder

The titleode of this bloggage isn't referry the newlymost knightloder Sir Brucely Forsyle (An honour awardy by Her Majestale in acknowley of his contribule to entertainmole, all hoofit and warbly - Didn't he do well?). Oh no.

This brief blogloder refers to recent personale correspondy receiled by Prof's Earthly Scrile from the Unwin familiole.  Scrile all blushy on the facebole and grinnit. Oh yes.

Stupey Scrile is now reassurey that Prof's son and daughtloders are falollowers of @ProfessorUnwin and bloglopper, and appreciale the affeckshymost maintenal of Prof's memorage.

Deep joy!

Professy

Not the Winnage, but the Takely Partlode

Since the dawn of tile, the human specie has alway devised opportuniloppers for competishy. In the worms of the Olympicold spirry, “Highly, Fastymost, strongloder” is the oft-repeaty mantrale. Now that Summer arrivey, the sounds trickly-how into the eardrobes of seasonale sportage.

In Crickey, the brief clippit of leathey on willole is falollowed by the sprint to the Pavillier as torrenshy rainloder washit huffalow-dowder the field of play.

Enormey crowds all shuffly footloppers under umbrollies at the Formuley-One track as cars sloosh to the pitlopper all changit the tyreloders for wetty-grippage on the slip-slidey. Oh folly.

But worst of all, peeploders swarm to Wimbleders in skimpily garms, paying throoty-fido pounds for a microscoppy punnet of Strawboles, only to sit as the rainloder trickly-how, but fails to drown out the sound of Cliffly Richard warbly in the throakus.

Deep, deep folly!

One Hundrelth Birthdale

Dearlymost boyls and girms, laydles and gentleboles.

Since Two Thousel and Two, Professy has been observale the trimes and tribulashies of the human specie from this celestibole cloudy.  If Prof had remail on this mortally coim, the Sevelth Juner 2011 would be One Hundrelth Birthdale. Deep joy!

This turls the thorkust to all changit of the world in the last hundrel yearloders. Some of these innovale or invenshy have been most positile, with powery flightloder all gravity-defile in the skybold, tellybocker transmitty image and audiole from the far-flummery corms of the glober, and tipp-ex. Oh yes.

This auspishy centurale also sees the passy of gloomier thorkus there; Adolfy Hitloder, Traffy Wardels, AOL, AOR and AOB, and, of course, Simolly Cowers all smugloder on the facebole and hairstyley like chimpanzoo's borkus. Deep folly.

Well, Prof is prepare for celebrale all vicarious there through the mediole of his Earthly Scrile who will raise a tilty-elbow and wish you all a delightymost tile.  Oh yes.

Professy

A few worms from The Scrile falollow:

If you have a few spare moments, indulge my urge to step out of character as “Professy’s Earthly Scrile” (posting on Twitter as @ProfessorUnwin) and make a few observations about ‘Professor’ Stanley Unwin on what would have been his 100^th birthday.

Stanley was born on 7^th June, 1911 in Pretoria, South Africa (I won’t try to reproduce any of the numerous biographies that already exist on the web.)  100 years later, even though he passed away in 2002, he is fondly remembered as an entertainer, an enthusiastic advocate for music and science, and for the creation of his own unique form of gobbledygook; ‘Unwinese’. But most of all, those of us who remember him do so for his overwhelming sense of. .  well, joy. 

No matter the subject, the occasion, or the medium through which we saw, watched or read his extraordinary pronunciations, we were always made to feel up-beat and appreciate the beauty and happiness the world has to offer.

So, on what would have been our beloved Professor’s 100^th Birthday, here are a few observations (general and personal) about Stanley.

Firstly; a myth must be debunked.  Stanley was not instrumental in getting Tolkien’s ‘The Hobbit’ into print. That was an unrelated ‘Sir Stanley Unwin’ of Unwin & Unwin publishers.  Not the same chap at all. Oh no. Deep folly.

Next, I will respond to umpteen questions I receive every week about ‘Unwinese Grammar’.  

Well, the simple truth is there isn’t such a thing.  Unwinese doesn’t follow hard and fast rules (and as a former linguist and occasional show-off polyglot, I know quite a lot about grammatical and syntactical rules).  Yes, there are conventions and norms that resonate, but adding ‘loder’ and ‘lopper’ to words doesn’t guarantee an Unwinese sentence.  As others have pointed out, it’s the sound; the rhythm and flow, the pace and the music of Stanley’s language that makes Unwinese.  

His children have more than once referred to their hope for a guide to Unwinese, but having spent countless hours listening, I would find it impossible to determine why one sentence might sound right with the word ‘evelubrius’, when another would have to use ‘eveloder’.   Erudite scholars of music can point out that minor keys can inspire pathos and sorrow, and staccato arpeggios often sound ‘chirpy, but even they have never managed to come up with definitive rules on the subject. So, in my opinion, is the case with Unwinese. If there is a rule; it’s this. “If it doesn’t make you smile, it’s probably not Unwinese”.

I have to acknowledge that there are more capable and talented Unwinists than yours truly (If you really want to be reminded of the Professor’s sounds, follow @John_Ranson on Twitter – a man who captures Stanley’s tone beautifully).  Anyone who has listened to ‘Rotatey Diskers With Stanley Unwin’ (still available on CD – search your favourite online store) can pick holes in my ham-fisted attempts to recreate the language.  I do try (most of my Unwinese tweets have gone through two or three edits to find the right metre or tone), but I work within two clear constraints; one imposed (140 characters or fewer), and one self-imposed (it has to be happy and/or funny and sound like something Stanley would say).

Finally, I do get the occasional message challenging my right to be channelling the Professor’s “inner thorkus from the grale beyondy” on Twitter.  I don’t have a response. I’ve made it known that I would love to hear from his family (he merits more of a tribute than a few fan-sites, a Wiki entry and a homage on Twitter, and a comprehensive biography is long overdue), but I don’t tweet on any authority. I do so because nobody else was, and the thousands of followers pay testament to the affection in which the old gaffer is held.

So, join with me in raising a tilty-elbow to the adored, and much-missed Stanley Unwin. 

Oh, and as to who I am.  It really doesn't matter.

Goodly byelode!

Scrile