Naked as a jaybird

 

Naked as a jaybird

                        Blue jay (Cyanocitta cristata cyanotephra) 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Debby from 'Life's Funny Like That' mentioned this expression in a comment the other day and it was unfamiliar to me, so, being incurably nosy, I looked it up. It is an American idiom, first recorded in 1843, but growing in popularity from the 1920s.

It replaced the earlier saying, ‘naked as a robin,’ perhaps because it seemed a more robust phrase. Some have suggested that the original idiom was ‘naked as a fledgling robin/jaybird,’ since such baby birds are naked on hatching, but this was dismissed by others who claim that the word ‘fledgling’ was never part of the expression.

Why was the saying never ‘naked as a jay’ or even ‘naked as a blue jay,’ which has a nice ring to it?

‘Naked as a jaybird’ can be used to refer to ‘jailbirds,’ or prisoners who were stripped and disinfected before being issued with prison garb. ‘Jailbird’ has been in use since the seventeenth century in England, conjuring rather fanciful images of miscreants as birds in iron cages, or gaols. Gaol was a standard English spelling until the middle of the twentieth century, but is rarely used now.

Something else I read suggested that the expression arose because young jay nestlings, before their feathers have grown, often push their siblings out of the nest, when they are naked.

In short, I’m almost as mystified as I was before I started looking at this idiom. Of course, it is shameful to be caught naked in public, unless you’re staying in a nudist colony or disporting yourself on a nudist beach.

Is a nudist beach one that doesn’t wear clothes? What is the well-dressed beach wearing this year? 

Flying colours

 

Flying colours

                                                Image source

Marlene at Poppy Patchwork, or rather, her little cat, Lilly, ‘passed with flying colours’ at her recent visit to the vet. That’s always an excellent appraisal, but Lilly wasn’t wearing any colours, other than her home-grown fur, so what did the vet mean?

The phrase is a maritime expression from the Age of Exploration, (early 15^th to early seventeenth centuries) when much of the globe was explored by European sailors. The ‘colours’ were the flags that ships flew to indicate their nationality and to communicate with other ships.

Ships would not legally fight unless their national flags were flying.

After battle, ships would return to port with flags flying to show that they had been victorious. If their flags had been lowered, it was a signal that they had been defeated. To pass (the harbour bar) with flying colours was a way of saying they had been triumphant, and was adopted by landlubbers as a phrase to declare success.

Sometimes, unfortunately, a ship would sink with colours flying, the crew having continued to fight valiantly despite clear defeat. Often, colours would be nailed to the mast, indicating a determination to fight until the bitter end.

To ‘nail your colours to the mast’ or ‘show your true colours’ means to show your true intent, your alliance.

Pirates and other malefactors frequently sailed ‘under false colours.’ They would hoist the sail of a friendly nation and thus be able to approach closely a ship in which they were interested, probably one carrying valuable cargo. The notorious pirate, Blackbeard, used such a ploy, but as the ships closed, he would then reveal the ‘Jolly Roger,’ (the skull and crossbones flag), and the crew would surrender the ship.

As Lilly and her family live near Portsmouth, it is appropriate that she ‘passed with flying colours.’

Driven!

 

Driven!

Jellicoe models his recovery cone

With his head securely surrounded by a blue recovery cone of washable material, Jellicoe is prevented from scratching or grooming. The hood is fastened with draw cords around his neck, and protects the site of the oesophageal tube insertion while it heals, as well as his eye. He did manage to remove the cone one day, and immediately scratched his neck and made it bleed, but we were able to replace it instantly, and no lasting harm was done.

Every day brings another small improvement in Jellicoe’s recovery. On Sunday, he headbutted me, something he had not done since his operation. It is a sign of affection and bonding, and I hadn’t realised how much I had missed it.

He is not a cat who overgrooms. Some cats wash for hours after eating, or being touched by humans, but Jellicoe and Herschel do only what is necessary and no more to keep their fur in good condition.

However, the urge to groom is extremely strong, and he licks his paw, as he would normally, to scrub his face, and works hard to complete his ablutions, ‘washing’ the exterior of his hood. It looks very endearing, but I wonder if he is frustrated by not being able to complete the task effectively. The rasping of his tongue on the material is persistent and quite loud. Eventually, he stops, and then attempts to satisfy an itch, again being able only to scratch his collar.

Gilbert quickly overcame his consternation at the sight of the wavering blue object making its way around the house, and realised it was only his little friend in strange head gear. The cone accentuates the lateral movement of the head common to all cats, wild or domestic, as Jellicoe saunters across a room.

The eye is not completely healed, but looks much less sore. Jellicoe does not appreciate eye drops being applied, but the cat heroin he is still having once a day soon sends him off to sweet dreamland.

In a few days’ time he will return to the Aura, for his condition to be assessed. Hopefully, he will not need any further surgery.

Veterinary medicine and surgery are extraordinarily advanced. There are significant overlaps and coordination between the two disciplines. For example, research into Feline Immunodeficiency Virus (FIV) has contributed to AIDs research for almost forty years, leading to the development of antivirals for the treatment of HIV.

Advances have also been made in the study and control of zoonoses. The ‘One Medicine’ concept advocates studying diseases across species, to the benefit of increasing knowledge in human and animal pathology.

Guess!

 

Guess!

‘I think I’ll get two,’ he said, apropos of nothing.

There are times when I listen carefully to any following remarks in the hope that I can disentangle what he means. Now, frequently short of patience, I am more inclined to ask, ‘What are you talking about?’

Following a butterfly mind as it flits from topic to topic, subjects often only loosely associated with each other, can be exhausting. It’s not sufficient that I note what he’s carrying so that I can tell him later where he’s left his keys, wallet, pen, notebook, coat, tablet, or any number of other items of greater or lesser importance that migrate from room to room, and occasionally to the car. No, I have to work out which of the many subjects he’s researching to understand where his mind has taken him. It could be anything from camera lenses to history to specialised wire to reading glasses.

This time, it was insulin for Jellicoe. We like to ensure that we have plenty in reserve in case we drop a bottle, which then breaks – this has happened only once, but could happen again. Each time he goes to the animal hospital, Barry takes insulin, syringes, needles, and a supply of diabetic food in case Jellicoe has to stay there. So, he decided to get two bottles of insulin from the chemist, but, as it turns out, there was only one available, and he has to go back tomorrow. Let’s hope we don’t drop any bottles tonight.

It’s a grand life if you don’t weaken! 

World Meteorological Day

 

World Meteorological Day, 23rd March 2026

                                        World Meteorological Day

The striking image above greeted me when I logged on this morning. It was taken in the Sonoran Desert which I’m told has two rainy seasons – moderate winter rainfalls and powerful summer monsoons. It is the latter storms that bring lightning storms, sudden drops in temperature and intense deluges.

The following is a message from António Guterres, Secretary-General of the United Nations.

On this World Meteorological Day, we are reminded that foresight saves lives. 

Climate chaos is rewriting the rules of weather, with record heat, longer droughts, rising seas and ever more frequent and extreme disasters. Accurate, trusted science is our first line of defence.

The World Meteorological Organization and national services help keep us safe by weaving a global web of data, from land, sea, air and space – turning measurements into forecasts, and forecasts into early warnings. Yet the global observing system is under strain, with critical gaps, especially in least developed countries and small island developing States. 

This year’s theme, Observing Today, Protecting Tomorrow, is a call to action.  Governments, development banks and the private sector must scale up support for our global observing backbone, from surface stations to satellites, and ensure data is shared openly and equitably.  And we must accelerate Early Warnings for All so that, by 2027, every person is protected by life-saving alerts.  Investing in observation pays many times over – strengthening peace, security, resilience and sustainable development.   

By observing today, we can protect tomorrow – for people, for planet, for prosperity, and for generations to come.

Will his words resonate with those who have the power to act? 2027 is a breath away. 

Gardening

    

Gardening

Jay (Garrulus glandarius) taken a few years ago

It was a beautiful day yesterday, and the sun is shining brightly again, today. though not as warmly. Therefore, out into the garden we ventured to bring the wilderness into some sort of order. That entailed pruning (polite word for savaging) several innocent shrubs and trees. We have an hour’s extra daylight now. I jest – it’s only half an hour.

Anyway, it looks a little tidier now. There’s still much to do, but, oh, boy! I ache. I must be getting old. (Must I? Do I have to?)

There is much activity outside. Butterflies flutter by, birds sing fit to bust and chase each other round and round, and squirrels scamper through the still bare oak tree highways.

For three days now, a jay (Garrulus glandarius) has visited our garden. It’s unusual at this time of year. We see them in the autumn, when they’re collecting and caching acorns, a habit responsible for the rapid spread of oak trees after the last Ice Age, around 115,000 to 11,700 years ago (that was a cruel, harsh winter!)

It was probably eating insects. Fortunately, it is too early for the stag beetles to emerge – they are in enough danger without becoming a tasty snack.

Jays are the most colourful of the European corvids and always a joy to see. They are shy, woodland birds, unlike their bold strutting relatives, the smartly dressed magpies, and the clever, cunning, soberly clad crows and jackdaws.

Jay is an archaic term, from the early seventeenth century, for a foolish or dim-witted person. In the 1900s, in the US, it was used to describe an unworldly person, particularly from a rural area, not accustomed to the hustle and bustle of city life, and unaware of the dangers inherent in crossing a busy road.

From that meaning arose the term, ‘jaywalking.’ Jaywalking, or crossing a road against the lights, or not at a designated crossing, or simply, carelessly, is frowned upon in many cultures and can lead to a fine.

Popinjay derives from an Arabic word, babbagha, meaning parrot. A person described as a popinjay was considered conceited and overly absorbed with their appearance. It also indicated someone who talked much but said little of import, an empty sounding vessel. It was in common use for several hundred years, from the thirteenth to the nineteenth centuries. It is a word which could be brought back usefully into the modern lexicon.

‘Jay’ is also modern slang for a joint, or hand-rolled cigarette containing cannabis.

Cat

 

This is a slight reworking of a post I wrote many years ago.

Cat

                                            Winston Ocicat 

I am Cat. I grace you with my presence when I so wish, and recline on your lap, kneading and needling with my claw-sharp paws, primal recollections of comfort and warmth awakened in my memory-rich brain.

I loosen my fur and give it to you. I smile when it tickles your nose and you sneeze.

I pull your hand to me with my curled paw, and caress it with my head, over and over, my scent mixing with yours. I lick your skin with my rough, pink tongue, and you do not stop me for you fear offending me. I bite you, gently, and you do not withdraw. 

I possess you, and you love me.

I speak to you in different voices. I cry when I am hungry, ever louder, if you do not answer my needs swiftly. At other times, my tone is gentle, pleading, kindly. My meaning is difficult to understand, but I repeat until you learn, and then I am content. Sometimes I just want you to talk to me - then I beg politely with a silent miaou. 

The silent miaou. 

I like the fireside, and thank you for it. The heat melts my bones till I lie limp and sated. Outside, summer sun saturates me while I dream of other ages and lands. I twitch my paws and whiskers, flick my ears and call out. I am Cat, ancient as time, wise with atavistic memories. Through the centuries, I have been honoured, worshipped, abused, abandoned.

 I am a god and I am dust.

 My instincts are ancient and inherent. I watch the birds and chitter. I chase the sunbeams. I capture moths. In the small, wee hours I prowl and yowl, then join you in your bed, curling against you, lightly pinning your arm with mine.

 I have no need to earn my place in your home – it is my right to allow you to serve me. I may catch a fly or chase a spider if I wish. I will hunt a rat or mouse, because I want to. You cannot train me, but I will educate you.

 When you please me, I give you my sweetest gift – a rumbling reverberation from deep inside that makes you laugh and wonder at the skill with which I continue to purr, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out.

 I am Cat. I am yours and you adore me.