Let's Form a Collective

Look at that flock of cows!

Herd of Cows.

'Course I've heard of cows.

Cow Herd?

I don't care what the cow heard. I got no secrets from cows.

It's a funny old thing, English. (That's the language not the people though, granted, they're funny too.) I was considering this earlier whilst pondering on the murmuration of starlings swooping above the shopping trolleys in Tesco, Old Swan. (Nary a swan to be seen, mind you.) Murmuration suggests, well, murmuring but these birds were raucous chatterers. A prattle of starlings would be more appropriate. Let's leave the murmuration to Librarians. (Of whom -Welcome to our country!)

Collective nouns are beautiful but bizarre. Prides of lions ... Are lions proud? Are they more noble, arrogant, illustrious and self-satisfied than any other beast? The peacock'd have something to say about that, I'm sure. (Edit: Did have something to say and now, in beastly one-upmanship, comes in an ostentation.)

Or take baboons. They come in a troop, congress, rumpus, or flange. (I suspect flange is a wicked calmuny. Writers of dictionaries invent things all the time, mainly as acts of revenge.)

Buffalos come in gangs, herds or obstinacies. Do mules therefore come in stubbornesses? Alas, the poor mules come in a rake or barren.

Of course, one goes looking for these collective nouns and some wag, wit or Writer of Dictionaries has got there first.

An implausibility of platypi, a parcel of penguins? What fool would try to parcel a penguin? And the name for a group of monks is an abomination. No, quite seriously, it is an abomination.

What have crows and ravens ever done - except help the Vikings find land? - to warrant being grouped in murders and unkindnesses? But a pandemonium of parrots, a parliament of owls, a cloud of bats all are gorgeous and make perfect sense.

Do slimmers and opera singers come in scales? Journalists in columns? How about a wager of gamblers? A thicket of idiots? A number of mathematicians?

I am slapping down the gauntlet. Firstly, what is your favourite collective noun and secondly, how should teachers, writers, poets (gruntled and disgruntled), vicars, students and bloggers be grouped?

Right then, Tom Swifty

"Can you help me prepare the apples?" Tom appealed.

"But I'm nervous about cooking with spices, " she said gingerly.

"We'll just use the one herb," he said sagely.

He opened the cupboard and they stared at the contents.

"Bisto? Oh..." she said gravely.

"Own brand Cream Crackers?" he snapped.

"And where's the tinned pineapple?" she asked fruitlessly.

"I shopped from memory," he said listlessly.

He closed the cupboard door.

"You think I'm dull, don't you?" he said bluntly.

"I think you need to see a doctor," she said patiently.

"Why? Because I'm losing my hair?" he bawled.

"Because you've gained a lot of weight," she said heavily.

"I've had a bad leg," he said lamely.

"Let's change the subject," she said topically.

They surveyed the kitchen.

"When did you last clean this fridge?" he said coolly.

"I have no idea," she said thoughtlessly.

They consulted the recipe book.

"Once upon a time ..." she said grimly.

"You might need glasses?" he speculated.

"Everything in this bloody book is drizzled with sodding oil," she said crudely.

"We could make soft, smooth dumplings," he suggested wantonly.

"Or homemade soup?" she said uncannily.

They gazed at a photo of raspberry tartlets.

"I could eat one hundred and forty-four," he boasted grossly.

"Me, too," she agreed.

"Then we'll have to double the ingredients," he added.
"Perhaps use a little less sugar, darling," she said sweetly.

He moved over to the dresser.

"Shall I play a CD? How about some Crosby," he said probingly.

"He peaks at average," she said meanly.

He took a deep breath.

"I want to date other women!" he said unsteadily.

"You Irishmen are all the same," she said wryly.