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Local Sweden
17-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Local Sweden
Swedish word of the day: slöjd
Today's word of the day is one you've probably heard if you have school-age kids in Sweden. Advertisement Slöjd is a bit of an umbrella term. It usually refers to some kind of creative or crafty activity including some degree of handiwork, for example träslöjd (woodwork), metallslöjd (metalwork) and textil- or syslöjd (textile crafts, like knitting, or sewing and embroidery). It's also a compulsory subject for Swedish schoolchildren. Prior to the 1960s, slöjd was split into manlig slöjd (male slöjd), which consisted of work with hard materials like wood and metal, and kvinnlig slöjd, (female slöjd), using textiles. Now, however, all children in Swedish schools try both types of slöjd, switching each semester. It also used to be a school subject taught in the US in the early 20th century, known as sloyd in English. Don't miss any of our Swedish words and expressions of the day by downloading The Local's app (available on Apple and Android) and then selecting the Swedish Word of the Day in your Notification options via the User button Slöjd differs from pyssel in that it is more advanced and usually requires some sort of skill, and often cannot be completed in one sitting. Pyssel, on the other hand, is a simpler kind of craft that is simple enough for even a small child to carry out, and usually can be finished in an hour or so without any kind of special tools. The word slöjd originally comes from an Old Norse word meaning skilled or crafty, and has the same root as sleight in the English phrase sleight of hand. Slöjd is still an important part of Swedish culture, and you can often find shops in major cities selling either the materials needed for slöjd or traditional Swedish handicrafts like Dala horses, handwoven textiles or small wooden figurines carved with a knife. Advertisement Example sentences: Jag jobbar som slöjdlärare i en grundskola. I work as a crafts teacher in a primary school. Jag gillar träslöjd men det kräver mycket plats och dyra verktyg. I like woodwork but you need a lot of space and expensive tools. Villa, Volvo, Vovve: The Local's Word Guide to Swedish Life, written by The Local's journalists, is available to order. Head to to read more about it. It is also possible to buy your copy from Amazon US, Amazon UK, Bokus or Adlibris.
Epoch Times
03-07-2025
- General
- Epoch Times
How Did We Get the Word ‘Husband'?
Everyone knows what a husband is. Or do they? Defining him simply as 'a married man' falls short of the full richness and depth of this term and the reality to which it refers. How can we better understand the full significance of what it means to be a husband? As is so often the case, English provides us with clues. The word 'husband' derives from the Old English 'husbonda,' which in turn derives from the Old Norse 'husbondi,' meaning 'master of the house' or 'house-dweller.' It's a combination of 'hus' ('house') and 'bondi,' meaning a 'dweller, freeholder, or peasant.'
NDTV
30-06-2025
- Entertainment
- NDTV
6 Most Unusual Courses To Study Abroad That You Didn't Know Existed
Study Abroad: Choosing a course that matches more with your personality, priorities and personal goals is really important as you will be studying that course for a long time and may eventually build your entire career around it. Besides the popular choices such as Engineering or business, there are some unique courses that might surprise you. Here are some of the unusual courses you can pursue your career in. 1. Viking and Old Norse Studies Viking and Medieval Norse Studies (VMN), University of Iceland program aims to provide thorough training in Old Norse language, literature, and history. Students get to work with original sources like runic inscriptions and old manuscripts. 2. Brewing and Distilling Science This course is for those who are curious about how beer and spirits are made. Offered by Heriot-Watt University and recognized by the Institute of Brewing and Distilling (IBD), this program teaches students everything from fermentation and raw materials to chemical engineering, packaging, and even marketing. 3. Puppet Arts If you like storytelling and theatre, this might just be the perfect course for you. The University of Connecticut offers both Bachelor's and Master's degrees in Puppet Arts. In this program, students learn how to design, sculpt, and bring puppets to life through performance. 4. Parapsychology University of Edinburgh, UK offers a legit course in parapsychology, focusing on the scientific investigation of phenomena's not explained by traditional scientific models including psychic experiences, near-death experiences, apparitional experiences, telepathy, and psychokinesis. 5. Adventure Education Plymouth State University (PSU) in the USA offers both Bachelor of Science (B.S.) and Master of Education ( programs in Adventure Education. You will learn to train for lead outdoor expeditions, survival skills, and even use wilderness therapy for mental health. It combines physical endurance, leadership, and psychology. 6. Master's degree in Peace and Conflicts Offered by the Uppsala University, Sweden (ranked 98th in the world as per the QS World University Rankings) prepares you for being an analyst. Over a course of two years, this program focuses on teaching topics like causes of war, peacebuilding methods, international conflict resolution, and other vital issues including the protection of civilians.
Daily Mirror
21-06-2025
- General
- Daily Mirror
'Swooping seagulls who steal your food need pity not hate'
Birding expert Stuart Winter reveals the sad reason that seagulls have become such seaside pests, brazenly stealing food from out of people's mouths A family beach picnic serenaded by lapping waves and lilting gull cries was hardly the time or place for a half-term lesson on seabird ecology. My three grandchildren's eyes began glazing over the moment I started lecturing them on why our most maligned birds should be loved not loathed. Mention of the dreaded S-word had put me in a flap after the trio witnessed a holidaymaker being relieved of a doughnut by a demonic creature with evil eyes and razor-sharp beak – a seagull! 'Gull, we call them gulls! Never, never seagulls!' I pontificated with the same zeal I had once reprimanded an American for having the temerity to say soccer rather than football. Standing all schoolmasterly atop a rocky Norfolk breakwater, I explained how herring gulls with their silvery, ink-tipped wings were things of beauty but, sadly, now a Red List Species of Conservation Concern after a 70% UK population crash since the 1970s. Diminishing food resources because of landfill site closures and reductions in fish discards along with the scourge of bird flu is making survival tough for a creature that has become a pariah for its liking of fast-food scraps. As my afternoon sermon came to an end, all eyes turned to a smoky grey shape gliding elegantly above our heads. 'Gull!' The grandkids declared in unison, each waiting for approval at their correct bird identification. Time for another lecture. Pointing out the stiff wings and rotund body shape of the bird coasting leisurely over the shallows, I declared that rather than a gull we were watching a fulmar – the closest thing to an albatross patrolling British waters. Mere mention of an albatross, the mighty wanderer of storm-lashed southern oceans and ancient rhymes, had them captivated. So close was the fulmar I could point out features shared with its legendary relation: tube-shaped nostrils to distil sea-water and the ability to projectile vomit foul-smelling stomach contents to deter predators. After all the sermonising, I didn't have the temerity to admit that fulmar derives from 'foul seagull' in Old Norse! Can you recognise the wren's song The rock concert season is upon us but the sound of silence has descended on a countryside slouched in summer stillness. Warblers are no longer warbling and cuckoos have called their last. Nightingales have been put on mute. Exhausted robins are resting voices while replenishing feathers worn ragged by the labours of parenthood. Although spring's dawn chorus is a fading earworm, one headbanger still blaring out dawn to dusk is arguably nature's most powerful vocalist by weight to sound. The Eurasian wren, a chocolate-coated, ping pong ball of a bird with a sticky up tail and barrow boy's gape, has a voice that defies its diminutive proportions. Weighing a mere nine grams, the male marks his territory with a 90 decibel song as loud and powerful as a rock drum solo that's audible from a kilometre. Yet there is more to the wren's rat-a-tat song than the five-second paradiddles belted out without respite. Each of its verses contain more than 100 individual beats, many in the high frequency 7-8 kHz range, and repeated incessantly every month of the year. Rudely woken by the proclamations of a particularly raucous wren outside the bedroom window at 4am last week, I was reminded of the first lines of Walter de la Mare's beautiful poem, Jenny Wren: Of all the birds that rove and sing, Near dwellings made for men, None is so nimble, feat, and trim, As Jenny Wren. Wrens have gender identification issues across different cultures. In Germany, they take on a masculine persona and are called Zaunkonig, or Hedge King. Here in Britain, the bird was given the affectionate moniker of the Jenny Wren in the 1640s, largely because of a long-held belief the species was the female partner of the robin. While ear-splitting males are the headline act, one wren vocalisation noted in literature that I would love to hear is the lullaby whispered by mother wrens when incubating eggs or tending fledglings. The gentle sounds are said to be reminiscent of distant twittering swallow song.
New Statesman
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- New Statesman
My preferred medium for children's education: musical theatre
Illustration by Charlotte Trounce 'Well, around 60 years ago America was at war with a country called Vietnam. And the government didn't have enough soldiers, so they made young men who didn't want to be soldiers go to Vietnam to fight, and sadly lots of them died. And some people didn't support the war, and certainly didn't support men being forced to fight in it if they didn't want to. And the way of showing they didn't support it was for them to grow their hair really long. And that's what the musical is about.' Playing it back in my head, I wonder what my 2010 self, fresh from seeing the West End revival of Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical with its full-frontal nudity and pointed political message, would make of this explanation. But when a curious eight-year-old demands to know what the song 'Let the Sunshine In' is about, how else do you answer? The 'why' stage of childhood is surely the most magical: the years when every new interaction prompts a question, and the answers prompt more questions, forever and ever, to infinity and beyond. Watching my stepdaughters map out the contours of reality can be a humbling experience – maybe I don't fully understand how electricity works, or why we see colours the way we do; I just never realised until I was asked. Mostly, though, it's exhilarating. A conversation on what makes plants alive digresses into a philosophical debate about the nature of consciousness. Explaining what the Budget is and why it matters becomes a bid to define what money actually is. We've done experiments on whether Jaffa Cakes should be classed as biscuits or cakes for tax purposes (including attempting to eat them with a fork), tried to wrap balls in paper to show the limits of 2D map projections and forayed into cryptography to the extent that apology messages in our household are now written in code – or, as my husband will no doubt correct me, ciphers. It's enough to nudge you down a nostalgia spiral. My father can turn anything into an impromptu lesson – grains of rice doubling on chessboard squares to signify infinity, the banking system demonstrated by the analogy of umbrellas, linguistic misunderstandings regarding the Old Norse letter thorn. My sister used to accuse him of 'filling my head with duffness'. I prefer the notion of 'ambient education', knowledge slipped in under the radar before you realise you're learning in the first place. But I don't think my father ever tried to explain the world via the medium of musical theatre. That phenomenon is entirely my own. A West End obsessive, I have the radio tuned to Magic Musicals whenever I can. And when my stepdaughters want to know where the songs I'm humming come from, the history lessons begin. It started with Hamilton, which prompted a quick overview of the American War of Independence and how England really felt about it. Since then, we've done the Paris mob and the barricades courtesy of Les Misérables, the Cold War via first Chess then Hedwig and the Angry Inch, the rise of the Nazis inspired by Cabaret, and the ingenuity of Britain's Second World War efforts as told by Operation Mincemeat. Some have required a bit of hasty contextualising to make them age-appropriate, it's true. But then I remember my mother taking me to Les Mis when I was nine, outlining the plot beforehand and describing the 'Lovely Ladies' as 'women who are paid by men who don't have girlfriends to go out to dinner and the theatre with them so they don't get lonely'. My only concern was who paid for the dinner and theatre tickets – a misunderstanding of prostitution that may have lasted a decade, but in no way spoiled my wonder at the show. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe And so far, my dad's insistence that small children can understand big concepts if you find a way to engage their imaginations has proved accurate. Hair is just the latest duffness chapter. Next up: The Sound of Music, Hairspray and Miss Saigon. [See also: Poetry doesn't only exist on the page] Related
