滨罢鈥橲 that time of year again鈥攖he time when another crop of spellchecker
errors is ripe for the picking. Here is the best of the bunch that readers have
sent in.
Names as ever provide a rich supply. When Greg Moran fed a document
containing the name Rodney Thiele into his spellchecker, he was alarmed to find
his computer accusing the executive officer of the Science Teachers鈥� Association
of Western Australia of being a Rodent Thieve. And when Alistair Scott was
working for an international organisation supervising a project in Cameroon, his
spellchecker took exception to the name of the project鈥檚 leader, Manasseh Ngome,
and rechristened him Massive Gnome.
Hazel Williamson, on the other hand, tells us that she once had a boss in the
medical profession called Dr Colin Semple. Her spellchecker wanted to change his
name to Dr Colon Sample鈥攁 joke she would have liked to share with him, but
didn鈥檛 dare.
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Some spellchecker errors have a definite whiff of mischief about them. Howard
Peacock of Siemens Traffic Controls wondered if his spellchecker was trying to
make a monkey out of his company when it transformed its name to Simians Traffic
Controls. And Hugo Bovill reports that Microsoft interprets the name of its
rival Psion as Poison. That鈥檚 understandable, perhaps, but what is more
surprising is that a Psion handheld computer, when confronted with its own name,
comes up with the same insult.
Sometimes, though, it really does seem that professional spoiling tactics are
at work. Gerry Coles reports that the version of Microsoft鈥檚 MS-Mail used at his
office instantly rejects the word Pentium when it meets it and insists instead
on the word 鈥減enis鈥�. But Microsoft seems quite capable of shooting itself in the
foot. Andrew Blakeley-Smith tells us that the spellchecker accompanying
Microsoft鈥檚 own Internet Explorer dared to deny the existence of its creator,
suggesting that the word he wanted was 鈥渕icrofossil鈥�.
In general, spellcheckers take a dim view of science. When Gareth Wimpenny
asked Word 97 to vet the phrase 鈥渟amples were then rinsed in deionised water鈥�,
it decided that the water was in fact 鈥渄emonised鈥�. Meanwhile, when Katherine
Jones asked her spellchecker to check a document containing the word 鈥減entose鈥�
(a type of sugar), she received the suggestions 鈥減ants鈥�, 鈥減ints鈥� and
鈥减补苍迟颈别蝉鈥�.
Along similar lines, Richard Wightman wonders what chance we have of purging
the Internet of obscenities when the spellchecker on Internet Mail fails to
recognise the word 鈥渒nackers鈥� and wants to change it to 鈥渒nickers鈥� or
鈥渒苍辞肠办别谤蝉鈥�.
The ability of spellcheckers to distort a word鈥檚 meaning can verge on the
surreal. Faced with 鈥渁ubergines鈥� in a menu for a local vegetarian restaurant,
one anonymous reader鈥檚 spellchecker replaced it with 鈥渁borigines鈥�. And John
Tranter was alarmed to discover that Word 97 thought 鈥渇ire-raising鈥� a fitting
substitute for 鈥渇irefighting鈥�. We daren鈥檛 consider the possible ramifications of
that particular error.
And, of course, we couldn鈥檛 resist it鈥攚e had to run this item through
our own spellchecker. It was disconcerting to find that the first word that
attracted its attention was 鈥渟pellchecker鈥�. But when it came to offering
alternatives, our trusty aide had no suggestions.
BUT it is not only computers that make these kinds of mistakes. Feedback has
a friend who works for a newspaper in the north of England鈥攚hich, to save
the blushes of one of its employees, we won鈥檛 name. A couple of weeks ago the
paper ran a strange advertisement in its 鈥淟onely Hearts鈥� section. It read:
鈥淧rofessional man, 45, head on a stick, seeks similar woman.鈥�
People who work at the newspaper were as puzzled about the ad as their
readers must have been, and wondered what, exactly, this man was into. Then it
emerged that the man had given the wording for his ad over the phone and the
typist who answered the call had taken it down wrong. What the man actually said
was 鈥渉edonistic鈥�.
THIS week鈥檚 prize for the dissemination of utterly useless information goes
to the Swedish magazine Illustrerad Vetenskap (Illustrated Science). An
article in a recent issue spotted by reader Emma Wennersten featured a man who
had calculated how many different ways you can score 77 points in tenpin
bowling.
Why 77 points rather than any other score, we do not know. But the answer,
apparently, is that there are 172 542 309 343 731 946 different ways you can do
it.
So now you know.
READER Nick Vaughan wonders what educational message is being absorbed by the
children at a local primary school when they read their class timetable.
Following the latest scheduling requirements by the British government, part of
the timetable reads: 鈥�09.40 to 10.30鈥� Literacy Hour鈥� and 鈥�10.45 to
12.00鈥� Numeracy Hour鈥�.
Accuracy aside, Vaughan speculates that an intrinsic self-regulatory
mechanism may be in operation here, with the length of the second 鈥渉our鈥�
attempting to compensate for the shortness of the first one.
Either way, it鈥檚 all highly educational.
IT SEEMS there is an ingredient in Pluravit Men鈥檚 Multivitamins that can do
things even the genetic engineers haven鈥檛 got round to yet. Men purchasing the
product in Australia are warned: 鈥淭aking more than 2500 IU (vitamin A) a day
during pregnancy may cause birth defects.鈥�
AND finally, here is an unsurprising message on a bottle. The label on
supermarket chain Tesco鈥檚 still spring water reads: 鈥淪uitable for
痴别驳别迟补谤颈补苍蝉.鈥�