Language | Buttons

We defy anyone not to smile at the sight of a tin of buttons, so we’re taking a moment to consider the humble button and its place in the English language.

The word ‘button’ comes from the Old French ‘boton’ meaning ‘bud. ‘Bouter’ means to thrust or push - like a bud bursting into bloom, you see? - and we guess, like the way a button pushes through a button hole. It’s all starting to make sense. It’s striking how much buttons crop up in metaphors, sayings and phraseology, though. 

Should you be ‘as bright as a button’, you’re probably smart and quick-witted enough to spot the double meaning of bright as in shiny and bright as in clever. Or perhaps you’re as ‘cute as a button’, a phrase some think refers to a button quail, which were allegedly very cute little birds indeed. 

If you’re less cute and more prone to angry outbursts you might ‘bust your buttons’ in reference to Bruce Banner, whose shirt would bust open, buttons popping all over the place, whenever anger turned him into his alter ego, Hulk. On the other hand you might bust your buttons because you have swelled with pride, although perhaps not with pride at your own sewing skills.

And don’t boast about the source of that pride too much or you might be asked to ‘button your lip’, a phrase originating in The States, used as a (slightly) politer way of asking someone to stop talking. This is less likely to be a problem if you’re the sort of person one would describe as ‘buttoned up’, meaning excessively conservative in appearance or approach; not the sort to loosen your collar, much less let your hair down or chat away garrulously. 

Fascinating stuff. And if you wish to share it with friends who seem less fascinated than we are, you may want to ‘buttonhole’ them, that is to grab them by the buttonholes on their coat to prevent their escape while you talk at them. 

And with that, we’ll button it. 

The buttons pictured above are from our March issue’s back cover, the first of a new series we’re calling ‘Treasures’. We hope you like it.

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What I treasure | My allotment

Shelley Verdon tells us why this small patch of land is what she holds most dear

Quite what possessed me to get an allotment with no experience in growing anything, I’m not sure, but I’d recently moved back home to my mother’s flat in 2015 after a stint working away. The allotment is on the River Mole in Surrey, nestled between farmland and a wholesale nursery. The first thing I planted was a wildflower meadow. That may seem unusual, but my decision-making about the allotment hasn’t been particularly rational. I wanted plants that would bring me joy.

So I toiled one early-autumn day, clearing the weeds, preparing the ground and then scattering the seeds. And then I waited. Not much happened and eventually, by late winter/ early spring, I gave up and threw some black plastic sheeting over the patch, thinking the area must have gone to weeds.

A couple of weeks later the plants were pushing up against the black plastic, trying to get to the light. I realised with delight that I had a growing wildflower meadow. The meadow is a mixture of cowslips, oxeye daisies, thistles, lady’s bedstraw, sorrel, ragged robin, buttercups and vetch. And the insects came. It started out with mayflies bobbing diligently above my meadow, followed by small beetles, hoverflies, bees, bumblebees, crickets, blackfly and ladybirds. I’ve been amazed at how much pleasure watching the insects gives me. Sometimes I lie down between my rose bed and the wildflower meadow to watch the bees and butterflies moving from thistle to thistle and listen to bumblebees vibrating in my apothecary roses. 

My grandmother died a couple of years ago, then my mother was diagnosed with an illness and made redundant. I would bring her to the allotment on Sunday evenings, the evening our family used to get together before my brother and his family moved to Australia. She’s a barefoot and haphazard gardener, which is fascinating, amusing and infuriating to watch. She throws seeds without care, then proceeds to grow things that no one else on the allotments can.

I’m not sure how I’d have got through the last couple of years without the allotment. It has been a godsend. “Better than winning the lottery,” said my mother. I should point out, however, that neither of us has won the lottery yet.

Tell us about your treasures

What means a lot to you? Tell us in 500 words and email to thesimplethings@icebergpress.co.uk and your essay could appear in a future issue of The Simple Things.

The above piece was featured in the June issue of The Simple Things. Get hold of your copy of this month's issue -  buy, download or subscribe

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Why you never forget your first record

First records, like first loves, stay with you, no matter how embarrassing they were

‘What was the first record you bought?’ It’s a question that tells you so much about a person: their age, where in the country they grew up, their (sometimes questionable) taste… It’s a revealing ask.

The Simple Things’ Guy Foreman took us on a trip down Memory Lane in our ‘What I Treasure’ feature in the February issue (on sale now) and told us about his much-treasured record collection, and by the time he’d finished writing it we were all eagerly sharing stories of our first record purchases. So we thought we’d share a few of them with you, too.

Here, some of the staff of The Simple Things bare their (De La) Souls and more. Like Jarvis Cocker, do you remember the first time?

“I bought my first single from HMV in Enfield when I was about eight or nine. Nik Kershaw, 'I won't let the sun go down on me' (7-inch). The importance of 'buying something' definitely overshadowed the importance of which single it was. I can still see the sleeve - it was pale blue with a cutout of heart-throb Nik on the cover. With that hair style, he was quite hard to cut out, I'd imagine.”

Kate Pettifer, Chief Sub

“Mine was Shakin Stevens ‘Shaky’ album. My brother bought it me for Christmas. I remember begging him to tell me what my present was and he kept giving me clues – he said it was black and round and plastic. I couldn’t guess and was so excited when I opened it and saw Shaky on the cover in his pink jacket. I played in on my parents’ record player whenever I had the opportunity. My brother was seven years older than me so Shaky was definitely not his bag but I remember he was very good about pretending to enjoy ‘Green Door’ on replay.”

Rebecca Frank, Commissioning Editor

“Mine was the single 'Especially For You' by Kylie and Jason. I believe I was nine and on holiday in Cornwall. The shop was probably an Our Price. There was no record player in the holiday cottage and I didn't have a record player of my own anyway so when I got home, if I wanted to play it I had to ask my parents' permission to use theirs before putting it on and standing awkwardly in front of their record player, listening for the two or three minutes required, then putting it back in its sleeve and taking it back to my room. The long winter evenings in Surrey just flew by.”

Iona Bower, Blog Editor

“It was 1998. I was seven and the shop was Sydney Scarborough in Hull. This weekend’s treat was going into town with my Grandma to buy a single I wanted. Only problem was….. I didn’t actually know what it was called… only a brief line or two of the song. The guy working there played me more or less every song in the top 40 to see if it jogged my memory. When we got to the end he gave me an ultimatum. “That’s your lot… you’re going to have to sing it for me.” Knowing this was my only chance to get the single I wanted I took a breath and let out in a  hushed but rhythmic tone: “Pretty Fly for a white guy.” He took off down one of the aisles and came back holding a single… Placed the headphones back on my head and popped the disc into the player. I grinned and shimmied along. My grandma handed over the money and I left proudly clutching my first single: The Offspring’s ‘Pretty Fly For A White Guy’. Much to my parent’s horror.”

Oliva O’Connor, Subscription Manager

“The first record I bought with my own money was Blondie – ‘Parallel Lines’. I’ve still got it and it’s still a great album. Ace cover with beyond-cool Debbie Harry and those boys all lined up behind her. It was released in 1978 (I’m sure I didn’t get it when it first came out or anything so it was probably the following year when I was 11). I went to Bostock Records in the Pack Horse Centre in Huddersfield. They had album-sized square carrier bags with their logo on the side – a proper badge of honour to be carrying one round of a Saturday afternoon. It was the only place to buy records in town apart from upstairs at WH Smith’s, which was where your mum went. I remember feeling like I was practically a teenager for being so grown-up and owning a record that wasn’t ABBA or Boney M that had been bought for me. With hindsight this was probably the most hip I ever got.”

Lisa Sykes, Editor

We’d love to hear your memories of your first records, too. Do share them with us in the comments below. And when you pick up your Feburary issue to read all about Guy’s treasured vinyl, don’t miss our regular feature ‘analogue’ which this month is all about vinyl, as we visit Relics, a vintage audio and record shop in Bristol.

Your Simple Things needs YOU!

What I Treasure is our series in which readers tell us about something that matters most to them. From dusty cookbooks to treasured letters, we’ve seen all sorts of prized possessions. Tell us about yours in 500 words by emailing thesimplethings@icebergpress.co.uk and you could see your ‘treasure’ gracing our pages.

Get hold of your copy of this month's The Simple Things - buy, download or subscribe

More things we have treasured…

More from our February issue…