Endurance

Endurance (pronounced en-doo r-uhns or en-dyoo r-uhns)

(1) The fact or power of enduring or bearing pain, hardships, etc.

(2) The ability or strength to continue or last, especially despite fatigue, stress, or other adverse conditions; stamina.

(3) Lasting quality; duration.

(4) Something endured, as a hardship; trial.

1485-1495: From the Middle English enduren from the Old French endurer, from the Classical Latin indūrō (to make hard).  Enduren displaced the pre-900 Old English drēogan (congnate with the Gothic driugan (to serve in arms) which survives dialectally as dree (tedious; dreary)).  The meaning "ability to endure suffering" was first noted in the 1660s. The older forms, enduraunce, indurance, induraunce are all long obsolete.  Construct was endure + ance; the suffix –ance (a process or action) added to the stem of verbs to form a noun indicating a state or condition, such as result or capacity, associated with the verb, this especially prevalent with words borrowed from French.  Many words ending in ance were formed in French by alteration of a noun or adjective ending in ant; ance was derived from the Latin anita and enita.

Endurance Racing

There’s no precise definition of endurance racing, it's just a form of competition of greater duration of length than most.  It’s bounced around over the years but events now regarded as endurance races tend to be over a distance of 625 miles (1000 km) or twelve or twenty-four hours long.  Long races existed from the early days of motorsport, the first twenty-four hour event being on an oval circuit at Dayton, Ohio in 1905, followed soon by the opening event at the purpose-built Brooklands circuit in 1907.  One of the epic races was the Targa Florio, first run in 1906.  Held originally on public roads in the mountains of Sicily near the capital Palermo, it was for decades the oldest event for sports cars and a round of the World Sportscar Championship between 1955-1973.  The first few races were a lap of the whole island but as the volume of traffic and competitors increased, it became too disruptive and the track length was reduced to the 72 kilometre (45 mile) Circuito Piccolo delle Madonie, each Targa Florio run over eleven laps.  Safety concerns and the oil crisis conspired to remove it from the world championship after 1973 and it was finally cancelled in 1977.  A much toned-down event is now run annually as a round of the Italian Rally Championship.

Further north, the thousand-mile Mille Miglia, also run on public roads, was first staged in 1927 and although soon one of the classic events on the calendar, it's the 1955 race to which a particular aura still attaches.  Won by Stirling Moss (1929-2020) and  Denis Jenkinson (1920-1996), they used a Mercedes 300SLR, a car which technically complied with the sports car regulations but was actually the factory's formula one machine (W196) with a bigger engine and a streamlined body with seats for two.  It wasn't exactly a "grand prix car with headlights" as some claimed but wasn't that far off.  Officially the W196S (Sports) in the factory register, for marketing purposes it was dubbed (add badged) as the 300SLR to add lustre to the 300SL Gullwing coupé then on sale.

Mercedes-Benz W196S (300SLR), Mille Miglia, 1955.

The race was completed in 10 hours, 7 minutes and 48 seconds, a average speed of 157.650 km/h (97.96 mph).  The course was never exactly 1000 miles; in 1957 it was 1,597 km (992 miles) and at times, the 300SLR touched almost 290 km/h (180mph) which enabled Moss to cover the last 340 km (211 miles) at an average speed of 265.7 km/h (165.1) mph.  The record set in 1955 will stand for all time because the Italian government banned the Mille Miglia after two fatal crashes during the 1957 event, one of which killed nine spectators and a cursory glace at the photographs showing crowds clustered sometimes literally inches from the speeding cars might suggest it's surprising not more died.  Today, the name of the Mille Miglia endures as a semi-competitive tour for historic racing cars which, run since 1977, is very much a social occasion for the rich.  By contrast, events run on closed courses have survived, the most famous of which is the 24 Heures du Mans (the Le Mans 24 Hour) and well-known 1000 km (625 mile), 12 & 24 hour races have been run at Sebring, Laguna Seca, Daytona, Bathurst, the Nürburgring and Spa Francorchamps.

Endurance racing: Porsche 917Ks sideways in the wet; Vic Elford (1935-2022, right #11) and Pedro Rodriguez (1940-1971, left #10), BOAC 1000km, Brands Hatch, April 1970.  The race was the third round of the 1970 World Sports Car Championship.  Chris Amon (1943–2016) put a Ferrari 512S on pole but the 1000 was won (by 5 laps) by Pedro Rodríguez & Leo "Leksa" Kinnunen (1943–2017) in a Porsche 917K entered by John Wyer (1909–1989).  Amon was impressed by the speed maintained by Rodríguez in atrociously wet conditions (although much improved from the lethally unstable version seen a year earlier, even by 1970 the 917 could be difficult to handle on a dry surface) and is said to have remarked to his pit crew: "Can somebody tell Pedro it's raining?"

Some endurance required: In 2023, the Dowse Art Museum in Wellington, New Zealand, staged the exhibition exploring the 2014 installation at Fort Delta, Melbourne in July 2014 in which New Zealand based artist Claire Harris (b 1982) watched Ms Lohan's entire filmography back to back in a live performance art work over 28 hours.  The issues discussed included “how” and “why” and there were practical tips on developing the stamina required for such feats of endurance.  The companion 34 page illustrated book Happy birthday Lindsay Lohan, 2011-2014 is available on request from the National Library of New Zealand.  The pages are unnumbered, the rational for which is not disclosed.

As a general principle, an "endurance event" tends to be a longer version of something so it’s thus a relative as well as an absolute term.  In sport, something like the Marathon, run over 42 kilometres (26 miles) is the endurance event of running where as the shorter contests are sprints (such as the 100 or 200 meters) or “distance” races (such as the 5,000 or 10,000 metres).  However, were the Marathon not to exist, then the 10,000 would be the “endurance” event of the Olympic Games, the tag attaching to whatever is the longest form.  In other fields, “endurance” can be more nuanced because what some find an “act of endurance” to sit through, others relish and long for more.  Richard Wagner’s (1813–1883)'s Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelung, 1876 (usually referred to as “The Ring Cycle”)) is an opera of epic length in cycle consisting of four separate pieces, each of the composer regarded as “an opera”:

Das Rheingold: (The Rhinegold; some 2½ hours with no intermission)
Die Walküre: (The Valkyrie; some 4½-5½ hours with intermissions)
Siegfried: (some 5-5½ hours with intermissions)
Götterdämmerung: (Twilight of the Gods; some 5-6 hours with intermissions)

So, a performance of the Ring Cycle absorbs between 15-17 hours and is thus usually spread over several days, some productions staging the event across a month, each performance (usually three or four) held on a weekend.  Grand Opera really is the West’s greatest artistic achievement and among the aficionados, the Wagnerian devotees are the most dedicated and passionate, some travelling the world to compare and contrast different productions of the Ring.  For them it’s not usually a test of endurance (although a production of which they don’t approve will be a long 17 hours) because they relish every moment but for others it’s probably unthinkable.  Although it’s long been attributed to him, the US humorist Mark Twain (1835-1910) may never have said: “Wagner’s music isn’t as bad as it sounds”, the back-handed compliment reflects the view of the majority, brought up on shorter, more accessible forms of entertainment.  For them, one hour of Wagner would be an endurance test.

The three later individual pieces of The Ring are themselves epic-length operas and Wagner wrote a number in this vein including Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg (The Master-Singers of Nuremberg, 1868; 5-6 hours), Parsifal (1882; 4-5 hours), Lohengrin (1850; 4 hours), Tannhäuser (1845; 4 hours) and the incomparable Tristan und Isolde (1965; 4-5 hours).  What came to define “epic length” in Opera was: (1) the typical length of other works and (2) the powers of endurance of those on stage, in the orchestra pit or in the audience.  Other composers did tend to write shorter operas although Giacomo Meyerbeer (1791–1864), Giuseppe Verdi (1813–1901), Richard Strauss (1864–1949), Gioachino Rossini (1792–1868) and Hector Berlioz (1803–1869) all produced works running over four hours and it was not unusual for there to be two or even three intermissions.  For profligacy with time however, none match Wagner although some modern composers have written very long operas although their length seems other to be their only memorable feature.

Epics: On vinyl, tracks did lengthen and if the physical limits of vinyl were exceeded, the piece could be spread over more than one disk.  Iron Butterfly’s In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (1968, left) was 17:05 in length, Jethro Tull’s Thick as a Brick (1972, centre) was 43:46 (over two disks) while Rush’s 2112 (1976, right) was 20:33.

Cast adrift from the moorings of endurance by internet streaming making available infinite playing time, “songs” in the twenty-first century can last literally hours and an illustrative example is The Rise and Fall of Bossanova by PC III (Michael J Bostwick) which weighs in at a Wagarian 13 hours, 23 minutes, and 32 seconds.  It seems between 2016-2020 to have held the Guinness World Record as the longest song officially released although whether this should be thought a proud boast or admission of guilt will be up to those who listen.  Ominously, one of the implications of AI (artificial intelligence) is that in theory, someone could release a song which, without hesitation, deviation or repetition, goes on forever.

Andy Warhol's Empire is occasionally screened but always on the basis that viewers may "come and go" at any point in its eight hour run-time.

In pop music, the “epic length piece” was shorter by virtue of technological determinism.  Modern pop music (as the term is now understood) began in the 1950s and the standard form of distribution by the 1960s was the LP (long-playing) vinyl album, first released in 1948.  Because the technology of the time limited the duration of music which could fit on the side of a LP disk to about 27 minutes, that became the upper limit for a single song and at that length, it could be called “epic length” or just “an epic”.  Some bands and individuals did produce “epics” with varied results and some were probably better enjoyed (or endured) with drugs.  Not discouraged by the limitations of vinyl, others noted the possibilities offered by double (2 disks) or even triple (3 disks) albums and penned “rock operas”, the need to change disks a convenient operatic touch in that it provided a intermission.  Andy Warhol (1928–1987) took the idea of the endurance test to celluloid, in 1965 releasing Empire, a silent film shot in black & white showing New York’s Empire State Building at night (form a single aspect).  Running for some eight hours and designed to be viewed in slow-motion, it received critical praise from the usual suspects and little interest among even those who frequented art-house cinemas.  Warhol issued as statement saying the purpose was “to see time go by” and it can’t be denied he succeeded, perhaps even more convincingly than his earlier five hour epic Sleep (1964) which was an edited collection of takes of a man sleeping.  Similar scenes may have been found among those who found watching Empire beyond their powers of endurance.

Exoskeleton & Endoskeleton

Exoskeleton (pronounced ek-soh-skel-i-tn)

(1) In zoology, an external covering or integument, any hardened external structure, as the shells of crustaceans or the scales and plates of fishes and reptiles, especially when it is of the nature of bone.

(2) All hard parts, such as hair, teeth, and nails which develop from the ectoderm or mesoderm in vertebrates (generally used only in technical literature).

(3) A wearable robotic machine used for aided or augmented mobility.

1841: The construct was exo- + skeleton.  The prefix endo- was used as a word-forming element meaning "inside, within, internal.  It was from the Ancient Greek ἔνδον (éndon) (within; inner; internal) from the primitive Indo-European en-do- (an extended form of the root en (in)).  Skeleton was from the New Latin skeleton (bones, bony framework of the body), from the Ancient Greek skeleton soma (dried-up body, mummy, skeleton), from the neuter of σκελετός (skeletós) (dried up, withered, dried body (and as a noun: parched; mummy), from σκέλλω (skéllō & skellein) (dry, dry up, make dry, parch), from the primitive Indo-European (s)kelha- (to parch, wither); related was the Ancient Greek σκληρός (sklirós) (hard).  Exoskeleton is a noun; the noun plural is exoskeletons or exoskeleta.

Skelton was an early variant form.  The noun use of Greek skeletos passed into Late Latin as (sceletus), hence the French squelette and the rare English skelet (1560s), the Spanish esqueleto & the Italian scheletro.  The meaning "bare outline" was first recorded circa 1600; hence the term "skeleton crew" from 1778 used to describe minimal staffing, the skeleton key a similar allusion to some of a structure being removed.  The phrase "skeleton in the closet" (source of secret shame to a person, family or institution) is from 1812 and thought an adoption from the imagery in the fable Bluebeard (1697) by Charles Perrault (1628-1703). Exoskeleton was in 1841 coined by by English paleontologist Sir Richard Owen (1804–1892).  Exoskeleton has become more widely used in recent years because of the interest in fields such as engineering, robotics and medicine in using external structures, often to augment or replace human functions.  As early as the 1960s, the "exoskeleton look" became fashionable among architects who would no longer conceal features like plumbing pipes

Trilobites

Trilobite variants.

Trilobite (pronounced try-low-byte) translates literally as “three lobes".  Often casually referred to as bugs or sea-bugs, in taxonomy, all trilobites actually belong in the class of trilobite in the phylum arthropod and within the class are ten orders.  It’s not known how many species of trilobites existed but almost 21,000 have thus far been identified in the fossil record, their numbers and variety leading them to be regarded as one of history’s more successful animals.  They inhabited all the seas and oceans and endured some three-hundred million years, surviving several mass-extinction events.  Their long duration, their structure and living habits meant they became a common and frequently discovered fossil, noted since antiquity although the first attempt scientifically to classify one seems to have been by Wan Shizen of China who, in 1689 described trylobite pygidia (tails) as "batstones".  The first known scientific drawing was by Welsh botanist, the Reverend Edward Lhuyd (1660-1709) whose sketch of a trilobite was published in "The Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society.  The drawing, now classified as being a Ogygiocarella debuchii, was then (not unreasonably), called the "flatfish".

Truly ancient, trilobites pre-date the Cambrian explosion (some 540 million years ago) and went extinct only towards the end of the Permian extinction event (some 250 million years ago) which ended the Paleozoic age which had lasted some 290 million years.  However, the earlier events took their toll, a few orders vanishing after the Ordovician event (some 445 million years ago) while the Devonian event (some 370 million years ago) removed all but one order, that last survivor dying out in the Permian event.  Why such a successful and prolific creature could not endure these extinctions remains a debate, the more popular theories including (1) environmental change happening with such rapidity there was no time for evolutionary adaptation and (2) the needed sources of nutrition vanishing because organisms lower in the food-chain went extinct.  All shared the same basic structure, having three lobes: a left pleural, a middle axial and a right pleural lobe, their bodies divided into a cephalon (dead), thorax (middle), and pygydium (tail).  Trilobites had a thick, protective exoskeleton which formed a hard calcite shell, something like that of the modern crab and is the reason for their frequency in the fossil record, the exoskeletons usually the only part to survive although, in the rare cases where certain surrounding conditions exist, traces of soft tissue such as antennae can survive fossilization.  As a trilobite grew, it molted its exoskeleton, and many of the fossils which exist are molted frames rather than dead creatures.

Before & after avian intrusion: 1952 Mercedes-Benz 300 SL (W194), Carrera Panamericana, Mexico, November 1952.

In nature, exoskeletons evolved over thousands of generations through the interplay of natural selection and adaptation to prevailing environmental conditions but with man-made objects such things, in cases of immediate need, can within hours be fashioned.  Returning to the circuits for the first time since the end of World War II (1939-1945), Mercedes-Benz had enjoyed immediate success with the new 300 SL (W194) race car which, despite being underpowered, proved its mettle with a combination of robustness, reliability and outstanding aerodynamics which both increased performance and improved fuel economy.  The W194, ten of which were built, is often referred to as “the first gullwing” (although the configuration had in 1939 been seen on a one-off Bugatti and was not uncommon in aviation and nautical use) but the distinctive doors were introduced only after those enforcing the regulations of sports car at Le Mans ruled the 300 SL’s original “doors” were no such things and were merely “elaborately framed windows”.  With re-designed doors fitted, the W194 promptly delivered the factory a 1-2 result in the 1952 24 hour endurance classic.

1952 Carrera Panamericana: The winning 300 SL in the factory museum.

Concluding things that year was the third Carrera Panamericana, a gruelling endurance event of eight stages over some 3,100 km (1,925 miles) between 19-23 November.  With typical thoroughness, the factory shipped three W194s along with a large support staff and all was going well until the lead car collided with a large bird (contemporary articles variously reporting the unfortunate creature as a vulture or buzzard) which smashed through the windscreen at an impact speed in excess of 215 km/h (135 mph), stunning the co-driver and leaving him bloodied.  Shook awake, he recovered and when the car reached the service point a new windscreen was fitted and, as a precaution against other vultures (or whatever) seeking vengeance, eight metal bars were fitted, the ad-hoc birdcage designed to keep them out, not in.  Without further avian “events”, the W194 repeated the result from Le Mans by finishing 1-2 and, fully restored, the winning car is part of the collection of the Mercedes-Benz Museum in Stuttgart.

1968 London-Sydney Marathon: The 1968 Porsche 911S which finished fourth (left) and after a full restoration (right).  A zoologist would insist this is only a "semiexoskeleton" on the basis of the partial coverage. 

As all in the Northern Hemisphere understand, in Australia, on land, sea & air, all the wildlife will try to kill you.  Noting this, when Porsche’s competition department prepared its three entries for the 1968 London-Sydney they limited their concern about sharks and crocodiles to a single paragraph in the drivers’ instruction sheets and decided the main threat to the cars were wandering “giant” kangaroos and low-flying wedge-tailed eagles (a bird with a wingspan wider even than Mexico’s vultures).  The first event of its type in the modern era, the 1968 London-Sydney Marathon spanned half the globe over a distance of 12,237 miles (16,934) and the route shows how times have changed, stages in Iran & Pakistan included; neither country now places many organizers of events would include in their itineraries but in 1968, kangaroos were still deemed more a threat than terrorism.  Accordingly, the factory designed a kind of exoskeleton, a robust external roll cage which essentially was the W194’s “birdcage” but “on steroids”.  As originally conceived, the structure had been of more modest proportions and while the final result may look like “overkill”, things were “beefed up” following one of the drivers writing off a rented VW Beetle after colliding with a kangaroo during pre-event testing in Australia.  Impressed by the extent of the damage, the engineers produced an impressively strong protective cage, content that whatever else might go wrong, it wouldn’t be a kangaroo which ended the venture.  Porsche 911S #58 finished fourth, victory going to a Hillman Hunter #75, one of the more improbable machines to win an international endurance event.

1968 London-Sydney Marathon: The winning 1968 Hillman Hunter (left) and restored 1967 Pakyan 1725 (right), the Iranian variants often noted for their additional bling.  Unlike the cautious Germans, most teams fitted only rudimentary additional protection against kangaroos and such; some ruefully later casting envious glances at Porsche's exoskeleton. 

In fairness, though an unlikely competition car, the Hillman Hunter (the “mainstream” model in the “Arrow” range which would sold also as “badge-engineered” Sunbeam, Singer & Humber variants) was a success in many countries, lasting in Europe from 1966 until 1979 although its most extraordinary longevity was achieved in the Islamic Republic of Iran.  In 1966, during the reign of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi (1919–1980; last Shah of Iran 1941-1979) assembly from CKD (completely knocked down) packs had begun with the car sold as the Paykan (پیکان, Romanized as Peykān and literally “Arrow”) and unlike many things, it survived the 1979 revolution to continue to flourish under the rule of Grand Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini (1900-1989; Supreme Leader, Islamic Republic of Iran, 1979-1989), full local manufacture starting in 1985.  Although theologically uncompromising, there’s no record of the Imam having complained of the presence on his assembly lines of a product from شیطان کوچک (Sheytān-e Koochak) (the UK & Israel being “Little Satan” and the US شیطان بزرگ (Sheytān-e Bozorg) “Great Satan” although in the West the terms are often misunderstood because in flavour of Shia Islam practiced in Iran, Satan is a pathetic rather than fearsome figure).  When in 1979 Grand Ayatollah Ali Khamenei (1939-2026; Supreme Leader, Islamic Republic of Iran 1989-2026) became supreme leader, the Pakyan carried on and although production of the salon finally ended in 2005, the pick-up variant continued to be sold for another decade, the last not leaving the line until almost 50 years after the first Hunter was sold in the UK.  From the modest Hunter, the ayatollah's got their money's worth.

Exoskeleton cars

MVE Exocet (left) & Exomotive’s Exocet Sport V8 (right).

Exoskeleton vehicles are numerous on farms, mine-sites and such but rarely seen on public roads.  They do though have a niche for those who want something which sacrifices just about everything (aerodynamics, weather protection, doors etc) for the nimbleness only extreme light-weight can deliver.  An example is the MVE Exocet, released for public sale in 2010.  It’s an inventive approach to the kit-car concept and takes the classic front-engined, rear-wheel drive approach, based on Mazda’s Miata (the MX-5, introduced in 1989 and a kind of clone of the Lotus Elan of the 1960s but without the problems), the advantage with the Japanese platform being its unusual sub-frame which permits the removal of the body, leaving the engine, drive-train and suspension as a rolling assembly to be transplanted to the Exocet chassis.

Because of the light weight, even when using sensible four-cylinder engines the Exocet delivers high-performance but the Americans in particular can’t resist the idea that just about any car can be improved by the installation of a V8 and quite outlandish power to weight ratios are possible.  An indicative example of Exomotive’s Exocet Sport used a 525 horsepower (LS3) version of one of the later evolutions of the small-block Chevrolet V8 which, fully fueled, weighed in at 1690 lb (767 kg, the 2026 Formula 1 regulations set a minimum dry-weight (ie excluding fuel) of 768 kg).  Because it possible to buy, off the shelf (as a “crate” engine), V8 engines with about the same power as a F1 power-plant generates, although there was be something a weight penalty, the potential does exist to build a two-seater roadster with a similar power-to-weight ratio and there are jurisdictions which even allow such a thing to be registered for use on public roads.  Opinions would differ on whether such a build is a good idea but the little machines, if the V8 was tuned more for low and mid-range torque rather than ultimate power, would seem to have great potential in competitions such as short-course events and hill-climbs although the dubious aerodynamics would render it less suited to high-speed tracks.

Art and money: Porsche 934 (left) by Benedict Radcliffe (b 1976) sold for US$249,002 while Comedian (a banana duct-taped to the wall, right) by Maurizio Cattelan (b 1960) realized US$6.2 million.

The exoskeleton concept inspired English artist and sculptor Benedict Radcliffe to create a number of small scale tubular steel sculptures in the shape of cars including the Lancia Stratos (1973-1978), Lamborghini Countach (1974-1990) and Ferrari F40 (1987-1992), mostly powdered-coated in lurid colors.  Usually, they sell for several thousand US dollars but in early 2025, one in 1:1 scale in the shape of a Porsche 934 sold for US$249,002; in a nod to history, it was painted in the same fluro-orange used for the Jägermeister livery used for the race cars in 1979-1977 and rolled on period-correct centre-locking BBS wheels shod with Avon slick tires.  At that price, it was little different from what one would pay for a new Porsche 911 GT3, straight from the showroom floor.  Still, it’s less than the US$1.5 million which is typical of what’s been paid in recent years on the rare occasions a 934 is offered for sale.  Produced between 1976-1977, Porsche built 31 934s, simply for the purpose of creating a version of the 930 (the 911 Turbo, 1975-1978) which would comply with the FIA Group 4 (GT Cars) rules (the 935 was the companion Group 5 (Special Production Cars) project).  The art market cannot be assessed with any form of conventional metrics but in paying a quarter-million odd for a tubular structure, one gets quite a lot compared with the Italian visual artist Maurizio Cattelan’s Comedian, (a banana duct-taped to the wall); a couple of months earlier, at auction, it had gone under the hammer for US$6.2 million.

Endoskeleton (pronounced en-doh-skel-i-tn)

(1) In zoology, the internal skeleton or framework of the body of an animal (generally the bony or cartilaginous skeleton of vertebrates).  Certain invertebrates, such as sponges and echinoderms, also have endoskeletons.

(2) For most (non-technical) purposes, a synonym for skeleton.

1838: The construct was endo- + skeleton  The prefix exo- was used as a word forming element in words of Greek origin meaning "outer, outside, outer part" and was used from the mid-nineteenth century.  It was from the Ancient Greek ἔξω (éxō) (outer; external) and was related to ex (out of).  Endoskeleton is used almost exclusively in the biological sciences.  For most general purposes, it’s synonymous with skeleton which is the default assumption of use because it’s familiar from humans and most familiar animals.  Endoskeleton is a noun; the noun plural is endoskeletons or endoskeleta.

The nicely defined shoulder blade and ribcage definition of Lindsay Lohan's endoskeleton.

The word endoskeleton may not have been needed had all creatures on earth had “conventional” skeletons like humans, cats, dogs, fish and such; there would have been just “skeletons”.  Of course, architects and engineers likely would have been unable to resist coining “exoskeleton” there seems no better word to describe an externally-located superstructure.  Both an endoskeleton and exoskeleton are structural frameworks to some degree (sometimes wholly) supporting and shaping an organism’s body and which form an animal evolved to adopt was a product of history and environment.  That’s best illustrated by those with hard outer shell (really the ultimate exoskeleton) which functions as a kind of armor-plate.  Among man-made objects, both models are used and easily identified although exoskeletons (such as the futtocks in nautical design) probably are more common in anything with a “skin” including buildings, aircraft and ships.

Endoskeleton cars

The Birdcage: The Maserati Tipo 60/61 (chassis #2549).

Endoskeleton cars are far from uncommon but some make the concept more obvious than others.  The Maserati Tipo 60/61 (1959-1961) gained the nickname “Birdcage” (by which it’s almost always known) because observers were much taken with the delicacy of the construction.  By the late 1950s, space-frames had become familiar to race-car builders but they were usually robust-looking arrangements whereas Maserati had rendered an intricate latticework of some 200 chromoly steel tubes welded often in triangulated form in the points of highest stress, the design delivering both lightness and rigidity.

Mercedes-Benz 300 SLR (W196S, upper) & 300 SL (W198, lower).

One of the reasons the Maserati’s skeleton looked so delicate was that the space-frame had become associated with Teutonic-flavored construction like that used by Mercedes-Benz for its 300 SL & 300 SLR.  Both shared the same method of construction but despite the names and the the visual similarity between the two, there were few common components beyond the nuts, bolts & screws.  The 300 SL (W198; 1954-1963) was a road car while the SLR (W196S; 1955) was a lengthened version of the W196R Formula One Grand Prix car with a sexy body and an enlarged (though somewhat detuned) straight-eight engine.  Despite appearing much more substantial than the Maserati's birdcage, the German space-frame was remarkably light.

Dynamometer

Dynamometer (pronounced dahy-nuh-mom-i-ter)

(1) A device for measuring mechanical force or muscular power (ergometer).

(2) A device for measuring mechanical power, especially one that measures the output or driving torque of a rotating machine.

1800–1810: A compound word, the construct being dynamo + meter.  Dynamo was ultimately from the Ancient Greek δύναμις (dúnamis; dynamis) (power) and meter has always been an expression of measure in some form and in English was borrowed from the French mètre, from the Ancient Greek μέτρον (métron) (measure).  What meter (also metre) originally measured was the structure of poetry (poetic measure) which in the Old English was meter (measure of versification) from the Latin metrum, from the Ancient Greek metron (meter, a verse; that by which anything is measured; measure, length, size, limit, proportion) ultimately from the primitive Indo-European root me- (measure).  Although the evidence is sketchy, it appears to have been re-borrowed in the early fourteenth century (after a three hundred-year lapse in recorded use) from the Old French mètre, with the specific sense of "metrical scheme in verse”, again from the Latin metrum.  Metre (and metre) was later adopted as the baseline unit of the metric system.  Dynamometer is a noun; the noun plural is dynamometers.

The modern meaning of dynamometer (measuring the power of engines) dates from 1882 and is short for dynamo-machine, from the German dynamoelektrischemaschine (dynamo-electric machine), coined in 1867 by its inventor, the German electrical engineer Werner Siemans (1816-1892). Dynamometers, almost universally referred to as dynos, are machines which simultaneously measure the torque and rotational speed (RPM) of an engine or other rotating prime-mover so specific power outs may be calculated.  On modern dynamometers, measures are displayed either as kilowatts (kW) or brake-horsepower (bhp).

Evolution of the Turbo-Panzer

Porsche 917 Flat 12 being run on factory dynamometer, Stuttgart, 1969.

During the last hundred years odd, the rules of motor sport have been written by an alphabet soup of regulatory bodies including the AIACR, the CSI, the FISA and the FIA and these bureaucrats have made many bad decisions, tending often to make things worse but every now and then, as an unintended consequence of their dopiness, something really good emerges.  The large displacement cars of the mid-1960s contested sports car racing in one of the classic eras in motorsport.  Everyone enjoyed the competition except the rule-making body (the CSI, the Commission Sportive Internationale) which, on flimsy pretexts which at the time fooled nobody, changed the rules for the International Championship of Makes for the racing seasons 1968-1971, restricting the production cars (of which 50 identical units had to have been made) to 5.0 litre (305 cubic inch) engines with a 3.0 litre limit (183 cubic inch) for prototypes (which could be one-offs).  Bizarrely, the CSI even claimed this good idea would be attractive for manufacturers already building three litre engine for Formula One because they would be able to sell them (with a few adaptations), for use in endurance racing.  There’s no evidence the CSI ever asked the engine producers whether their highly-strung, bespoke Formula One power-plants, designed for 200 mile sprints, could be modified for endurance racing lasting sometimes 24 hours.  Soon aware there were unlikely to be many entries to support their latest bright idea, the CSI relented somewhat and allowed the participation of 5.0 litre sports cars as long as the homologation threshold of 50 units had been reached.  A production run of 50 made sense in the parallel universe of the CSI but made no economic sense to the manufacturers and, by 1968, entries were sparse and interest waning so the CSI grudgingly again relented, announcing the homologation number for the 5.0 litre cars would be reduced to 25.

The famous photograph of the 25 917s assembled for the CSI’s inspection outside the Porsche factory, Stuttgart, FRG (Federal Republic of Germany, the old West Germany, 20 April, 1969.

This attracted Porsche, a long-time contestant in small-displacement racing which, funded by profits from their increasingly successful road-cars, sought to contest for outright victories in major events rather than just class trophies.  Porsche believed they had the basis for a five litre car in their three litre 908 which, although still in the early stages of development, had shown promise.  In a remarkable ten months, the parts for twenty-five cars were produced, three of which were assembled and presented to the CSI’s homologation inspectors.  Pettifogging though they were, the inspectors had a point when refusing certification, having before been tricked into believing Ferrari’s assurance of intent actually to build cars which never appeared.  They demanded to see twenty-five assembled, functional vehicles and Porsche did exactly that, in April 1969 parking the twenty-five in the factory forecourt, even offering the inspectors the chance to drive however many they wish.  The offer was declined and, honor apparently satisfied on both sides, the CSI granted homologation.  Actually, it was just as well the offer to take the 25 for a run was declined because so hurriedly had many of the 917s been assembled (it was such a rush secretaries, accountants and such were press-ganged to help) that many could only be started, put in first gear and driven a few metres.  Thus, almost accidently, began the career of the Porsche 917, a machine which would come to dominate whatever series it contested and set records which would stand for decades, it’s retirement induced not by un-competitiveness but, predictably, by rule changes which rendered it illegal.  

917LH (Langheck (long tail)), Le Mans, 1969.

The ten month gestation was impressive but there were teething problems.  The fundamentals, the 908-based space-frame and the 4.5 (275 cubic inch) litre air-cooled flat-12 engine, essentially, two of Porsche’s 2.25 (137 cubic inch) litre flat-sixes joined together, were robust and reliable from the start but, the sudden jump in horsepower (HP) meant much higher speeds and it took some time to tame the problems of the car’s behaviour at high-speed.  Aerodynamics was then still an inexact science and the maximum speed the 917 was able to attain on Porsche’s test track was around 180 mph (290 km/h) but when unleashed on the circuits with long straights where over 210 mph (338 km/h) was possible the early cars could be lethally unstable.  The first breakthrough in aerodynamic dynamic was serendipitous.  After one high speed run during which the driver had noted (with alarm) the tendency of the rear end of the car to “wander from side to side”, it was noticed that while the front and central sections of the bodywork were plastered with snarge (squashed insects), the fibreglass of the rear sections was a pristine white, the obvious conclusion drawn that while the airflow was inducing the desired degree of down-force on the front wheels, it was passing over the rear of body, thus the lift which induced the wandering.  Some improvisation with pieces of aluminium and much duct tape to create an ad-hoc, shorter, upswept tail transformed the behaviour and was the basis for what emerged from more extensive wind-tunnel testing by the factory as the 917K for Kurzheck (short-tail).

Porsche 917Ks, the original (rear) and the updated version with twin tail-fins, Le Mans, 1971.

The 917K proved a great success but the work in the wind tunnel continued, in 1971 producing a variant with a less upswept tail and vertical fins which bore some resemblance to those used by General Motors and Chrysler a decade earlier.  Then, the critics had derided the fins as “typical American excess” and “pointlessly decorative” but perhaps Detroit was onto something because Porsche found the 917’s fins optimized things by “cleaning” the air-flow over the tail section, the reduction in “buffeting” meaning the severity of the angles on the deck could be lessened, reducing the drag while maintaining down-force, allowing most of the top-speed earlier sacrificed in the quest for stability to be regained.

The Can-Am: A red Porsche 917/10 ahead of an orange McLaren M8F Chevrolet, Laguna Seca, 17 October 1971.  Two years to the day after this shot was taken, the first oil shock hit, dooming the series.

The engine however had been more-or-less right from day one and enlarged first to 4.9 litres (300 cubic inch) before eventually reaching the 5.0 limit at which point power was rated at 632 HP, a useful increase from the original 520.  Thus configured, the 917 dominated sports car racing until banned by regulators.  However, the factory had an alternative development path to pursue, one mercifully almost untouched by the pettifoggers and that was the Canadian-American Challenge Cup (the Can-Am), run on North American circuits under Group 7 rules for unlimited displacement sports cars.  Actually, Group 7 rules consisted of little more than demanding four wheels, enveloping bodywork and two seats, the last of these rules interpreted liberally.  Not for nothing did the Can-Am come to be known as the “horsepower challenge cup” and had for years been dominated by the McLarens, running big-block Chevrolet V8s of increasing displacement and decreasing mass as aluminium replaced cast iron for the heaviest components.

The abortive Porsche flat-16.

In 1969, the Porsche factory dynamometer could handle an output of around 750 bhp, then thought ample but even 635 bhp wouldn’t be enough to take on the big V8s.  For technical reasons it wasn't feasible further to enlarge the flat-12 so Porsche built a flat-16 which worked well enough to exceed the capacity of the factory's dynamometer beyond its limit; the new engine was allocated a notional rating rated of 750 because that was the point at which the machine's graduations ended.  Such a thing had happened before, resulting in an anomaly which wasn’t for some years explained.  In 1959 Daimler released their outstanding 4.5 litre (278 cubic inch) V8 but their dynamometer was more antiquated still, a pre-war device unable to produce a reading beyond 220 bhp so that was the rating used, causing much surprise to those testing the only production model in which it was installed, the rather dowdy Majestic Major (DQ450 saloon & DR450 limousine, 1959-1968).  In either form the Majestic Major was quite hefty and reckoned to enjoy the aerodynamic properties of a small cottage yet it delivered performance which 220 bhp should not have been able to provide, something confirmed when one was fitted to a Jaguar Mark X (1961-1970 and badged 420G from 1967) for evaluation after Jaguar absorbed Daimler.  The V8 Mark X effortlessly out-performed the six cylinder version (rated at a perhaps optimistic 265 bhp.  Unfortunately, Jaguar choose not to use the Daimler V8 in the Mark X, instead enlarging the XK-six, dooming the car in the US market where a V8 version would likely have proved a great success.

The Can-Am: Porsche 917/10, Riverside, 1972.

Estimates at the time suggested the Porsche flat-16 delivered something like 785 bhp which in the Can-Am would have been competitive but the bulk rendered it unsuitable, the longer wheelbase necessitated for installation in a modified 917 chassis having such an adverse effect on the balance Porsche instead resorted to forced aspiration, the turbocharged 917s becoming known as the turbopanzers.  Porsche bought a new dynamometer which revealed they generated around 1100 bhp in racing trim and 1580 when tuned for a qualifying sprint.  Thus, even when detuned for racing, the Can-Am 917s typically took to the tracks generating about the same HP as the early Spitfires, Hurricanes and Messerschmitt which in 1940 fought the Battle of Britain.  Unsurprisingly, the 917 won the Cam-Am title in 1972 and 1973, the reward for which was the same as that earlier delivered in Europe: a rule change effectively banning the thing.  Still, when interviewed, one Porsche engineer admitted the new dynamometer "cost a boatload of money" but he was reported as seeming "pleased with the purchase." so there was that.

The widow-maker: 1975 Porsche 930 with the surprisingly desirable (for some) “sunroof delete” option.

The experience gained in developing turbocharging was however put to good use, the 911 Turbo (930 the internal designation) introduced in 1975 originally as a homologation exercise (al la the earlier 911 RS Carrera) but so popular did it prove it was added to the list as a regular production model and one has been a permanent part of the catalogue almost continuously since.  The additional power and its sometimes sudden arrival meant the times early versions were famously twitchy at the limit (and such was the power those limits were easily found), gaining the machine the nickname “widow-maker”.  There was plenty of advice available for drivers, the most useful probably the instruction not to use the same technique when cornering as one might in a front-engined car and a caution that even if one had had a Volkswagen Beetle while a student, that experience might not be enough to prepare one for a Porsche Turbo.  When stresses are extreme, the physics mean the location of small amounts of weight become subject to a multiplier-effect and the advice was those wishing to explore a 930's limits of adhesion should get one with the rare “sunroof delete” option, the lack of the additional weight up there slightly lowering the centre of gravity.  However, even that precaution may only have delayed the delaying the inevitable and possibly made the consequences worse, one travelling a little faster before the tail-heavy beast misbehaved.

In what may have been a consequence of the instability induced by a higher centre of gravity, in 2012 Lindsay Lohan crashed a sunroof-equipped Porsche 911 Carrera S on the Pacific Coast Highway in Santa Monica, Los Angeles.

The interaction of the weight of a 911’s roof (and thus the centre of gravity) and the rearward bias of the weight distribution was not a thing of urban myth or computer simulations.  In the February 1972 edition of the US magazine Car and Driver, a comparison test was run of the three flavours of the revised 911 with a 2.3 litre (143 cubic inch) (911T, 911E & 911S) engine and the three were supplied with each of the available bodies: coupé, targa & sunroof coupé, the latter two with addition weight in the roof.  What the testers noted in the targa & sunroof-equipped 911s was a greater tendency to twitchiness in corners, something no doubt exacerbated in the latter because the sliding panel’s electric motor was installed in the engine bay.  Car and Driver’s conclusion was: “If handling is your goal, it's best to stick with the plain coupe.”  She anyway had some bad luck when driving black German cars but clearly Ms Lohan should avoid Porsches with sunroofs.

Bonk

Bonk (pronounced bongk)

(1) A bump on the head (usually not severe).

(2) To hit, strike, collide etc; any minor collision or blow.

(3) In slang, a brief intimacy between two people, usually with a suggestion of infidelity; often modified with the adjective quick and only ever used where the act is consensual (less common in North America).

(4) In sports medicine, a condition of sudden, severe fatigue in an endurance sports event, typically induced by glycogen depletion (also in the phrase “hit the wall”).

(5) In snowboarding, to hit something with the front of the board, especially in midair.

(6) In zoology, an animal call resembling "bonk" (such as the call of the pobblebonk (any of various Australian frogs of the genus Limnodynastes)).

1931: A creation of Modern English, the origin remains uncertain but most suspect it was likely imitative of sounds of impact (like bong, bump, bounce or bang) and thus onomatopoetic.  As a slang term for an affaire de coeur, use was first noted in 1975 and has always, depending on context, carried an implication of something illicit or quickly done; purely recreational though always consensual.  The use in sports medicine describing the condition of glycogen depletion references a metaphorical impact as in “hitting the wall”, the first known use in 1952 in endurance sports medicine.  Bonkee, as a descriptor for a "woman of loose virtue", appears to have been a 2014 creation which never caught on which is a shame because there are all sorts of cases where the companion terms "bonker" & "bonkee" might have been handy .  The form "bonkers", referring to the deranged, dated from circa 1957 and was apparently unrelated to the earlier naval slang for “drunk” but alluded rather to what could be the the consequence of a “bonk on the head”.  The third-person singular simple present is bonks, the present participle, bonking and the simple past and past participle, bonked.  Bonk & bonking are nouns & verbs, bonker is a noun, bonky is an adjective, bonked is a verb and bonkers is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is bonks.

Bonkers: "Last Call" 2023 Dodge Challenger SRT Demon 170 in "Plum Crazy" (one of the retro colors which reprised those used by Chrysler in the "psychedelic era" of the late 1960s).  Some 3300 were produced (one of the many batches in Dodges "Last Call" programme), many of which soon were advertised for sale at well above the MRRP (manufacturer's recommended retail price), some believed to have been placed in long-term storage with expectation of future sales for greater profits, a strategy with a patchy record of success.  The yellow plastic fittings were installed to prevent damage during shipping to dealers.  The factory didn't envisage them becoming consumer items so they were described, prosaically, as “splitter guards” but leaving them attached after purchase became a cult and some cars were even retro-fitted, despite dealers cautioning the pieces weren't specifically molded to ensure a perfect fit so dirt and moisture were prone to being trapped in the gaps and this could scuff the paint.  They were referred to also as “damage guards” and “scuff guards” but the more imaginative dubbed them “underwires” and this is believed the first time that term entered the large lexicon of automotive slang.

The Demon 170 was released as part of Dodge’s “Last Call” programme which marked the end of the corporation's run of high-performance V8s for passenger cars, a tradition dating from 1950 when the first 331 cubic inch (5.4 litre) "Firepower" (soon to be fetishized as "Hemi") V8 debuted.  Offered in a bewildering array of configurations in a process which was something like Nellie Melba's (1861-1931) "farewell" tours, the SRT Demon 170 was reckoned the most bonkers of a generally bonkers lot.  Rated at 1,025 HP (764 kW), the factory claimed it could accelerate from 0-60 mph (100 km/h) in 1.66 seconds with an ET (elapsed time) in the standing ¼ mile (402 metres for those who insist) of 8.91 seconds (terminal speed 151 mph (243 km/h)), setting the mark as the quickest ever standard production car over the classic distance, a reasonable achievement for something weighing 4275 lbs (1939 kg).  By world standards it was also very cheap and on the basis of cost-breakdown vs performance, there was nothing like it on the planet.  In British (and other English-speaking regions although rare in the US) use, "bonkers" can and often is used in an entirely non-pejorative way to suggest something or someone verging on the irrational but in some way astonishing, admirable or inspiring.  Road cars with 600+ horsepower V8 & V12 engines are of course bonkers but we'll miss them when they're gone and it would seem the end is nigh.  Greta Thunberg (b 2003) has expressed no regret at the looming extinction of this species.  

Bonking Boris

Hand-turned fish bonkers on sale in Jaffray, a village in the south-western Canadian province of British Columbia (left) and the front page of The Sun (7 September 2018; right), a tabloid which rarely avoids an alluringly attractive alliterative alternative.  

The noun bonker describes (1) a short, blunt hardwood club used by fisherpersons efficiently to dispatch (ie bonking them dead) just-caught fish or (2) according to the Murdoch tabloid The Sun, the adulterous Boris Johnson (b 1964; UK prime-minister 2019-2022).  A bonk by Boris or the club and a not wholly dissimilar outcome ensues; a one-time employer called bonking Boris "ineffably duplicitous" and the estranged (now former) Mrs Johnson presumably agreed.  At the time, the former prime minister had "a bit of previous" in extra-marital bonking and when this one was announced, it was with an alliterative flourish not seen since the headline “BORIS BACKS BREXIT”.  His resignation from Theresa May's (Lady May, b 1956; UK prime-minister 2016-2019) government was unrelated to bonking (as far as is known) and came, in July 2018, three days after a cabinet meeting at Chequers (the prime minister's country house), where agreement was reached on Mrs May’s Brexit strategy, a document compromised by the need to make a nonsensical impossibility look like good policy.  That can be done but it requires rare skill to be in 10 Downing Street and it's been some time since that could be said. 

Freed by his resignation from the burdens of the Foreign Office, bonking Boris was clearly unconcerned at rumors his opponents in the party were assembling a dossier of some 4,000 words detailing his cheating ways, fondness for cocaine & failings of character and turned his attention to a campaign for the Tory leadership.  As wonderfully unpredictable as the politics of the time were fluid, nobody was quite sure whether he’d go into the inevitable election or second referendum as "leave" or "remain"; it would depend on this and that.  In the end, he remained a leaver and things worked out well, his election victory meaning that for one, brief, shining moment, the three world leaders with the best hair all had their own nuclear weapons at the same time.

Donald Trump (b 1946; POTUS 2017-2021 and since 2025; left), Boris Johnson (centre) and Kim Jong Un (Kim III, b 1982; Supreme Leader of DPRK (Democratic Republic of Korea (North Korea)) since 2011; right).

Some hairstyles are more amenable than others to a quick post-bonk fix.  Kim Jong Un's cut is probably quite good and would bounce back from a bonk with little more than a run-through with the fingers although he may have in his entourage an army general as "designated carrier of the comb".  Donald Trump however would likely need both tools and product for a post-bonk fix, ideally performed by an expert hairdresser.  Mr Trump usually appears well-fixed unless disturbed by breezes higher than 2 on the Beaufort scale and all but the most perfunctory bonks probably are equal to at least 4 on the scale so it would have been interesting to see if Stormy Daniels (Stephanie Gregory, b 1979) lived up to her (stage) name although Mr Trump has denied that bonk ever happened.  Ms Daniels' testimony did include a mention of giving him a bonk on the butt with a rolled-up magazine (one with his picture on the cover!) and that at least had a ring of truth.  Mr Johnson's hair so often looks post-bonk that either his conquests are more frequent even than has been rumored or he orders a JBF with every cut.  One UK publication suggested exactly that, hinting his instruction was "not one hair in place".  That has the advantage for Mr Johnson in that it's a style essentially the same pre-bonk, mid-bonk and post-bonk and thus pricelessly ambiguous in that merely by looking at him, one couldn't tell if he was going to or coming from a bonk although, one assumes, whichever it was, a bonk would never be far from his mind.  Whatever the criticisms of Mr Johnson's premiership (and there were a few), it's to his eternal credit that in his resignation honours list Ms Kelly Jo Dodge (for 27 years the parliamentary hairdresser) was created a MBE (Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire) for “parliamentary service”.  Over those decades, she can have faced few challenges more onerous than Mr Johnson’s hair yet never once failed to make it an extraordinary example in the (actually technically difficult) “not one hair in place” style known colloquially in her profession as the JBF.  Few honours have been so well deserved and more illustrious decorations have been pinned on many who have done less for the nation.

In being granted a gong Ms Dodge fared better than another parliamentary hairdresser.  Between 1950-1956, the speaker of the Australian House of Representatives (the lower house) was Archie Cameron (1895–1956) and in some aspects his ways seemed almost un-Australian: he didn’t drink, smoke, or gamble and rarely swore.  Not approving of anything to do with the turf, he ordered the removal from the wall of the Parliament House barber’s salon a print of racehorse Phar Lap (1926–1932, the thoroughbred which won the 1930 Melbourne Cup) and later served notice on the barber to quit the building, Cameron suspecting (on hard & fast grounds) he was a SP (starting price) bookie.  Before T.A.B.s (Totalisator Agency Board) were in the 1960s established as quangos to regulate such activities, SP bookies were a popular (and convenient) way to place an off-course bet and, like Phar Lap, the T.A.B. was born in New Zealand, the first operating there in 1949.

While in some ways not stereotypically Australian, other parts of his character made Cameron a quintessential of the type.  Once, when displeased by one member’s conduct on the floor of the house, he demanded he bow to the chair and apologize.  Not satisfied with the response, he told the transgressor he needed to bow lower and when asked how low was required, replied: “How low can you go?”  As speaker he exercised great power over what went on in the building and insisted on dress standards being maintained although he didn’t adhere to his own rules, on hot days often wandering the corridors in shorts and a singlet; the parliamentary cleaning staff were said to resent the habit, fearing that visitors might mistake him for a cleaner and “damage their prestige”.

Official portrait of Speaker Cameron in the traditional horsehair wig and robes of office.  The wig was the one Dr HV Evatt (1894–1965; leader of opposition 1951-1960) had worn while a judge (1930-1940) of the High Court of Australia (HCA) and Cameron wasn’t best pleased about that but it had been presented to the parliament and no other was available so Cameron “contented himself by reflecting that ‘it was time some straight thinking was done under this wig’.”

Upon election in 1949, the prime-minister (Sir Robert Menzies (1894–1978; prime-minister of Australia 1939-1941 & 1949-1966) apparently shuddered at the thought of a “loose cannon” like Cameron in cabinet or on the backbench so appointed him speaker, despite being warned by the respected Frank Clifton Green (1890–1974; clerk of the House of Representatives (Australia) 1937-1955) that Cameron’s habit of being “…so consistently wrong with such complete conviction that he was right” made him “the worst possible choice” for the role.”  Menzies was well aware of Cameron's ways.  He'd once said to him: "Archie, I don't suffer fools gladly", receiving the response: "Well Bob, some of us bloody fools have trouble putting up with you too."  On hearing of Cameron's nomination, old Ben Chifley (1885–1951; prime minister of Australia 1945-1949) predicted “He’ll either be the best speaker ever or the worst”, concluding a few months later: “I think he’s turned out to be the bloody worst.”  Once installed, he made himself a fixture and one not easily dislodged.  Although it was in the Westminster system common for speaker to resign if a house voted a dissent from one of their rulings, Cameron suffered five successful motions of dissent against his rulings, one of them moved by the prime minister himself.  As one member later recounted: “He just shrugged his shoulders and carried on.  He couldn’t care less whether the house supported him or not.  Archie liked being speaker and intended to keep the job.”  Keep it he did, dying in office in 1956.  Green summed him up as “…a queer mixture of generosity, prejudice and irresponsibility” and many noted the parliament became a more placid place after he quit the world.

Dame Jilly Cooper (1937–2025), in the 1980s, in fishnets.

Bonkbuster is a literary genre first defined in the late 1980s as meaning “novels with more emphasis on the sex than the romance and enjoying or expecting best-seller status and like likelihood of adaptation in some form for the screen.”  The construct was bonk + (block)buster, the latter element used to describe highly successful book, films, albums etc.  In the literary genre Dame Jilly was the UK’s most accomplished author, something she attributed, at least in part to her “diligent research on the topic”.  Her novels were churning fantasies of smouldering glances, polo ponies, country houses and corporate back-stabbing, always with an undercurrent of infidelity, often in the green and pleasant land of the English countryside.  Before in 1975 she turned to fiction (albeit with much content drawn from he own active life), she’d spent years as a newspaper columnist where she’s offer practical advice to the modern women such as: “If you amuse a man in bed, he's not likely to bother about the mountain of dust underneath it.”  Although she always, accurately, described herself as “upper-middle class”, her novels tended up rather than down the class system and were studded with titles, money and privilege but the turn of phrase she’d honed within the tight word limits imposed on columnists never deserted her, a protagonist in one novel observing: “I don’t expect fidelity from my husbands, but I demand it from my lovers.”

A bandaged Lindsay Lohan waking dazed and confused after a bonk on the head in Falling for Christmas (2022; left) and on the move in Irish Wish (2024).   

In May 2021, Netflix & Lindsay Lohan executed what became a three movie deal, the first (Falling for Christmas) released in the northern winter of 2022, just in time for the season.  She played the protagonist, a pampered heiress who loses her memory after suffering a bonk on the head, waking up to a new life.  The second Netflix release opens in February 2024 and in Irish Wish, the plotline involves her spontaneously wishing for something, subsequently waking up to find the wish granted.  So it’s a variation on the theme of the first (though without the bonk on the head), the twist being in the theme of “be careful what you wish for”.

Bonking Barnaby and the bonk ban

Malcolm Turnbull (b 1954; prime minister of Australia 2015-2018), a student of etymology, was as fond as those at The Sun of alliteration and when writing his memoir (A Bigger Picture (2020)) he included a short chapter entitled "Barnaby and the bonk ban".  As well as the events which lent the text it's title, the chapter was memorable for his inclusion of perhaps the most vivid thumbnail sketch of Barnaby Joyce (b 1967; thrice (between local difficulties) deputy prime minister of Australia 2016-2022) yet penned:

"Barnaby is a complex, intense, furious personality.  Red-faced, in full flight he gives the impression he's about to explode.  He's highly intelligent, often good-humoured but also has a dark and almost menacing side - not unlike Abbott (Tony Abbott (b 1957; prime-minister of Australia 2013-2015)) - that seems to indicate he wrestles with inner troubles and torments."

Mr Turnbull and Mr Joyce in parliament, House of Representatives, Canberra, ACT.

The substantive matter was the revelation in mid-2017 the press had become aware Mr Joyce (a married man with four daughters) was (1) conducting an affair with a member of his staff and (2) the young lady was with child.  Mr Turnbull recorded that when asked, Mr Joyce denied both "rumors", which does sound a lie but, in the narrow, technical sense, may have verged on "the not wholly implausible" on the basis that, as he pointed out in a later television interview, the question of paternity was at the time “...a bit of a grey area”.  Mr Joyce and his mistress later married and now have two children so all's well that end's well (at least for the adulterous couple) and Mr Turnbull didn't so much shut the gate after the horse had bolted as install inter-connecting doors between the stables.  His amendments to the Australian Ministerial Code of Conduct (an accommodating document very much in the spirit of Lord Castlereagh's (1769–1822; UK foreign secretary 1812-1822) critique of the Holy Alliance) banned ministers from bonking their staff which sounds uncontroversial but was silent on them bonking the staff of the minister in the office down the corridor.  So the net effect was probably positive in that staff having affairs with their ministerial boss would (through a rapid inter-departmental transfer), gain experience through cross-exposure to other portfolio areas although there's the obvious moral hazard they might be tempted to conduct trysts just to engineer a transfer in the hope of career advancement.  There are worse reasons for having an affair and a bonk for a new job seems a small price to pay; it's been done before. In a sense, Mr Joyce was a victim because when rugby union (and other codes) player Israel Folau (b 1989) in 2019 posted on social media a list of those God condemns to Hell which included “drunks, homosexuals, adulterers, liars, fornicators, thieves, atheists and idolaters”, while there was strident support for the gay community, despite the mention of “adulterers” and “drunks” being obviously and blatantly an attack on Mr Joyce's character, not a whisper was heard in his defence.

Bonk in progress, California State Polytechnic University, Humboldt, May 2024.

Bonk in the sense of “a blow to the head” was in May 2024 adapted for use in memes and other publicity tools associated with the protests staged on US university campuses demanding the institutions’ administrators divest from economic and other engagements with Israel and in support of the cause of the Palestinian people for (variously) statehood or freedom from repression.  The scenes were reminiscent of Vietnam War era protests but the emergence of the water-cooler jug as an icon of political dissent was an unexpected moment of levity.  The origin of that was a viral (“bonk, bonk, bonk”) video clip showing an unidentified protester at the California State Polytechnic University, Humboldt bonking a uniformed law-enforcement officer on the helmet with an empty jug (believed to be a capacity of 5 US gallons (19 litres)) of the type which sits atop a water cooler.

Although recalling the similarly alliterative “burn baby, burn” slogan chanted during the Watts race riots in Los Angeles in August 1965, the “bonk, bonk, bonk” was more a symbol of, if not exactly passive resistance, then certainly something short of actual violence although in a legal sense it would have been an instance of both assault and battery as well as other offences.  Around the country, stickers, posters and the inevitable T-shirts appeared within hours with slogans such as “Water Jug, Come and Take It” and “This machine bonks fascists”, a reference to the “THIS MACHINE KILLS FASCISTS” message the left-wing US folk singer Woody Guthrie (1912–1967) wrote on his guitars.  Whether the water jug (bonking and not) will endure as a symbol of protest will depend, like many aspects of language, on whether it gains a sustained critical mass of use.

The "bonk, bonk, bonk" viral video.  In the conventional sense, the production values weren't high but that very quality of authenticity accounted for its viral success.