A parrot would not be the first image to pop into one’s mind when confronted with a wig, would it? Sue de Groot tells us they are practically first cousins I was intrigued to learn that there is a "horse and wine festival" happening in Kwa-Zulu-Natal on Saturday.Oenophiles say that wine does not go very well with cheese, despite the two being constantly thrust together. I have not yet been to a horse and wine party, so I don't know if this will be an improvement. Colt-slaw with colombard? Shetland skewers with syrah? Roast chestnut with tawny port?story_article_left1It has been quite a week for unusual word pairings. I have in front of me a small hardcover book called Words of a Feather, by language lover Graeme Donald.It contains about 200 pairs of words that on the surface appear to have less in common than ponies and pinotage. Donald, however, takes his etymological shovel to the roots and exposes family connections more surprising even than Jon Snow's true parentage.For instance, did you know that "flamingo" and "flamenco" both come from the Spanish word for "Flemish"? Donald tells us that 16th-century Flanders was ruled by Spain, and as odd as it may seem now, the uptight Spaniards of the day considered the people now known as Belgians to be far too fond of vulgarity, particularly when it came to their garish fashion sense and appalling taste in music.The prudish Spanish called their rollicking Flemish subjects "los Flamenco", so when an exuberant Andalusian dance became popular back on the Plain, it was regarded with similar distaste and given the same derogatory name.As for flamingos, which do not dance and have no choice in the violent hue of their feathers, the Spaniards took one look and immediately dubbed them Flemish.block_quotes_start The birds we now know as parrots were brought from exotic places to France and nicknamed pierrot block_quotes_endSticking with shades of pink, one would not naturally associate "salmon" with "insult" (trout is a different story) but Donald informs us that both words come from the Latin saltus - a leap. No need to explain the connection between salmon and leaping.In the case of insults, this was originally a physical leap, where the insulter would fling himself upon the insultee and deliver a good beating. Modern insults are for the most part verbal. Donald does not say whether the softly spoken Spanish helped bring about this change.story_article_right2One more. Outside of the Pythonesque universe, a parrot would not be the first image to pop into one's mind when confronted with a wig. Donald sets us straight. His word genealogy reveals that not only are parrots and wigs related, they are practically first cousins.This is how it happened. The birds we now know as parrots were brought from exotic places to France and nicknamed pierrot - "little Peter" (presumably because Polly was not a common French name back then). At the same time, flamboyant wigs were worn by the gentry (presumably because shampoo was not a common French product back then).The wigs, because they resembled the elaborate plumage of pet parrots, became known as perruque. The English aristocracy appropriated both the hairpiece fad and the word, which they translated as "periwig", soon shortened to "wig".Simple as pie. Or rather, simple as limelight and lemon sole, which share a parent in the Latin limus - mud or slime. The first stage lighting was produced by the burning of the calcite known as lime (hence "limelight"), and the "limen" sole was named for its habitat - the slimy bottom of the sea - rather than for the citrus sauce with which we now serve it.All this has made me so hungry I could eat a horse. Perhaps I will travel to the coast for the intriguing festival and try a small filly mignon with a shot of muscadel...