I’ve had the ubiquitous pleasure of being called one, and that is, a bore.
Probably because I spend so much time telling people about the joys and woes of being a writer.
You can be a tedious bore, cooking could be a bore, and then you could bore someone to death, and then you will bore the responsibility of, yes, doing just that.
Would it be murder or manslaughter?
But, of course, there are other meanings of the word, such as, on my farm I have a bore.
No, we’re not talking about the farmhand, but where artesian water is brought to the surface, in what would otherwise be very arid land.
Or, could be the size of a drill hole, and in a specific instance the measurement of the circular space that piston goes up and down. And if you increase the size of the bore, the more powerful the engine.
Or it could refer to the size of a gun barrel, for all of you who are crime fiction writers.
But, let’s not after all of that, confuse it with another interpretation of the word, boar, which is basically a male pig.
It could also just as easily describe certain men.
Then there is another interpretation, boor, which is an extremely rude person, or a peasant, a country bumpkin or a yokel.
I’ve only seen the latter in old American movies.
There is one more, rather obscure interpretation, and that is boer, which is a Dutch South African, who at the turn of the last century found themselves embroiled in a war with the British.