language

Not as fluent in English as I thought

Ask me where I’m from and I’ll say Yorkshire. I use a smattering of dialect, but not nearly as much as I used to, and unless you know me well you’re unlikely to hear the strongest version of my accent. I write in English, as you can see, and being a native speaker I thought I was pretty fluent. Until I started doing a deep edit of a couple of short stories during an online course.

The exercise was about getting specific. Cut the adverbs and use the most fitting verb. Ditch the abstract notions and make them concrete. Here’s what I wrote as my experience of working through the story I’m focusing on the most, which is set in the 1980s on a farm in the Yorkshire Dales:

I had (I think) almost nothing properly abstract and only one adverb (breathing heavily). I wondered how much is to do with this story being in a working class Yorkshire setting so I feel free to use more evocative and precise phrases like he clattered down the stairs, he brayed on the wall, the radio wittered. I’m going to investigate another story where I’ve used a more middle-class voice and see if I’ve used ‘standard English’ i.e. a smaller vocabulary and hence relied on adverbs more.

And you know what? I had.

As I suspected, the middle-class voice story I was thinking of has: talking quietly and earnestly, walked more slowly, ran quickly away, held tightly [several times!], coughed loudly. Not to mention a couple of ‘very’ and some abstract notions like feeling better, being kind or afraid. Wow.

Now, either I was having a bad day when I wrote the ‘middle-class’ story (and every subsequent time I’ve gone through it) or I have some kind of block when I’m writing in a posh voice.

I’ve talked about code-switching before (not least when I wrote about accent at No Writer Left Behind) but I always thought I was pretty good at it. My vowels sound northern (u and a are dead giveaways) but I didn’t think translating the odd word (something/anything/nothing instead of summat/owt/nowt, for instance) was seriously stifling my creativity. But all that is in spoken English, and thankfully I don’t get to go back through conversations at work to see how large a vocabulary I’ve used.

Written down, it’s there to go over later. Written down, it also has to follow rules about what gets written in books, ‘proper English’. Do I self-censor because I think words like clattered or brayed aren’t allowed in written English (slang? impolite? common?), or because I think they’re not universally understood (dialect? old-fashioned?), or because I think they’re not used by the kind of person with the voice I’m trying to write in?

It’s an interesting situation, it’s shown up my assumed fluency in switching and made me stop and think. Maybe what it comes down to is if I’m consciously writing ‘northern-normal’ – what to me is the default – then as long as I can imagine me or my Nana saying it, it’s fine, but for the middle-class, the BBC accent, I have to be able to imagine someone reading it from a book on Radio 4, and that imposes a whole mass of constraints which I’m clearly not comfortable with navigating.

I think my conclusion is that I should take my own repeated advice and write more in shades of my own voice.

David Crystal and English pronunciation

Yesterday afternoon OneMonkey and I enjoyed a highly entertaining talk at the Ilkley Literature Festival by David Crystal the well-known linguist. His latest book is Sounds Appealing: The Passionate Story of English Pronunciation, which covers a wide range of topics under that heading, so he concentrated his three-quarters of an hour on regional accents.

You probably know how interested I am in accents and attitudes to accents, and you may also have picked up that Geordie OneMonkey and I have quite different accents (slowly morphing into one another until, we often joke, one day we’ll both sound like we’re from Middlesborough) so we had plenty to talk about afterwards. As Prof Crystal said, accents and differences in pronunciation provoke strong feelings: there are two aspects to pronunciation, intelligibility (can people understand you?) and identity, and clearly it’s the identity aspect that stirs people up.

Because people move around so much or (as with OneMonkey and I) settle down with someone from a different place, it’s harder to pin down someone’s origins from their accents than it once was. However, apparently on average the accent changes every twenty-five miles in England (possibly in the whole UK, I forget which he said), which is fascinating. It also makes me wonder how ‘the Yorkshire accent’ can be seen as the third-nicest accent in the UK when Yorkshire is a massive place encompassing such different accents as Hull and Huddersfield (both of which I dislike), Sheffield, Whitby and Bradford. Do they all sound broadly similar to people from further afield, I wonder? In the same way that I say someone sounds southern, but unless they sound like Phil from Time Team (Somerset?) I’m unlikely to be more specific.

David Crystal obviously knows his stuff and was a witty and engaging speaker, full of anecdotes and facts, and not averse to doing impressions of the Queen. If his books are half as entertaining they should be well worth a read and I intend to seek some out at the library soon. I’m only amazed I’ve never read any of them before.

Things a like can mean

Jpeg

Things I’ve meant by clicking ‘like’ on Twitter:

  • Wow that was really funny, you made me laugh on a grey day
  • Yes, I have seen your response but I don’t know what to say in reply
  • I choose not to be the only one in your social circle who hasn’t ‘liked’ this
  • I wholeheartedly endorse this sentiment
  • Mildly amusing
  • I enjoyed the story/article/video you linked to
  • Thank you for linking to that story/article/video, I may look at it someday
  • Clever wordplay, well done
  • What a lovely cat
  • Fabulous photography
  • Good for you for sticking up for yourself/this cause
  • Option B in the retweet/like limited poll
  • Wish I’d said that
  • I said that yesterday
  • More people should say things like this
  • I defend your right to say this but I disagree
  • I would like to end this conversation now
  • I accidentally leant on my trackpad and don’t want to unlike this in case that makes you feel bad

The death of the apostrophe

I am the sort of person who tuts at a greengrocer’s apostrophe, though I wouldn’t go as far as the chap in Bristol. Mainly I don’t see what the big confusion is, the Ladybird Book of Spelling and Grammar has stood me in good stead for over 30 years and if you can pick the main points up from that it can’t be that difficult. However, I’m willing to concede there might be scope for confusion occasionally (more of which anon) and whether it’s hard to get right or not, do we actually need it? I started thinking about this after listening to Bill Bryson’s Journeys in English, in which he discussed the imminent death of the apostrophe which is clearly in difficulty and has only been around for a couple of hundred years anyway. More a passing fad than a rule set in stone.

The biggest ‘do we or don’t we’ is its (belonging to it) and it’s (it is or it was, a contraction like don’t). OneMonkey points out that it’s and its sound the same and we rarely struggle with verbal comprehension due to their different meaning. What is the apostrophe (or any punctuation) for? It’s to tell us how to read something out or to alert us to a different meaning. When we listen to someone we pick up on the different meaning without the aid of seeing the apostrophe so it can only be necessary to make us realise immediately how to pronounce it, to stop us hesitating over a sentence. As we’ve noted, its and it’s sound identical so it doesn’t apply here. However, consider: we need to read ahead to check we’ve read and understood the sentence correctly in order to read it out successfully. Same spelling, no modifying punctuation, different pronunciation and tense and yet we cope with that ‘read’. Do we need the apostrophe at all?

With don’t there’s no confusion if you take the punctuation away, I’m not aware of a word spelt dont that it could be mistaken for. The same goes for shan’t, didn’t, needn’t etc. With won’t and can’t you come up with the existing words wont and cant, pronounced differently but surely just as easy to spot the pronunciation from context as in my ‘read’ example above. I’m not about to say ‘as was his wont’ as though wont rhymes with don’t. And I can’t remember the last time I used cant in a sentence.

I had thought you’re and your sounded the same and so were currently distinguished by context in verbal communication, but I tried saying some examples: You’re off to Bradford on your own, are you? You’re responsible for your daughter. I’m now not 100% convinced I pronounce your and you’re quite the same, I don’t pronounce them consistently in the two examples given anyway (3 or 4 different pronunciations I think). They’re close though, even if not identical, and again we don’t usually struggle with them verbally.

Where I do struggle is the occasional uses that the trusty Ladybird guide doesn’t cover. My general rule is that if you know what something means, why you’re doing it, it’s easy to tackle previously unseen situations. But when I say I’m going to the doctors, am I saying a shortened form of ‘I’m going to the surgery belonging to the many doctors in the practice’ or ‘I’m going to the office of my GP’? That is to say, do I need to write doctors’ or doctor’s? At school I seem to remember being taught that words ending in s only have an apostrophe not ‘s to show possession, yet having worked at a university where medical teaching happened in St James’s (always with ‘s) I just followed the local convention and tried not to worry about it. Working my way through that I begin to see how its (belonging to it) looks like it should have an apostrophe to go with other belonging-to words like doctor’s, and it only makes sense if you consider that it follows yours and his.

In my lifetime ‘phone seems to have disappeared as punctuation indicating we’ve chopped the first part off telephone. I was taught to write it like that though I suspect it was old-fashioned even in the early 80s. Not so long ago I would have written ’80s there, now I hesitate and wonder if it’s necessary since you all know exactly what I mean if I drop the punctuation. Language changes, that’s one of the fascinating things about it, and while there are some things I would hate to lose, I value the connection with language more than any particular part of it. By which I mean, I like to know where words and phrases come from and I think it’s the sort of thing that should be taught to children – not only would it make some things easier to remember or work out, but it would also stop mixed metaphors or inappropriate phrases that get dropped in because people don’t actually know what they mean (I hasten to add I’m not claiming to be immune from such clumsy use on occasion). If by knowing what we’re trying to say and knowing how confusing it’s likely to be, we gradually agree to ditch the apostrophe (and it doesn’t have to be all or nothing, we could keep it here and there if we particularly need it) that’s surely better than firmly resisting its demise simply because it’s a rule in a (relatively recent) grammar book.

Autocorrecting my way to poetry

It used to be that I only encountered autocorrect at work, when I sometimes had to use Microsoft Word. Irritating, but infrequent. I didn’t use predictive text on my phone, and I was still on the basic version of my web-based email service (and I tend to write these posts, and many other pieces of writing, in Vim. If I want to get WYSIWYG I go for LibreOffice and so far that hasn’t forced any autocorrect facility on me). Not any longer, however, and it’s providing an ongoing source of fascination.

What is the postcow that my phone’s predictive text keeps insisting I put letters in? Or perhaps the more relevant question would be where is it? Is there somewhere in the world where it makes more sense than a postbox or is it the result of mischievous programmers? When I try to refer to someone as nosy, is the change to norw an attempt to steer me away from being unkind, or does it assume I’m trying to say Norwegian and just haven’t got to the end of it yet? I’m imagining Jesusel, which is the phone’s replacement for the more mundane kestrel, as some kind of avenging angel, but really the bird of prey is by far the more frequent winged visitor to my neighbourhood.

P1070567_small

I can’t believe they left me out of the dictionary

The word marmalade baffled my phone completely and it gave me one of its frequent ‘?spell’ messages. As well as being an item I might conceivably want to ask OneMonkey to pick up from the shop while he’s out, Marmalade is the everyday name of our cat so it comes up in conversation a lot and I had to programme it in. Similarly, for pottering (as in around town, or in the garden) its only suggestion was routering. The stored dictionary clearly isn’t on British English.

We’ve had a tablet computer for a while now, handy for web-browsing and music but not much else. On there, I’m forced to use the allegedly advanced version of the email software, which includes it trying to give me three words I might be struggling to type. Since I would be happier if keyboards were generally like the ZX Spectrum‘s tactile loveliness, I don’t get on well with touch screens and I’m all for shortcuts to save me typing each individual letter. However, when it doesn’t suggest David even when I’ve typed Davi so far, and at every instance of Christmas it tries to get me to use Christian instead, it’s not much help. I do seem to have taught it OneMonkey, however (don’t ask me how) which it now proffers at the most innappropriate moments.

I had an impulse to try poetry using the tablet’s email suggestions, selecting the one in the middle of the three (which I assume is the one it considers most likely) every time I began to type the next word or, even better, when it suggested a follow-on word immediately. Here’s what happened when I tried I wandered lonely as a cloud (by typing on successive lines I, W, L, A, A C then choosing the middle of the 3 words till I’d had enough):

In the first time to the first time to the first time
With the first time to the first time
Line of the first time
And I am not the first
A copy of the first

A writer could have a lot of fun with that…

Accents and globalisation part 3: voice recognition technology

OneMonkey raised the issue of voice recognition changing people’s accents and vocabulary, as they modify their speech in order to be recognised by their gadgets. As I don’t have a smart phone and can’t imagine giving voice commands to inanimate objects I don’t feel particularly qualified to comment. I only have a couple of bits of anecdotal evidence about people with strong accents not being understood by phones and tablets, and a particularly trying afternoon where I failed to make the HMRC automated phone service understand a single phrase I said (I suspect they do it on purpose – it is entirely possible that the big companies we see as tax-dodgers have tried to register properly but been thwarted by the byzantine complications of HMRC bureaucracy). None of the situations I’m thinking of resulted in anyone modifying their speech, they just gave up on voice recognition.

Presumably voice recognition on, say, phones is calibrated to a particular mode of speech and pre-programmed with a certain vocabulary. If you stray too far outside either of those it will struggle. Anyone who tries it and fails spectacularly is likely to give up on it as unsuitable, but I imagine if it mostly recognises what you say except for a few words you might try modifying those words until it could handle them. I modify written words, both vocabulary and sentence structure, for texting and tweeting. Naturally, I’m quite verbose (no need to be polite, I know you’ve noticed) and I often write a tweet the way I want to say it then rearrange, shorten, replace ‘placed’ with ‘put’ etc to get within my character limits. I’m not aware of it spilling over into other areas of life, however, and with written words I think it’s easier to keep separate vocabulary pots. In speech it’s easier to get into habits, and if you start pronouncing a word slightly differently you may find that becomes the way you unconsciously do it. The two areas I can think of it happening are where a) a particular accent pronounces the same word very differently from the standard (e.g. bus) or b) an accent doesn’t clearly distinguish between words that the standard does differentiate (e.g. look, luck). It would be fascinating to see how the widespread use of voice recognition changes natural speech over the next decade.

Accents and globalisation part 2

Further musings on the English language sparked off by listening to Bill Bryson’s Journeys in English last week. This time I want to talk about written vs spoken English in terms of standard use.

Towards the end of the programme they were discussing possible future directions for English. The rise of literacy was mentioned as having changed things somewhat – rather than passing things on verbally, people can read information. Written English has a standard form, a ‘correct’ form that we’re taught and tested on at school, and it’s relatively slow to change. It helps to homogenise the language and stamp out regional forms. The more people read standard English the more it influences the way they formulate their own sentences. The rise of the internet, at first glance, seemed to make that even more likely as international English-speakers read American newspaper websites or the BBC.

However, the more I thought about internet trends (because I know about them, and what the youth are up to. Oh yes) the more I thought about non-standard communication. I might generally write this blog in standard English as I do my usual translation from Yorkshire to proper English in my head, but I’m a lot less formal on sentence structure than I could be and plenty of people write blogs in their own dialects. Then there’s the recorded voice. In the same way that TV, films and radio have an influence on people’s accents and vocabulary, popular podcasts and vlogs will no doubt influence others, but primarily they allow the presenter’s accent to remain in place, maybe introducing their listeners to a new word or phrase here and there.

It remains to be seen how English changes and adapts over the next fifty or a hundred years but if nothing else we’ll have plenty of recordings of how people sounded in the early twenty-first century. I might even add to that myself and record a few more stories to add to the ones you can already listen to.

Northern underclass

I know I’ve got a chip on my shoulder, but sometimes there’s nothing for it but to stand up and roar ‘I am northern and I am proud’. What’s got my goat today, I hear you ask (those of you who aren’t already tutting and turning away), well settle in with a mug of something hot and I’ll tell you.

The immediate trigger for incoherent rage (which hopefully has now subsided into coherence) was an article in The Guardian yesterday about trainee teachers from the north being told to tone down their accents in the classroom. Now, the scientifically trained bit of my brain is jumping up and down about small sample size and all the rest of it (really it doesn’t seem much better than anecdotal evidence), but for today’s purposes it doesn’t matter exactly how many people this happened to, or whether it was more prevalent with certain accents than others. The point is that any headteacher saw fit to tell anyone that their accent was not fit for a teaching role.

During a lengthy rant in the pub this week, Mark the artist made the point that (northern) working class culture is being eroded (Paul Mason wrote an article in The Guardian on similar lines not long ago) – imagine, he said, going back in time to somewhere the British colonised long ago and saying don’t worry about it all dying out, it’s called globalisation and progress. Well at the time they probably did say that but among the liberal intelligentsia now that would be unthinkable, traditions and dying languages need preserving at all costs. And yet, this doesn’t seem to extend to regional accents or dialects within Britain.

Those of you who’ve been around here a while will know of my fondness for and interest in accents (though not necessarily the written rendering of them). Since pretty much everyone I know is northern (or Scottish) I mostly talk about the north in relation to this but I’m all for retaining regional accents regardless of where you’re from. I had my first 2 or 3 years of school down south (East Midlands then Cornwall) and not surprisingly I got laughed at for my accent, and particularly for bits of dialect I didn’t even know were dialect. That drove part of my accent and dialect use away, but what was even worse was returning to Yorkshire and being told by teachers that, to paraphrase, well-educated young ladies did not have Yorkshire accents. Thankfully I have a strong rebellious streak, and my determination to hang onto my accent was helped by my Grandma warning me against sounding like sister number 2 (who worked in a mill, when there were still mills to work in).

What does it say to working class kids if all the teachers sound accentless and posh? It says people like you do not become teachers. I’m one of those in-betweeners, working class family with a middle class education and I still find comfort when I go into a meeting at the day job and find some academic or senior manager with a noticeable accent, it means I’m not automatically going to ruin my credibility by opening my mouth.

It might seem like a small thing, but accents are family-bonding, they’re how you show you belong, and they’re part of our heritage and who we are. To demand that someone gives that up to conform to a centralised ideal of the perfect teacher, and in the process set themselves apart from the pupils they’re supposed to be a role model for is cruel and pointless. I haven’t even got onto the spelling and grammar tests that are confusing for certain regions (I think Michael Rosen had a mention of the differing uses of ‘until’ recently) but I think I should get back to enjoying my day off and listening to rock n roll.

 

Tension over tenses? Why worry?

A man walks into a bar… Hang on, if I know that then it must have already happened so maybe it should be ‘a man walked into a bar’. Does that sound right though? It’s like I’m telling the story at one remove so is it as easy for you to picture the scene? Actually I can’t remember the joke now, never mind.

There was an article in The Guardian earlier this week about one Radio 4 chap (John Humphrys) accusing another (Melvyn Bragg) of using the present tense when talking about past events and thus being pretentious and confusing. It’s all a bit of a non-story but maybe we need some light relief given recent world events and it did get me thinking.

I don’t remember being taught much grammar in English at school (plenty in other languages, not that much of it stuck) but I seem to have clung for years to those few rules I remember, and woe betide anyone who falls foul of them in my presence. I might not always recognise a split infinitive but when I do, I pour scorn upon it. Incorrect was-ing and were-ing (unless in a legitimate Yorkshire context) will be pounced on immediately. Or rather (and here the tense does matter) that was the case before I lightened up a bit and started questioning the rules.

Questioning rules normally comes quite naturally so I don’t know why it took me so long with grammar, maybe I just didn’t consider the possibility that they weren’t written in stone. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my language neuroses, I still shout ‘from’ at the radio in response to every ‘different than’ that I hear, but on the whole I figure as long as it’s clear what’s meant, what does it matter? The point that John Humphrys seems to have missed is that context is everything, and the newspaper headlines and the academic discussions he cites aren’t really confusing, he just finds them annoying. If I’m listening to a programme about Shakespeare and someone says ‘he buys a house’ I’m not likely to go ‘hang on though, he died a few years back didn’t he?’. Whereas if I come back from a round the world cruise and someone says ‘your Aunt Ada was a lovely woman’, I might want to go check if I missed a funeral while I was out of the country.

Far from being pretentious, I’ve always taken the historic present (not that I knew that’s what it was called) as an attempt to sound chummy and down to earth. By saying ‘and it’s after this meeting that Matthew Arnold gives his famous speech’ they make it sound like it’s recent, relevant, perhaps someone they know (and the academics on Bragg’s programmes have probably been working on these matters for so long they do feel like they know the people involved, even the ones who died two hundred years ago). It doesn’t sound as dry as relating some fact from the past, it’s more like you’re there with him as he goes through this action. Or so it seems to me.

Perhaps that’s another point about grammar and the like – we all have different views and interpretations. Different pet hates. Partly to do with background, education, age, but also associations (the first time we encountered this phrase was in some book we couldn’t stand, a friend’s irritating ex always made this particular error and now it grates) so maybe we should step back and think about what language is for. At one level it’s about communication and as long as the right message has been conveyed it doesn’t matter so much how it was done. At another it’s about rhythm and imagery, and to be honest I can see even more scope for bending the rules there. So, you know, take it easy, stop trying to score points (half your audience won’t know whether you’re right or wrong and most of the other half won’t care), and marvel at the versatility of language. However, I reserve the right to keep shouting at the radio in private and I’ll understand if you do the same.

Easter holidays and productivity

I’ve almost caught up on the insane amount of things I’ve been trying to fit into the last few weeks, now my Easter holidays are done. For those still relaxing, here’s a couple of things for you to check out.

My MOOC participation moves on to creative writing soon, with an Open University course via FutureLearn (begins April 28th), which you can look into here. Free, so probably worth a go – almost any course in an area you’re interested in will have something new for you to learn, some new connection to make, or at least will remind you of stuff you’d forgotten. In the meantime, the OU has a few free creative writing resources available here.

I came across an online vocab test recently which was quite fun and apparently feeds into someone’s research too. Reassuringly it claims I’m at the higher end of my age group, as you’d hope from someone who reads as much as I do and has writing pretensions. Have a go, and learn new words by looking up all the ones it lists that you don’t recognise. Then (if you have a decent enough memory) do the test again next week, hope enough of the list is repeated (OneMonkey’s list wasn’t the same as mine but there was a lot of overlap) and feel smug.

Right, I have tea to drink, a jam doughnut to eat and lectures on American Capitalism to listen to. Oh the hedonism.

In defence of Luddites

I saw an article this week that suggested the meaning and history behind Bonfire Night is being lost, and because of that and the proximity to Halloween, the two may gradually merge. Whatever you think about burning effigies of violent political protesters from times long past, it does seem sad to lose the meaning behind a tradition. It also strikes me as worrying when people start doing or saying something without knowing why – one of the least serious consequences of this is mixed metaphors and misplaced words.

Luddite. What does it make you think? Someone who doesn’t understand technology? A backward peasant, perhaps? I’m guessing that if that’s the case you don’t have a deep-rooted family connection to the textile industries of the West Riding. Some of my relatives were probably Luddites (it’s hardly something that gets officially recorded. Unless they got caught) so I’d like to nudge you away from using the word in that modern sense. I might not agree with their methods, but the Luddites were protesting against the introduction of labour-saving machinery that would take away their jobs. Far from not understanding the new technology, they understood only too well what it would mean for them and their families when the mill-owners needed to employ fewer workers. It’s a bit like supermarket checkout staff smashing self-service tills, or library assistants taking a hammer to the automatic book-sorter. Ultimately futile and likely to get them in trouble, but a heartfelt response to the prospect of unemployment. And in the early 19th century they didn’t have Jobseeker’s Allowance.

Why does it matter? Well, apart from a spot of pedantry, and not wanting dead relatives to be misunderstood, we need to hold onto history. Without remembering, we can’t learn from past mistakes, and considering how many there are, we have the potential to learn an awful lot.

Finding the words

The NaBloPoMo theme for March, as you can see from the badge at the side of my page, is In a Word. When OneMonkey discovered this, his immediate response was ‘in our belief is lie’. I thought he was just being quotable (he is sometimes, for no particular reason) but then he pointed out it was a Megadeth lyric I hadn’t recognised (This Was My Life, from Countdown to Extinction – an album I must’ve listened to at least 100 times over the last 18 years).  I quite like a bit of wordplay sometimes, and that’s an unusual way of interpreting the theme; unusual is good, at least in this context.

Another way would be looking at words themselves. Uphill Writing’s Word of the Day is a good place for that, often some long-forgotten or exotic-sounding words there, plenty to get the imagination sparking. There’s also a dictionary site which I think is American, but seems to also include British definitions and spellings, and it has entertaining or informative top 10 lists on themes.

One way or another words are going to have to feature in this month’s blog posts, so maybe I should be content with that.

 

 

Yorkshirewoman. The first one that came to me (well actually that was Yorkshireman, which is more usual as a word but potentially confusing to casual readers, so I opted for gender-specific), and the first thing you’d notice if I started to speak. What’s hidden in that word though? Pride of background, birthplace, accent; an identity bound up with generations of my family. Or parochialism and a narrowness of view?

Writer. My declared intent here, the way I often look at the world these days, but an aspect of my life that most people I interact with daily know nothing about. An interesting state of affairs.

Physicist. What I was trained for (at great length), but am, in one sense, no longer (it was a sad day when I finally let my membership of the Institute of Physics lapse as there was no longer any reason to have it). Yet I still approach things from this viewpoint quite often, and since pub-based discussions are likely to be with between 1 and 3 other ex-physicists of varying types (from the simply unemployed to the ‘moved to another academic discipline’) it’s easy to forget I left it behind.

Daughter. Quite a narrow usage for this one, but one of the most influential.

Pass me my black poloneck…

Just to prove that I don’t necessarily know what I’m talking about, I’ve discovered a precise use of language by politicians, that still does nothing to aid understanding. Listening to the World Service again (it’s educational, if nothing else) I heard talk of an ‘existential threat’, with some reference to Pakistan (I admit I wasn’t really listening till that phrase caught me, too busy talking to OneMonkey in the kitchen). We looked at each other and wondered if this meant the army was dressing in berets and black polonecks now, then OneMonkey reached for the dictionary. Existential wasn’t in, but Google came to the rescue and I found a definition that showed ‘of or relating to existence, especially human existence’ was one of the meanings, and we figured they were trying to say that whatever it was I hadn’t been listening to was a threat to someone’s existence. Why couldn’t they just say that? Either it’s a deliberate ploy to distract people with amusing images of French philosophers, or politicians have an inherent dislike of making immediate sense, in case anyone understands what they’re proposing. Apparently it’s been in common political use (in America, I couldn’t say for Britain) since 1984, which just goes to show my brain must have switched off at political speeches on more occasions than I thought.

As opinionated as a George Orwell essay

Writing about metaphors reminded me of the collection of George Orwell’s essays that I read recently, mentioned here briefly, and said I might come back to. One of the pieces was ‘Politics and the English Language’, which first appeared in Horizon in April 1946. In it, he complains about the use of meaningless filler words, mixed or misunderstood metaphors, and in short, language unfit for communication. Stale images and a lack of precision are both the cause and effect of woolly thinking, he suggests, and we should combat them before our minds and our language become useless.

If Orwell thought that in 1946, what would he say today? Jargon and buzzwords are everywhere, people speak in catchphrases from TV and films, advertising straplines or phrases borrowed from business. A couple of weeks ago I overheard someone on a mobile phone, trying to obtain a quote for some work; he said “Just a dog-rough stab in the ballpark will do, I just want someone to stick their finger in the air” and I laughed, then wondered whether that meant anything to the person on the other end.

The thing is, we all do it, from politicians trying to disguise their meaning, or hoping we’ll all die of boredom before they get to the end of their convoluted sentence, to secretaries trying to sound ‘sophisticated’ by throwing in phrases that sound superficially clever but on closer inspection add nothing to the sentence and probably even detract from it. I do it, usually from laziness or to fulfil expectations – I had a report ‘corrected’ the other day by someone who is well-educated but socially a sheep, picking up phraseology that he thinks makes him sound like he’s up-to-date; he padded several paragraphs that I’d written in blunt English, changing short words to longer ones, replacing one precise word with a tired three-word phrase, everything that George Orwell warned against, but I made the changes because there didn’t seem much point in getting into a linguistic argument over a short, limited-circulation internal report. Maybe I’m heading into territory summed up in Half Man Half Biscuit’s Turn a Blind Eye.

Having heard someone suggest this on the radio recently, OneMonkey has decided to help rejuvenate the language by twisting well-known phrases: don’t say ‘a walk in the park’, say ‘a stroll through well-managed woodland’. Apart from making someone listen (or read) with more attention because it’s not what they expected to hear, it may also brighten their day, and should present them with a fresh image that means something to them. George Orwell pointed out that mixing metaphors only becomes possible when the phrase is just a collection of words and no longer conjures any image in our minds. Broaden the language (throw in some dialect if you like – if you use it enough it might enter the mainstream), use your imagination and help other people use theirs. It’s better than stabbing rough dogs in ballparks.