Gertsamtkunstwerk

Sorry sorry sorry

Several decades ago, there was a brief craze in my class at school for 'Love Story', both the film and the book. Now I only remember two aspects. One is that it was sentimental schmaltzy nonsense ideal for a young teenager but no one older, and the phrase:

Love means never having to say you're sorry

At age 13 (or whatever), this sounded wonderfully romantic. Then I grew up and realised that it was meaningless. Or worse, wrong.

I have a personal irritation with people who say 'Sorry', when they mean 'Excuse me'. Years ago I was on a sardine-packed bus, and someone behind me kept saying sorry. I assumed it was because they were pushing against me. Realising - I thought - that they had little choice because of the force of people behind them, I turned round graciously say 'It's all right, not your fault', only to find they actually wanted to get past me to get off the bus. After they had got off, several people confirmed that I wasn't in fact mad and they had wondered why this person kept apologising when we all knew we were squashed almost beyond endurance.

Over the intervening years I have seen it as a minor irritation, until yesterday, when I was in the so-called convenience store near work. Typical lunchtime crush, especially round the sandwiches. Aisle filled with people choosing sandwiches and staff 'tidying' the shelves.

A man comes along, against the general flow, at speed, shoving past people. As he shoved past me, he exclaimed 'sorry' and (inadvertently I assume) knocked my boob with his extended elbow. I was a bit cross, but reminded myself 'It's probably just you, Gert, you do tend to over-react'. Until a woman about my age said something like 'What's his problem, no manners?'. I pulled a face in agreement and said "Apparently, saying 'sorry' is sufficient." She laughed.

The phrase 'love means never saying sorry' assumes everyone is perfect, at least when they're with their lover. Extend the word 'love' further to include all those friends and even acquaintances that you have no desire to hurt, and what does it mean?

There are very few people who can honestly say they never speak impetuously or react based upon their misunderstanding. Perhaps someone says something innocently that reminds of us a previous unpleasantness from another, and we speak harshly. We make what we think is a joke but it touches a raw nerve.

If we didn't intend to hurt, the gracious thing to is to apologise sincerely. Sincerity is key. If it's grudging or belated, a forced apology, it doesn't really count. But most of all, the kindest thing to do is to say something like 'I recognise that I hurt you, that wasn't my intention, I didn't realise that I would, I misjudged, I'm sorry.'

It's actually quite easy when it's a minor or peripheral hurt, but it surprises me how many people find it difficult. It is much more difficult when there is a fundamental issue of principle at stake, because you're not really sorry that you said what you did. Maybe over phraseology, and certainly because it escalated an already tense situation. "I'm sorry I woke you up and called you a duvet-hogger when you so desperately need to sleep just because I didn't have my fair share of duvet (but I still believe that you hog the duvet too much)".

I dislike the habit of 'apologising' when, rather than acknowledging the hurt feelings, the person saying sorry is trying to excuse or justify their behaviour. "I'm sorry that I called you fat, lazy and stupid, but I had an awful journey home and then the cat threw up and anyway I've been called a lot worse in my time, I can assure you. By the way, you really shouldn't get so angry over just words, perhaps you should grow a thicker skin."

So, I conclude, saying sorry is often an act of peace and sometimes an act of aggression. And meaningless if insincere!

Apostrophe fail

In a Double Fail, I think "Taylors" should actually be "Taylor's" - it's supposed to be the bar of Taylor, isn't it?

What I love about signs like that is that someone has designed it and placed the order with a printer and neither of them noticed the errors!

Anagrams

One of my blind-spots is my inability with anagrams. It ranks alongside my poor reading of optical illusions - I hated those magic eye pictures that were all the rage once upon a time.

Broadly speaking I like crosswords. I like cryptic clues that are, for example, a play on a word that sounds like another word that has more than one meaning. I struggle with solving anagrams; I rely on the clue outside the word to untangle the anagram; if I don't get the exterior clue I just can't 'see' the anagram. I also struggled with wordsearch puzzles.

However, if there is one thing I am worse at than unscrambling anagrams, it is making ones from names.

On Facebook, a friend* of a friend - you know how it works - came up with several anagrams of my name:

• sing rude article
• strange ridicule
• daring cruelties
• turgid larcenies
• a sludgier cretin
• sliding creature
• trailing seducer
• cute and grislier
• is nice large turd
• irate dung slicer
• raciest nude girl
• reticular design
• custard lingerie

I'm tempted to lob him my middle name, which is an anagram of  tear gram and tram gear might be included.

This was inspired by my previously praising his rearranging Glyndebourne Opera House to Handel bores young Europe

* I've just realised I've heard him sing and when I did I listed him among: There was a strong cast in depth; also, he was an Operalia finalist

Blogrolling returns

On Monday, reportedly. Which is good news. They have announced that, unless I pay them some money, you will be faced with an advert every time you click on my blogroll, which seems fair enough. I expect I shall stump up.

I don't mind paying small fees for services, and I don't really see how, in a global economic downturn, advertising revenue will be sufficient to keep the internet going.

But I do feel a little uneasy about giving money to someone who explains the introduction of advertising with the phrase

This is the vision that you see instantiated in these screen shots.

I am currently writing a manual on how to write reports - which believe me is the most fun one can have whilst actually getting paid real cash money. I cannot begin to comprehend how anyone could possibly have come up with that phrase, let alone thought it would be a good idea to use it.

How about...You can see what I mean in these screenshots. That would work for me.

Stuff I do, like languages and that

There's this woman I know. I shall call her A. She is a very nice person, who has never done me any harm. She used to work for Jimmy, and she is a complete basket-case.

In a nutshell she is an alcoholic and crack-addict who is a long term relationship with some bloke who is seriously bad news. The sort of bloke who has spent more time in prison than out. The sort of bloke who beeps the horn of the car he's stealing to draw one's attention to himself as a threat not to grass him up. She comes to our door, or detains Jimmy in a pub, full of her problems, never a concern about my or his problem. She served time for smuggling crack into Brixton Police Station when Jimmy's son was detained there - because Brixton Police station are well naive about smuggled drugs... As if. When she was inside we basically paid her rent on the promise of being paid back, which of course, never happened. His brother-in-law in Australia is praying for her and has tried counselling her problems. Mind you, he's praying for me, too, 'cos I'm such a heathen.

We bumped into her this evening. She's trying to get clean and kick the drugs. Suddenly we're best mates, exchanging phone numbers. We're going to go swimming and cycling together; she's from Paris so we're only going to talk French together. It might be a good thing for both of us, maybe, possibly, although Jimmy says don't tell her our business, or else the boyfriend will know when we're away.

You know, if I was sober, I probably wouldn't have done the whole phone numbers thing. There again, because of my upbringing. I'm pretty shit at the whole 'friendship' thing, so maybe it will  do me good. Maybe I will get to speak French proper, rather than just having a crappy O-Level Grade A in it "J'habite au coin de la rue et pres de l'arrete d'autobus. Je suis sur le point de se mettre en route pour aller a Altrincham" Oh,  I'm fucking good at French which I learnt by rote.

Unlike Italian O-Level, where we had to prepare three subjects. I chose la politica, la musica e il calcio. And the bastard examiner selected that I talked about La politica. "Sono un membro del Partito Socialista." I said.

And the examiner, bastard Clive G. Oh yes, I can remember his name to this day, asked why, as a socialist, I was a pupil at a grammar school. I couldn't have coherently answered in English, let alone Italian. WTF is wrong with Manchester United or Verdi? Or even Andreotti or Craxi, not Trafford MBC in Italian?  I got a 'C', which is not bad considering the context, but I am ashamed of my 'C' (Fail Grade) at Italian. B at Latin;  now that's the business. Marcus in horto est. Bellum bellum bellum belli bello bello belli belli belllos bellorum bellis bellis. Okay, I cheated, I cross-checked on the internet. Who would have bloody thought the internet would have removed the need to learn Latin Declensions by rote? What is the kudos* in knowing amo amas amat etc.or even more important, amo, amare, amavi, amatum when Google gives it to you, anyway?

Still, Latin was cool. We read Ovid. Ovid rocks. Ovid is the greatest writer ever. Especially if you're aged 15 or 16 and have been set excerpts from Ars Amatoria as a set text. Great because the thicko religious nutter parents didn't have a clue what is was about; those that did know, chuckled, assured that their daughters wouldn't be corrupted (note to Dr Caroline N: Hanging Dewlaps isn't obscene, it just always reminds me of you giggling; a woman with a wonderful filthy and chaste attitude to men and sex, hopefully an example she sets to her teenage patients today ).

Latin and Music, they were the subjects to study for utter depravity at a rather refeened Convent Grammar in mid-Eighties. Imagine if you will, being made aware of poems two thousand years old titles, in translation: Elegy IV: Ovid, His Mistress And Her Husband Are All Bidden To The Same Supper. He Gives His Mistress A Code By Which They Can Testify Their Love For Each Other, Beneath Her Husband's Very Eyes. When you are a pupil at a very refeened suburban provincial Convent Grammar School for Girls.

Bless 'em - people (specifically ex-Loreto Girls) might slag Loreto off but despite the repressive and ridiculous rules, the prissiness of certain teachers, and the unbreakable obsession with exams, in general it was a hoot, as they demonstrated their disdain for social niceties and their desire to corrupt and educate in equal measure.

I laughed out loud the other day reading a former schoolmate on the Underground. I believe that only a Loreto girl could publish, in the New Statesman, apropos of Schumann:

Personally I would quite dig the scenario, exasperatedly sending a text through to the living room - some fkng Brhms insted PLS DRLNG : ( - before rustling my copy of Grazia and wondering how long a girl must reasonably wait before putting the noodles on.

* Greek, natch

English Fail!

What do you think of this quote from Obama's Ingratiation speech? - Yahoo! Answers.

Although, as English Fails go, it is sheer inspired genius.

As for what I think of the quote - well, it's empty rhetoric and self-contradictory. I mean, read it and think what it actually means:

know that your people will judge you on what you can build, not what you destroy

I think it means, as long as you do loads of good things, it doesn't actually matter if you also do lots of evil things. So, if, for example, you make the trains run on time or, say, mass produce the Volkswagen Beetle, what else you do, whatever you destroy,  just fades into insignificance beside that what you have built.

Really, it's the sort of bullshit you'd expect from a 27 year old working in Starbucks, not a professor of constitutional law

English Fail

I have found hours of simple amusement from perusing certain blogs that exist on the www.

Fail Blog

English Fail Blog

the "blog" of "Unnecessary" quotation marks

Apostrophe Abuse

Photoshop Disasters

They are a bit addictive and not just in the reading of them.

I go round looking out for them; sometimes I even remember to take photos. But why submit to them to other people's blogs when I can post them here!

I had three attempts at this one and intended to ditch the rear view of an innocent passer-by, but this is the sharpest of the lot (taken on my phone)

 

I assume that eleksys "design and build" just go in and toss a few things around in acts of demolition. (And they've got their phone number wrong)

 

This has been posted outside the women's changing room at Brixton Rec. I read it to mean that everyone age 9-17 is silent within the female changing room.

It replaced two signs saying "No males over the age of 8 allowed in the female changing room" both of which were freely interpreted as "No eleven year old boys are allowed to get changed in the female changing room but they can hang around bored while Mum tends to their little sister..."

Signage

I am on constant alert for fuckwittery in signage.  I do not blog sufficiently frequently.

Tescos round the corner from work has a sign in the windo explaining they have run out of large plastic bags becasuse Tesco hasn't delivered, and apologising. The sign ends "Please avoid being in confrontation with our CAs", which I assume means 'Don't get stroppy with our staff'.

I had to call EasyJet this morning, because, if  travelling to Spain from a non-Schengen country, one has to supply passport details in advance. Unfortunately the functionality of the EasyJet site doesn't let one do this online. So Icalled the EasyJet Customer Experience where I was told they were endeavouring to attend to my call. They did give that explanation of the non-Schengen thing, which I happen to know what it means, but I wonder what proportion of other customers do!

The best sign I have seen for ages from several months ago, spotted from a bus. It read:

STOP!

WACTH OUT!

GLAS BROKN

One could come over all spelling-pedant on this, but I firmly believe that its clarity and visibility, plus its context, pasted on a shattered pane of glass in shop door, visible from a bus, means that it served its purpose excellently.

Quote of last year?

I'm just going back through my posts, updating internal links and double-checking categories. I was amused to find a phrase I wrote in a longer rant about Space the Final Frontier

I like two sorts of men, the real Alpha Males who are so self-confident, relaxed in their identity and sexuality that they don't feel a need to display it. I also like men who are gentle and caring. I like it best when these two are combined in one bloke, the sort who would hug a tree before chopping it down with bare hands.

Things people say

Last week I was chatting with someone and I said "It's like in West Wing when Josh is always complaining that the story will be about 'process' not substance.

I walked along the street and overheard a conversation where someone said "Arabella's problem is that she is more interested in process than outcome".

In my meeting, someone said "Oh you're looking at outcome rather than process..."

Another time, someone was trying to describe just how boring her and her husband's home life is, trying to evoke sympathy by tugging at the heartstrings. She said "Occasionally we go out for Sunday lunch but otherwise all we ever do is swinging..." At which point everyone jumped, startled. She blushed bright red and "Swimming. Swimming. Swimming."

I came down downstairs and saw that Jimmy had a beer. "Did you ask my permission?" I challenged him.

"Yes," he said, "You gave me permission."

"I don't recall..."

"I shouted upstairs 'Gerry' and you replied 'Yes' so I was pleased you've finally learned to read my mind..."

You can tell who's in charge in our relationship.

Gender

I picked this up from BW, who provides some relevant professional background. I stuck in two recent blog posts - All Change at the Top and La Fanciulla del West

I chose these as being the two of the most recent long posts consisting mainly of original thought and being about very different subject matter.

According to this analyser my political post is

Female Score: 872
Male Score: 1132
The Gender Genie thinks the author of this passage is: male!

and  my opera post is:

Female Score: 3020
Male Score: 2731
The Gender Genie thinks the author of this passage is: female!

Gordon comments on BW's that he and his tech writer chums got 'male' for professional writing and 'female' for leisure writing.

I don't know whether the algorithm designer set out with the premise that male and female brains are inherently different, and, if so, why. There used to be a feminist argument that women are no different from men, and thus should be doing exactly the same work. This has changed to a greater understanding that - in general - men and women have different strengths which they contribute differently to a workplace and that the tradition of only favouring 'male' skills has been to the detriment of the business, which would flourish better with a good mix of diverse strengths.

But even that doesn't fully address the flaws of a generalist approach, which is that while most stereotypes have an inkling of truth, that is not a universally applicable truth and is often (usually?) not relevant to specific individuals. BW refers to social conditioning, not a point I dispute, but I would also add that BW, Gordon, Gordon's tech writer colleagues and I have well above average use and understanding of language, and can tailor our writing to the specific circumstances - even within the same blog.

I am always very cautious of anything that ascribes certain characteristics to gender: ultimately, only physical characteristics are gender specific. A balanced  person tends to have a decent mix of 'male' and 'female' characteristics. A doctor needs technical know-how and bedside manner; an architect needs to understand structures and human behaviour.

I am quite pleased that two arbitrarily selected pieces of writing produce conflicting results, which I think demonstrates that, irrespective of my numerous weaknesses, I do have a good mix of seemingly conflicting characteristics.

News 24 Wallpaper

Rob over at EKN
reminds me of two ambiguous captions on BBC News this week.

Leaving the building during the Six O'Clock News Hour, my attention was drawn by a caption saying "Blair Talks". My first instant was "ooh, is Tony spilling the beans" and wondering how apt would be "Blair Coughs..." but I was confused by a picture of someone looking more Japanese than Blairite, then realised I had read "Noun Verb" rather then their intention of "Adjective Noun". I pondered it.

Last night, I had a similar one with "Offenders Row". My first thought was Henley Regatta, followed swiftly by "Is that like Death Row...?"

But Rob's are better.

Language

I am becoming increasingly conscious of the inappropriate choice of vocabulary I employ on this blog.

This blog started out nearly five years ago as a 'private diary'. I published on the www, because I could, not really believing that people will read it. And now I get a readership of 600-800 per day, from all over the world.

Although this is not always apparent, I possess a very sophisticated grasp of English. I know precisely how to write reports for work, or articles and speeches for political persuasion. I grasp instinctively and can analyse precisely the subtle nuances of vocabulary choice and sentence structure. I regard this blog as a place for informal, colloquial English. Sometimes I swear, using words I would never dream of using in the workplace or in formal communication. I tend to assume that my readers will accept the swearing in the context.

However, I know that I have many readers who are not native English speakers, and many English speakers who are more sensitive to swearing etc than I am. To the former, I want to emphasise very strongly that the English I use here is not always a good example of how to write or talk, and I want to explain to the more sensitive readers that I am not really potty mouthed all of the time and to apologise for any offence caused.

Sometimes I construct sentences that appear horribly convoluted on re-reading. I find it quite difficult to proof-read immediately after writing; 24 hours later, errors leap out of me. Sometimes I want to express how I feel without being constrained by the rules of grammar and syntax. Sometimes I construct new words just for the sake of doing so.

There are certain words I over-use such as twat, tosser, wanker, bitch, which are not friendly words at all and I would never use in a formal meeting at work. I shouldn't use them in informal conversation at work and with family members (and my mother tells me off).

In my opinion, words such as 'bloody' and 'crap' are acceptable - I have seen 'crap' used in a job application for an extremely senior post by the successful applicant. 'Bloody good' is absolutely not swearing. However, neither would be used in newspapers or by the BBC except as direct quotes or in a discussion such as this (or 'bloody massacre').

I occasionally use 'fuck' which is a horrible word, except in the heights of sexual passion, and should never be used by anybody who has any doubt about its appropriateness in any given context. Even where offence is not intended, it can be taken as offensive by people who are not generally sensitive. I (think I) only ever use the word 'cunt' in its correct Anglo-Saxon meaning of genitalia, and I want to reclaim the word as a description of something beautiful. It should never be used as a term of abuse, and never in any conversation unless you are absolutely certain of the reaction of the person you converse with.

I invented a new word

It's quite simple to do.

What you do is you spend the best part of a week with disturbed sleep - however tired you are, you can't switch off brain. Add in an angle grinder going from 8-4 for five days, a Sloane Ranger baying into her phone under your bedroom window at 2 am Saturday, a necessity to get up for gasman Friday and Saturday mornings 8 am (not just up, but dressed, and bathroom tidy), plus three Howling Banshees and their Grunting Boyfriends audible in my bedroom (they weren't shagging, this is what passes as conversation next door) at 1.30 Sunday morning. Follow by a night wearing earplugs, and a wake up to a dull ache in right ear.

Put fingers on keyboard and the word that emerges is "ipentfgelsea"

Pls to use as you feel appropriate.

Writing the dictionary

Certain terms have magically appeared in the Urban Dictionary:

tenorial rolling on the ground

chest hair fondling

Furniture Abuse

Studertroll

Barihunk is pending...

Spacial mechanics and long names

A while ago on a course we were requested to write our names on a perspex nameplate. My classmates stared at me as I paused, considering how to do it. Mike and John had taken nano-seconds; I don't suppose it occurred to Norman and Andrew to plan the task ahead.

It's different for me. My proper official name has nine letters. I am nervous of running out of space. I have to visualise the midpoint and know that's where the 'L' must be. This is not helped by my very poor spacial awareness and grasp of spacial mechanics*.

I will readily concede that mine is not the only name with nine letters. Anyone called Elizabeth or Stephanie will confirm this. And I've had this discussion with the wife of a Christopher. Jacqueline also has ten letters.

When crossing into Egypt, I had to fill out cards to apply for a Tourist Visa. It requested one's first name and provided boxes, one box per letter. So I dutifully wrote 'G E R A L D I N E'. The border guard compared this to my passport, which also has my middle name, and said in a business-like manner 'Why not all your name?'. I started to explain, but he wrote quickly 'M A R G A R', then running out of boxes, he looked up at me, gave me a wicked grin and said "I understand..."

I've encountered people with three names adding up to nineteen, and know someone with three names adding up to twenty. She is not known by any of those, so has an additional five for her usual name. But can anyone beat seventeen from two?

* I believe - without being able to demonstrate - that this lowers my IQ by as many as 10 points, regardless of my excellent capacity at verbal and numeric reasoning, logic and memory. I struggled with spacial matters at O-Level Maths; by A-Level I had pulled myself up to O-Level standard. At University I started to grasp the basics of the A-Level syllabus (damn good thing I'm shit hot at algebra and theoretical calculus).

Expressions

A few days ago I was watching the football. Marcel Desailly made some remark about Switzerland - if they pretend to reach the second round. I was startled and I wondered how many native English speakers actually understood what he was saying. And I'm not sure it was precisely correct, inasmuch that Switzerland are not laying claim to a place as much as working towards it.

I half heard an interview on the radio. Sarah Montague said "So, more Iraqi troops will mean less British troops?" and I instinctively responded 'fewer'. It's one of my language pedant things - if it can be counted it's 'fewer'; if it is measured it's 'less'. And, of course, missing the point entirely - whether British troops should remain in Iraq to try and clear up the horrendous mess. So, should one be concerned at the appalling slip in what was extemporised live radio, or should one accept that where the meaning is clear and unambiguous, the 'rules' don't need to be obeyed.

I missed the interview where Alan Johnson said of John Reid "He's not Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm" but I did catch the one with an American professor of Literature, who suggested it might be more appropriate to describe him as Anne of Green Gables. (Remember that one, it might be used again on this blog...)

It served to extend a thought I had had earlier in the week. I am increasingly irritated by the creeping Americanisation of the English language. I keep hearing films described as 'movies'. I was in a sandwich shop the other day that was advertising 'subs' that has no sandwich-related meaning in English. There are numerous other examples. I suspect it is due to the fact that there are an increasing number of American TV programmes being shown and many people lack the language skills to understand that there are differences. As a child I was just about the only person I knew who could understand and speak American, partly because I was the only person in my class at school who had American relatives, but mainly because I read a lot of American books - although my favourite transatlantic ones were the Anne of Green Gables, which are, of course, Canadian, which is a different language again. In fact, I would go so far as to say that along with many Noel Streatfield and the Arthur Ransome books, no childhood is complete without the Anne of Green Gables series. I also enjoyed Little Women (and Good Wives, Jo's Boys and Little Men) but re-reading Little Women as an adult, it struck me as dull and priggish and sanctimonious.

Separately, I thought - I still haven't got round to reading Adrian Mole and the Weapons of Mass Destruction. Then, I was sitting on the Tube and the chap opposite me had a copy of it on display. I kept giving it looks of desire, idly wondering whether he would notice if I nicked it. Suddenly, I noticed that he was giving me 'looks' and I realised to my horror that he was Asian and probably thought I was looking at his rucksack (Asian men with rucksacks - how quickly we forget last summer...!).

I'm not sure whether there are any rules of etiquette that help one to say "Please understand I don't give a toss that you are an Asian man on the Tube with a rucksack, I was just thinking about nicking your book, even though obviously I'm not going to do so." And then Green Park arrived, so I got off, and he must have thought that I was really avoiding him, especially as I was not sitting in the right part of the train officially for changing at Green Park, but I was in the right part for the Gert Secret Route to Change from Piccadilly to Victoria Line Without Too Much Walking (secret will be revealed for a small payment!).

But I concluded that, as a child, I used to read a great deal of literature, but as my adulthood has progressed, that has steadily diminished. I was browsing round WH Smith the other day, thinking, if I had two weeks lying on a beach I could get through many Chick Lit books. I then thought, what's the point, what will another dozen chicklit books add to my life, on top of the dozens I have already consumed. I have found it more difficult to concentrate on books in the past couple of years. People imagine that if they have a year off sick over two years, and work part-time, that they would spend that time reading. Sadly, it doesn't work like that.

Signage

I have spotted a few oddities whilst out-and-about. Mind you, I think that some of them are designed deliberately to draw my attention. Bastards.

An advert on the Tube for the Ideal home Exhibition highlights various attractions, all of which seem understandable if not necessarily my bag - Guest Appearances by Celebrity Chefs, exhibitions on interior design etc. And Celebrity Garden Sheds. What? Celebrity Garden Sheds...! In what way do they vary from the normal 16x6x6 that nonentities favour?

Also on the Tube, an advert for an multi-function gizzmo 3G phone with all sorts of high tech innovations. They are marketing it that its unique attraction is that it's 'slidey'.

I take a perverse delight in finding comedy when people become haughty or take offence as a result of misunderstanding something that everybody else grasps. On a South West Train out of Waterloo into Berkshire, the dot matrix indicator said "This is a Reading Train." I was sorely tempted to go round haughtily scolding all my fellow passengers who insisted on daydreaming, talking or listening to music rather than reading.

And a sign saying "Civic Amenity Site." I wondered what it could be - perhaps a half-hearted attempt at a park. A Community Centre with children's ball pit and pensioners' tea dance? A one-stop walk-in shop where you can borrow a library book and pay your council tax? I then spotted the recycling symbol. Ah, it's the Municipal Dump. Why didn't they say so?

Terms of abuse

JS the Language Plod takes Scary to task for using the word 'spackers', and Blue Witch agrees.

I've thought about it and realised that they may have a point. Scary used it and it didn't even cross my mind to question it. I hold my hands up. My Bad. I can't speak for Scary, who can of course, speak for himself, should he wish, but shouldn't feel obliged.

I have to say it's not a word I use, for no other reason than the fact that I don't use it. I am fully aware of its entomology, and the reasons why people find it offensive. And I think it is quite a delicate area.

When I was a kid - at the same time that Scary and BW were also kids - there was a collecting box outside the newsagent on Eastway with a two foot high statue of a child, with legs in callipers with a sign saying "Help Spastics". When I was very small I sniggered, because in my Infant School 'spastic' was a term of abuse. I got a good sound telling off from my mother for sniggering, followed by an explanation for the telling-off.

It is only fairly recently that Scope became Scope, having been the Spastics Society for years. I can't quite recall when, but I do recall someone telling me; she worked for them, and I would place it as mid to late Nineties, at the earliest.

Since Infant School days, I have never used 'Spastic' as a term of abuse. On the other hand, I have also never used it as factual descriptive term, choosing instead to say 'has cerebral palsy', or, depending on the context, 'is a wheelchair user'.

A couple of years back a small child caused inappropriate adult hilarity by exclaiming that another small child 'has special needs'. Just the other day I passed a premises where someone had graffitied 'Special Needs' on the window, as, I think, a term of abuse.

There comes a point with language where previous terms of abuse get recaptured - the most obvious one being the use of the term 'queer' in the gay community, and, to a lesser extent 'nigger' in the Black Community, although read what Ashley Walters from So Solid Crew has to say 'I was promoting racism by making the N-word cool'. As a straight white person, I would never use the word 'nigger' except in this post, and only in quotes, and I would be hesitant to use the word 'queer' except in very specific circumstances with very specific people. And I don't think I have the right, either, to recapture and subvert the language of disablement discrimination.

That having been said, I sometimes think that in some contexts offence can be found by twisting the intention. A prime example of this is in Wagner's Ring, especially in Das Rheingold, where some commentators claim that Wagner's anti-semitism is proven by his negative depiction of the "Jew-like Nibelungs". It had never crossed my mind until it was pointed out, and I would argue that this is because I don't carry some stereotyped prejudice of 'typical Jews' and therefore it makes no sense to me. (And yes, I am fully aware of Wagner's anti-Semitism, but I fail to see how it's proved by the Nibelungs).

I don't think this is an exact parallel with the 'spacker' situation, but I will argue, in my defence, and thus, by association, in Scary's defence, that use of the word 'spacker' as a derogatory term to describe people who choose to behave in a moronic way is so far removed from the practice of deriding people with a congenital disability that it did not even cross my mind to make the association. But I also know that people who do make the association don't necessarily do so out of malice.

BW also takes exception to 'chav'. I don't have a problem with this, but a few months ago I linked to an article where someone said it's just middle-class sneeriness at poor people. I rebutted that, including the comment

The derision of chavs is based on derision of a lifestyle choice not on a life situation. When I first started blogging I came across the term 'council' or, in Scotland, 'schemey', which is far more offensive, implying a wholescale sneer of the millions of people who live in social housing.

In order to find the post, I did a search on this blog, and found, just in the excerpts, two references to 'Beckham', who I don't think anyone could describe as poor.

I know there are issues about the origin of 'chav' from Romany, the implication being that it's a put-down of Romanies. But I honestly think that the usage of the word has evolved so radically that it simply no longer encompasses anti-Romany sentiment at all.

It is quite a difficult subject, and I'm not sure that there are definite right or wrong answers, and, no doubt some idiot will try and comment on 'Political Correctness Gone Mad'. I was chatting with someone whose husband has been subject to some low-level, but persistent, anti-Greek comments from his manager, and we agreed that a great deal of so-called 'political correctness' is no different from how we were brought up not to make rude remarks to people's faces. We did also ponder the extent to which it is acceptable to make rude remarks behind people's backs. Half an hour earlier she had told me that someone we know has actually got a girlfriend, and I sniggered and asked whether she was a mail-order bride. We referred back to this conversation, and I agreed that what I said was really not very nice, and we both agreed it would be horrible if he knew people were saying that. I would be mortified; partly because I wouldn't want him to think I was a nasty person, but also partly because I would feel hurt if something like that was said about me, so I take no pleasure in the hurt to his feelings.

As I say, this is quite a delicate subject, and not one, I think, where the debate is advanced by bombast and ad hominems.

Update:

Whilst the blog was dysfunctional Scary Duck and Blue Witch emailed me with comments they were unable to add in the usual way..they're in the extended entry

Names

There are frequent surveys that link academic success with have sensible names, and academic failure with having chavvy names.

Yet, namewise, the England football team today lies up: Paul, Luke, James, Steven, John, Sol, David, Francis, Peter, Michael, and Joseph. The only 'unusual' name out of those 'boringly' English names is Sol, which is short for Sulzeer, a name whose origins I would be hesitant to comment upon.

The subsititutes are more exotic: Ledley, Rio, Darren and Jermaine alongside Christopher, Shaun (I don't like that spelling...) and Keiran.

I dread to think what the England team or ten or twenty years will be called. But if names are the key to success, it might well be Paul, Luke, James, Steven etc etc.

Children's names...

Children's names 'spell trouble'

Names which teachers associate with delightful children include Ben and Joseph.

Come on, it's not the names that count towards children's behaviour, it's the parental attitude, which starts even before the child is named!

And here's the forum thread

When I did school's audit, I used to have great fun looking at the dinner money register. In some areas the kids were all called Chelsea and Alfie, but in one very posh area there were three Clementines, lots of Charlottes, Victorias, Alexandras, Williams, Henrys.

In a way, although it's fun to laugh at the absolutely outrageous names, some of the slightly more mainstream ones are even more fun. Some slight acquaintances called their son Dylan Elvis, and proudly explained after whom he was named.

A bit fishy...?

I have just been looking for someone in the Staff Directory. This is a name that can be used either a first name or a surname, and kust to complicate matters has at least three deifferent common spellings.

So I did a search on each spelling in turn. Tedious or what. Until I came across, in one Regional office, one by the surname of Trout, and, in the next region, but it seems, the same job, is one by the name of Salmon.

You couldn't make it up!

Also in the course of search I encountered someone by the name of Jodie Marsh. Poor woman, imagine sharing your name with that mingeing model...

Just a thought

If you have a politically correct plainclothes police officer with a penchant for home computing, you would have a PC PC PC PC.

I asserted right and proper this evening that the very mainest difference between men and women is that men say "I have to pee" and go and pee. Women think, "I'll have to pee in the next half hour or so, when should I fit it in?"

I'm slightly sozzled, dontcha know.

It's his fault

B-in-L

Just noticed my dearest better half wrestling with the computer and thought it would be an ideal opportunity to change this site into a Manchester City fanzone as I know Gert would be delighted on her return.

Unfortunately, nobody in this house follows opera, although Gert's niece is rather dramatic and adores the ballet. Likewise, we are not particularly exercised by political debate, so I'm afraid regulars may be a wee bit disappointed until Gert's return.

Child no.1 (and chief blogging assistant) has been trying to find ring tones for his phone. His main search has been to try to find Amarillo. (I offered to show him the way!). When I mentioned that I remembered it the first time round he looked at me as though I was stupid. The shame of it is that I used to love the song, along with 'Avenues and Alleyways' but having made the mistake of buying him the best of Tony Christie, if I hear it one more time I'm likely to throw the CD player through the window.

Child no.2 is pretending to clean her room. She disappeared for 2 minutes and then returned saying that it had been done. I'll have a look at it in a minute but expect to see everything shoved under the bed.

I'm happy to take part in any discussion I understand. In the meantime I'll rack my brain for some starters for 10. Bear with us if you would be so kind.

The sayings of Helen

I made some reference below to the phraseology of my friend Helen-in-Glasgow (not to be confused with Helen in Essex, even though Helen-in-Glasgow is actually from Essex)

The 'And to think some women never have an orgasm' is one of them, but some of the other good ones include (deservedly) naming her ex-stepmother 'The Bitch Queen from Hell'. On one Girls' Holiday, she came up with titles for two potentially best selling books, 100 Places to Park Your Tractor in Ireland, and 100 Places To Park Your Roadblock in Belfast.

On another holiday we noticed that there was a pattern to the names of houses we were passing - Ocean View, Atlantic View, Mountain View, Meadow View, Castle View. She reasoned that the ultimate place would have to be "View View..." Still, she never spotted the one round the corner from me - "Prison View." I can't remember who Iwas canvassing with when we found this but we had to take five to compose ourselves.

She had a gentleman friend she referred to as the Serial Legover.

Once when we were in our Bridget Jones phase, and lamenting the lack of men in our respective lives, I bravely suggested that neither of us actually needed men. She suggested that they were useful for changing lightbulbs. I said, "What! Can't you change a lightbulb?" Her reply, "Yes, but it's a woman's right to choose..."

There are many more, that I'm sure will occur to me.

Don't say 'chav'

Some nobody writes in the Guardian Stop laughing and don't use the word 'chav'.

His contention is that it's just middle-class sneeriness at poor people.

No it isn't. He has compassion for all those poor working class people who can't afford proper designer gear. Well, it may be news to him on his bloated 'journalist's' salary, but most middle class people can't.

He criticises journalists who probably have never even sat next to a chav on a bus. Well, that may well be true, but it wasn't journalists that coined the phrase. It was ordinary middle-class people who also don't sit next to chavs on the bus, because chavs, like journalists, don't use the buses. On the other hand, middle class people and poor people use the buses.

The derision of chavs is based on derision of a lifestyle choice not on a life situation. When I first started blogging I came across the term 'council' or, in Scotland, 'schemey', which is far more offensive, implying a wholescale sneer of the millions of people who live in social housing.

Sneering at loud-in-yer-face tasteless chavs is a perfectly reasonable reaction to some increasingly dated belief that all taste is of the same value.

His argument seems to be that you mustn't criticise McDonalds for being sugar-and chemical-filled junk food because it's equally valid with nutritious whole food, and, besides, it's what poor people eat. Despite not knowing the cost of a McDonalds burger nor the disposable income of poor people.

That having been said, the word 'chav' is so 2004 and it's time that the newspapers realise that those at the cutting edge have stopped using it.

Sloppy language alert

359 foods in cancer alert

Families nationwide were urgently warned yesterday not to eat 359 popular foods containing a banned dye linked to cancer.

Remembering that 'families' now means 'anyone with snivelling brats', I am horrified that

a) anybody would feed Pot Noodle to the snivelling brats they claim to care about and know how to raise; and

b) The Mirror thinks that the Food Standards Agency thinks it's perfectly okay for 23-year-old geeky single men living in bedsits to consume carciogenic Pot Noodle.

Specious wisdom

I have been told three things today.

1. I went to sit at the back of the bus, downstairs. A woman turned to me and said I shouldn't sit there, it was far too warm, and when I went out in the cold the cold would get to my bones. I patiently explained that i was heading straight to the Tube and then to the warm office. She told me that she always warns people about that, and she's seventy-t'ree with t'irty two grandchildren and t'ree great-grandchildren
2. My work 'pooter wouldn't work so I rang up IT support, who suggested that it might be the connector that goes into the monitor*. I joked with the IT guy that I should spray it with WD-40. He said you should never use WD-40 on electrical equipment. All my colleagues agreed that you can - it's one of those things that makes a man a man, like sharpening pencils with a knife
3. Jimmy has got a cold and he says it's a direct result of having a shower not long before going out on Friday night, despite me saying that colds are caused by viruses

* oh the embarrassment - if it had happened at home, I would have checked that immediately

Dictionary

In searching through my dictionary, I get almost seconds of amusement from reading the page headers.

In this week's thrilling episode, we have:

• needle neighbourhead - surely situated close to Crack Alley
• soul-destroying souse - well it would be, wouldn't it...?
• soutane spacesuit - not really advisable for the office
• touchy-feely town-clerk - grrr... more modish modernisation of public services

Baby names

Jimmy's niece Lisa gave birth at midnight on Sunday/Monday to a bouncing baby boy, 8 pounds 9 ounces. I popped into see Grandad Lawrence today; Auntie Tina was also there.

Baby is being called Jared, or Jarrod - we're not sure of the spelling. Larewnce is not impressed. Tina likes it. I'm not sure that I would choose the name myself, but I don't see Lawrence's problem. It's a proper name, not something just made up, and difficult to classify for class, age, race, whatever. I suspect that there won't be too many of them in his class at school. Although what do I know - that was the objective of naming my brother Matthew, my cousin's sons Tim and Jack and my nephew Joseph...

My niece's best friend Jade (yes, really...) acquired a baby brother a few weeks ago and Pauline and the children went off to view him. He's called Ryan. Pauline's response was "Nice...". Well, what else can you say to a new Mum, really?