He has a strange name. He should be a diarist* with a name like that. He is? Oh, sorry, Q. Anyway, he rang a few of my bells with his thoughts in today’s DM.
I’d add a common pleonasm people employ,as follows: ‘They both attended the same school.’ Just one will do, dear.
I bet my reader seethes over a few common malapropisms too.
* Didn’t you have a Letts diary as a youngster?
I’ve had it up to here with transcrap, gender assignment and neutrality, pregnant persons, lady boys and all the associated PC balderdash. Such character defects should be identified and treated, not encouraged and catered for. Boys must be boys and girls must be girls. Take your pick – it”s an easy choice, almost exclusively assisted by your body parts as observed at birth. No, you can’t change your sex, however bonkers you are and society shouldn’t let you try. And if you prefer same-sex relationships, fine. But don’t call them marriage or pretend to be competent as parents.
My reader may have noticed on his/her cyber-trek that Google has just celebrated the anniversary of Samuel Johnson’s 308th birthday. He was undoubtedly its predecessor – lexicographically speaking – before the more modern encyclopedias appeared. And his dictionary reflected his character as a poet, wit and literary compiler. Continue reading “Sam’s the man!”
It can be dangerous to seize the moral or social high-ground. But it’s what institutions and their representatives do for a living.
Take the venerable Church of England. It gets its ecclesiastical underwear in a tangle every time a social norm is challenged, trying valiantly to remain relevant. Divorce, same-sex partnerships, gender-switching – and now women’s rights. Guess what! Equal pay is a distant dream for female staff at Head Office! Come on, Justin.
And on the day when British society’s top dog conducts his final public duty, the top people’s handbook flies in the face of decency and established principle. How? By declaring that the cognoscenti now accept the long-outlawed retort, ‘Pardon?’ when one mishears or seeks clarification. The Murican interrogative alternative, ‘Excuse me?’ has never gained acceptance in the face of the patrician, ‘What?’ and is now firmly removed from the contest by the plebeian and not-a-little-Gallic, ‘Pardon?’.
Both of these faux pas will acquire legs, I fear. Two referenda will be needed to help us decide what to do.
A nice phrase from the Beeb today, asking if it’s snobbishness that makes us hate Don the One. http://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-39849073
So I’ve asked myself the question. Do I react against him because he can hardly string three words together? And when he does, the words often fly in the face of the facts? Yes and yes.
No, I don’t expect heads of state to be academic icons, intellectual leaders; but I do expect them to have some grasp of their language, some awareness of the key issues facing them and some respect (yes, respect) for their peers’ qualities as heads of state. A quick jibe and a quick u-turn won’t do.
What’s your take on the soon-to-be-lame Donald duck?
I frequent the English/American section of the local public library, which offers an apparently random selection of novels of every genre. And a couple of weeks ago I spotted this – not a name I recognised -and gave it a try.
The story reveals the complications arising from the young lives of two brothers brought up near Calcutta; one of whom moves to New England.
I particularly enjoyed the author’s insights into relationships, expressed fluently and never dull, each character revealing their take on the dramatic events they experience.
I’ll be looking out for Jhumpa’s other titles.
Yes, the charmingly slow Iberians are in need of a good slap. Poor dears, they’re mixing up their ideas even more than usual. So let’s help them to behave, shall we?
They don’t believe in self-determination for their regions – or anybody else’s. Or do they? OK, they now think Scotland deserves the chance. Fine. But Gibraltar still doesn’t.
I realised how out of touch I am when one of my young clan emailed me on my birthday, ‘Haps baps Gramps!’ A swift google informed that’s how the incrowd say it these days.
But senility apart, I’ve always been fascinated by dialect expressions, from Cockney slang to common or garden terms. All my grandparents (b. 1878 – 80) used them constantly. ‘Be said!’ ‘It’s a new gansey.’ ‘Give it some elbow grease!’ ‘I’ve got it fast here.’ ‘They’re gilli flowers.’ ‘Give me a dollop o’ that.’ It’s really taters out.’
Still awake? OK – show me yours!
Who or what is the entity known as ‘I’? The whole composite of mind and body? Or just the persistent voice in ‘my’ head that tries to deal with the rest? And how do ‘my’ deep-sleep dreams fit into the definition you prefer? Thinkers down the ages have wrestled with the topic and supernaturalists have formulated conflicting explanations, leading to revolution and war. And now some new science will fuel the flames of the debate. There seems to be brain activity after ‘death’ as defined by accepted medical practice.
Does this persistent brain activity have any ‘purpose’? Is the owner ‘conscious’ of it? That is, what is it for, if anything? Or is it like the decapitated chicken that keeps on running? Or a turbine spinning after shut-down?
His VP says we are getting used to him ‘speaking his mind’. Well, yes, but there is a clear line between expressing an opinion based on facts and expressing an objection in derogatory terms (ad hominem). His latest jibe – the ‘so-called judge’ crosses that line.
This portrait catches admirably his other Donald Duck-like features.