SOS

The word ‘like’ used to be a very useful word. It was an excellent compromise if you didn’t love or hate something, or a great way of explaining what an object or event was similar to. Sadly, these days it’s been demoted to the somewhat dubious role of sentence filler.

These fillers are words that are thrown into sentences by people who have limited vocabulary but need to maintain an innate desire to be verbose. Yes, I’m talking about young people.

An example I think. I heard the following on the train the other day: ‘…he was, like, so fed up, so I was like, well, if you don’t stop being so miserable, I’m like gonna like walk off, and he got like so angry.’

Naturally, I blame the Americans.

But I’m being unfair to single out that great nation because the sentence finished with the same rising inflection so favoured by Australians – you know the one I mean, it makes you feel like every sentence should end in a question mark. So really I blame the telly. More specifically soaps, reality TV and imported American canned laughter programmes that end each episode with a moral middle class message.

I fear we’ve lost ‘like’ forever. It’s joined other victims of the linguistic genocide metered out by the young. Like ‘go’ and ‘went.’ These were useful words back in the day when you wanted to describe motion of some sort. Today, of course, they litter the teenage lexicon: ‘…so I go…blah, blah, blah… then he went… blah, blah, blah…’

It’s almost as irritating as the ubiquitous sentence extension, ‘ya nah whaaat ah mean…’ so beloved of people who wear baseball caps the wrong way round and their jeans at half-mast.

Meanwhile the word ‘said’ languishes in a fetid linguistic backwater dying from lack of use.

Now, you might think this the ravings of a pedant, but think about it: if we give up on the word ‘said’ we’re not just losing a word: we’re giving ground in the battle for the English language. Ignoring the loss of that tiny four-letter word is equal to sacrificing the Isle of Wight.

I realise some people will say that’s a good thing, but what falls next in the war on words, Hampshire? Before you know it we’ve lost London. If we don’t fight for the Isle of Wight we may as well pack up now and move to Newcastle – a region that gave up English a long time ago.

I only mention all of this because I haven’t had a campaign of any sort for at least 2 blogs and that just won’t do – we need a crusade to Save Our Said. Yep, its time, (again), to get off your arse and fight for what I believe in. Start petitions, write to your thieving bastard MPs, organise a march. If you love the English language. If you trust in words. If you have just a single ounce of decency, get out there and protest.

If you don’t we won’t just witness the Isle of Wight sinking into the English Channel, we’ll have a ringside seat when the English Language receives the uppercut that knocks it out forever. So do your bit if you want to be speaking English this time next week. If you don’t use it, as they say, you’ll lose it.

Ya nah whaaat ah mean?

It's my dream...

I’ve been reading some of my recent blogs, just to see what you all have to put up with, and I’ve noticed I have a hither to unrecognised obsession with KJPBT and Peter Andre. Worrying.

I am most definitively not a fan of this reality/celebrity thing - I simply don’t understand it. It’s puerile drivel. Looking out from my set of eyes Britain hasn’t got talent – its got slavering dogs walking through fat ladies legs and people blowing up hot water bottles with their noses. Then there’s Celebrity Mr & Mrs. The couple that run my local post office are more famous than the competing ‘celebrities’ that appear on that show (bring back Derek Batey and the octogenarians from Cleethorpes that’s what I say).

And as for the X Factor, well don’t get me started. How thick can people be? The ‘judges’ don’t see all the auditions – do the maths…. If only 10, 000 people turned up and took 5 minutes each that would be 50,000 minutes of ‘performance.’ That’s 34 days straight without a break. And the X Factor boasts hundreds of thousands slither up to have the arse ripped out of them. Get real Great Britain. The judges are filmed in front of the acts they want to be filmed in front of – the acts that are carefully selected by the researchers to provide a running narrative through the series. That’s why you get a mix of nutters in with the mildly talented. That’s why you always get a sob story, usually a drug infested single mother with ten children, by ten different fathers, or a ginger nut that was bullied throughout his school life. And lo and behold they get through the ‘audition.’ It ensures the naive keep coming back – to see if someone, who really wants it, whose been dreaming about this all their life, can make it to the final despite having less talent that a jumping Mexican bean. Naturally their frailty is exposed in the weeks leading up to their dismissal. Episodes of the Archers have more spontaneity than the X Factor. It’s more tightly choreographed than a ballet. See what you’ve done? I told you not to get me started on the X Factor.

So where was I? Ah yes, The Apprentice, another show that has a skilful editor. But at least you can enjoy the savage beating Alan Sugar meters out to the numpty that ‘didn’t sell nuffink.’ I can’t see anything other than spontaneity in his tongue-lashings.

It got me thinking though. Who is the poor sod he designates back in his business to manage these egocentric, puffed up, suited and booted vipers? I don’t envy him (or her). Whoever gets that job must feel about as lucky as a bee with hay fever.

Or maybe he simply dumps them in a stationary cupboard – what a horrible thought, a stash of moronic arse lickers next to your supply of post it notes, urgh…

Bloody hell, I’m beginning to rant now, but to be fair, I’ve always wanted to rant, it’s my dream, I want to rant so much it hurts. I was even bullied as a child on account of my ranting, and I once had a ginger hair when I grew a beard. I don’t want to tell you of the coughing fit I had after one puff of a spliff in Amsterdam, but I will, if it helps me to fulfil my dream…

Is it me, or is it all a load of bollocks?...

PS – Next time I’ll be ranting about MP’s expenses… thieving bastards…