Skip to main content

A brief defence of verbosity

Ironic, I suppose, that I'm attempting brevity in the service of defending floral speech, but needs must.

No one wants to hear me wang on, after all.

This has been a recurrent theme of my life. I make no great claims for my intellect, and my exam results would bear that out, but I've always had a fondness for words, which comes out when I write, sometimes when I speak, and it's often been regarded with suspicion. I suspect it's one of the things about me that winds a lot of people up.

As with so many insecurities and minor worries, it started at school; I remember sitting SATs in yr 7, and being marked down for using the word "ululation" which, according to my teachers, didn't exist, but which anyone with access to a copy of Chambers would know means a hiring or screeching sound. The same thing happened at A-level (!) when a teacher regarded me with deep suspicion over the word "verderer" (basically a medieval park ranger). In my professional life, a colleague once delivered a crushing assessment of my character and personality because I'd used the word "vertiginous" (come on, you know what that means) in an email. I was a prick for using it, essentially. This piece is inspired largely by my son, who has taken the huff with me for a construction I used in a staff WhatsApp. I'm not going to say what I said, because I don't want to embarrass him, I'm pretty sure most of you would know what I meant. 

On to University, and I was taught the value of keeping it simple, creative writing tutors slashed through adverbs and adjectives. Clean lines ruled, prose fans extolled Raymond Carver, I learned the poetic maxim of Basil Bunting: " fear adjectives, they bleed nouns". Getting a bit too wordy was bad writing. Fair enough, I took note and reined it in, at least when writing creatively. In the day-to-day, however, I kept talking they way I always had.

I genuinely don't think anything of it, normally, but over the years I've been accused of egotism, of trying to make myself look clever, of trying to make other people look stupid (which they're generally perfectly capable of doing themselves, in my experience) and any number of other heinous character flaws. Now, these may well be things of which I can reasonably be accused for other reasons, I can certainly be a bit of a fractious, thin-skinned knobhead at times. But, and this is the crucial point, it's not deliberate. In the words of Ange Postecoglou: "it's who we are, mate".

I would argue the opposite to most of the accusations levelled at my character purely on the basis of an occasional tendency towards four words where one will do. I would argue that by not changing the way I use language I am being welcoming, I am tacitly saying "I expect you to understand this". I am, crucially and explicitly, not talking down to people, very much the opposite. I am expecting them to meet me on my level, because I don't think there's anything particularly special about my level, such as it is.

I am also acutely aware that you may well be reading this and thinking "this bloke fancies himself a bit, he hasn't said anything particularly clever or difficult so far" and you would be right, at least to the second part, my therapist would argue that not being the first but is the root cause of the second, if I had one. Yes, correct, there isn't anything particularly clever in here, that's my point. Yet I still get odd looks and the odd insult, just for who I am. *Cough* "living my truth" *vomits*. I love words, I love using them.

I know, I know,woe is me, have an invite to the pity party, all of that. But really, I'm not after sympathy here, more explaining my position, because if I want to use the word "outwith" or "abnegate" I will. Not because I think I'm better than anyone, but because I assume they're better than me. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Creepy old men

I note, somewhat wearily, that creepy old men are back in the news, being creepy. Creepy old men, and their apologists and enablers, who argue that their creepiness is somehow the natural order of things. Old men would have you believe that it is difficult to not be a creepy old man. That it is a task of epic proportions. It is not that difficult. It is a matter of intention. As yet more of the grimness of Epstein unfolds, creepy old men are, sadly, a flaccid topic once again. Whether it be pursuing students thirty years their junior, or simply not asking too many questions about the background of the probably legal young woman who you've just been introduced to by your good pal Jeff. To be clear, I am not referring to criminal creepy old men, the ones who actually committed statutory rape, the ones who fucked trafficked hirls. That is not something which is allowed to get away merely with the contempt of the observer.  That deserves prison.  No , I'm referring to the hinterla...

Inedible

"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed.  Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...

The daftest complaint I ever had

I have written here several times down the years about customer complaints, both justified and idiotic. Working in hospitality they are an ineivitability. No matter how good you are, how consistent, you will get complaints. Very few of them stick in the memory, but some, by virtue of their extreme idiocy, do. And one popped into my mind as I was plating up a dish this lunchtime, and I thought, why not, it's as good a thing to write a blog about as any. It's also an entertaining example of how events can play out in ways you may not expect at the time. It sticks in the mind as it combined stupidity with a petty malice and venality which leaves me with no qualms about taking the piss out of it publicly. I rarely let bad reviews lie, if I feel they're unfair I might demur, if I feel they're reasonable I'll make a point of apologising. If they're stupid I'll take pleasure in replying very politely. This one got ignored. It happened on a Sunday, which is another ...