In the GOM household, there is a shared dislike that relates
to the popular misuse of the word “like”.
Mrs GOM and I are not terribly fond of the Daughter of GOM’s repeated
use of the word to punctuate her sentences and the D of G’s dislike manifests
in being greatly irritated at our constant call for clarification on what she
means. A common exchange over supper
might go along the following lines:
D of G: … and I was, like, so annoyed
GOM: Like so annoyed, what’s that like?
D of G: [eye roll, ignore father and carry on with like-infused
diatribe]
On rare occasions, the offensive
article can be deployed with such regularity that there is insufficient time
over supper with which to seek clarification, so Mrs GOM and I will simply hold
up our hands and raise a finger each time another instance occurs. Mrs GOM begins, and I continue when her
digits are exhausted. On one highly
effusive outburst, we even had to remove our slippers.
Our point is beginning to land and
the unnecessary punctuation is thankfully diminishing, but I was reminded of it
again when reading Mark Manson’s thoroughly
splendid book “The Subtle Art
of Not Giving a F*ck” (his asterisk, not mine, although he does dispense
with them in the book). In one
paragraph, he used the word ‘like’ four times, once, in my opinion, correctly,
the next three times in the form of usage that is becoming increasingly common. Only when faced with its use in written form,
and analysing his use of it more closely, his adoption of the word “like” fits
the language that he was using. Like, it
actually worked. It’s a reflection of our
ever-evolving language and one of the great things about English; bastardise it
often enough and eventually, it’s standardised.
That’s not to say that I won’t continue to bemoan what I consider to be
the irrelevant use of the word, but perhaps I should take the advice of Mr
Manson.
In fairness, there is a great deal
of hope for the D of G. When entering
the car during a school pick-up, she complained to Mrs GOM about a fellow
student who had said “Yo G, shall we have a burn, I’ve got some baccy.”
“Why,” commented the D of G, “can’t he just say, ‘Shall we have a cigarette?’” A statement from our daughter that makes me
immensely proud.
However, D of G’s language is
evolving along fresh planes as we periodically discover from Tourette-like
outbursts. When mentioning to Mrs GOM
that my friend Adam was cycling again in Italy, D of G involuntarily cried out
“ADAM!” proffering no explanation or further contribution to the conversation.
There are times when we might say
or do something that elicits an equally baffling comment:
“Stoooop, I could’ve dropped my croissant” might be triggered if they’re
an option for breakfast. It’s wise at
that point not to ask if she’d mind laying the table, as that might inspire the
inexplicable “Let’s do the fork in the garbage disposal – ding, ding, ding,
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding”. And
when we hear the phrase “On all levels except physical, I am a wolf – ruff,” it’s
possibly time to make ourselves scarce.
The source of these pearls, we
discovered, is Vine. The now defunct video
hosting service on which users shared six-second-long video clips (not the
eight I suggested that prompted an eye-roll-inducing correction). Vine was acquired by Twitter in 2012 and placed
in an archive state in 2017, but its content flourishes in endless compilations
on YouTube, to which we were recently introduced, and which D of G and her
friends are able to recite verbatim. We
visited Center Parcs at the weekend and had a blackboard in our accommodation
on which D of G and her friend wrote many of their favourite quotes before
asking me to read them out as I thought they might be expressed. This induced much giggling at my failed
nuances or misplaced inflexion and it was clear to them that on no level am I
“down with the kids”, which of course is not a Vine, it’s just what we old
people say when we want to appear cooler than we are and achieve the
contrasting aim.
Granted, many of the clips that we
were subsequently shown were quite amusing, and I can understand why some of
the proclamations might stick in the mind, just as Rowan Atkinson delivering Blackadder’s “I’ve got a
plan so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel” has remained
in my head for over 30 years. It’s often
these memorable clips that cause our language to evolve and whilst most of the
protagonists on Vine lack the talent of Blackadder’s writers, Richard Curtis
and Ben Elton, in some instances, their six-seconds of fame may lead to changes
in our language and, I would suggest, not for the better, which is why it irks
me so much.
They’re hardly Shakespearean
utterances that will have a profound effect on our language and provide us with
an ample store of clichés for future use.
They may serve to debase our language and leave grammarians wringing their hands (Shakespeare) and
GOM up and down the country lamenting falls in the standard of education. However, what’s
done is done (Bill again). The
internet and social media have made all
the world a stage (stop it!) and like it or not, the Queen’s English (!) will be tinkered with and adapted forevermore,
sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.
I could go on, and whine interminably
on the subject, but honestly, should I really give a f*ck?
Twitter: @GOMinTraining
Copyright © Craig Brown, 2019
12 April 2019
Copyright © Craig Brown, 2019
12 April 2019
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