Today I was a reluctant witness to the death of the English Language. It
came in the shape of a phone call, and it so thoroughly unnerved me I
nearly moved to another carriage in the train. Now there are university professors who proclaim that spelling, grammar
and language really don't matter that much. Honestly? Well I beg to
differ. The unwitting murderer of English was a young woman. Late teens, or
possibly early twenties. Admittedly this slaughter was a social call, so
this young woman was clearly far from being alone in her inability to
articulate a complete sentence which made any kind of sense. First of all, I will take us back in time. For all of you out there who
remember the days of vinyl... ever put a 7 inch 45 on at the wrong
speed? Say 78? This young woman spoke rather like a 45 played at 78.
Words tumbled out of her mouth like a barrel going over Niagra Falls. Like was used a lot, like every other sentence. Incomplete sentences,
like every other statement. She said "I don't know" rather a lot too. I
was trying to decide whether this was intended as a form of apology for
her incredibly limited like vocabulary. I started to count the "likes" there were 97 of them between Wimbledon
and Clapham Junction... at one point they were coming along at a rate of
one every three seconds. Apparently, the modern teenager now leaves school with a vocabulary
which barely contains a thousand words. I'm sorry, but that is incredibly poor. It would appear that our
children are being deprived of the ability to express themselves with
anything approaching coherence. Presumably as our youngsters regress,
the English will return to dwelling in caves. I left the train feeling confused. Sad (yes), annoyed (most certainly),
and very depressed. I decided between appointments to have a drink and a sandwich. Can someone tell me why, if I order a nice cold bottle of mineral water,
that the accompanying glass must always arrive with a slice of lemon? If
I want lemonade, I will order lemonade. I didn't... I wanted water. A
slice of lemon always makes your nice glass of cold water taste of
toothpaste. And no. I have no idea why. So no extraneous floating fruit
or vegetables, please. Why, oh why, must the more upmarket restaurants do chef-y things with
classic dishes? These chef-y things don't always work. And they always
double the price of the dish. Since most of the rest of the day went brilliantly, I suppose I really
shouldn't complain, but there you have it. Modern life... not
necessarily an improvement.
came in the shape of a phone call, and it so thoroughly unnerved me I
nearly moved to another carriage in the train. Now there are university professors who proclaim that spelling, grammar
and language really don't matter that much. Honestly? Well I beg to
differ. The unwitting murderer of English was a young woman. Late teens, or
possibly early twenties. Admittedly this slaughter was a social call, so
this young woman was clearly far from being alone in her inability to
articulate a complete sentence which made any kind of sense. First of all, I will take us back in time. For all of you out there who
remember the days of vinyl... ever put a 7 inch 45 on at the wrong
speed? Say 78? This young woman spoke rather like a 45 played at 78.
Words tumbled out of her mouth like a barrel going over Niagra Falls. Like was used a lot, like every other sentence. Incomplete sentences,
like every other statement. She said "I don't know" rather a lot too. I
was trying to decide whether this was intended as a form of apology for
her incredibly limited like vocabulary. I started to count the "likes" there were 97 of them between Wimbledon
and Clapham Junction... at one point they were coming along at a rate of
one every three seconds. Apparently, the modern teenager now leaves school with a vocabulary
which barely contains a thousand words. I'm sorry, but that is incredibly poor. It would appear that our
children are being deprived of the ability to express themselves with
anything approaching coherence. Presumably as our youngsters regress,
the English will return to dwelling in caves. I left the train feeling confused. Sad (yes), annoyed (most certainly),
and very depressed. I decided between appointments to have a drink and a sandwich. Can someone tell me why, if I order a nice cold bottle of mineral water,
that the accompanying glass must always arrive with a slice of lemon? If
I want lemonade, I will order lemonade. I didn't... I wanted water. A
slice of lemon always makes your nice glass of cold water taste of
toothpaste. And no. I have no idea why. So no extraneous floating fruit
or vegetables, please. Why, oh why, must the more upmarket restaurants do chef-y things with
classic dishes? These chef-y things don't always work. And they always
double the price of the dish. Since most of the rest of the day went brilliantly, I suppose I really
shouldn't complain, but there you have it. Modern life... not
necessarily an improvement.