Say what you mean
THE English language is spoken by nearly two billion people—more than any other language on earth. It is among our most precious gifts. In ships and on planes, in science and in space, in accountancy and law, English is the essential medium of communication and it’s so rich: 250,000 words compared with 100,000 in French and 86,000 in Chinese.
Shakespeare used 20,000 of them and invented or first used 1,700. Better than anyone, he used the right word to express precisely what he meant. Unlike the majority today, he wouldn’t have answered the question ‘How are you’ with ‘I’m good, thank you’. He would know that the question wasn’t about his moral condition, but about his physical health, so he’d have said he was ‘well’. Sadly, today’s lazy usage constantly reduces the precision of our language and betrays our precious inheritance.
This careless imprecision is now almost universal, even among businesses that ought to know better. Clarence Court, the egg producer, suitably, but somewhat improbably, based in Lacock, Wiltshire, runs vans emblazoned with the motto ‘Fabulous eggs from fabulous birds’. If the chickens were actually fabulous, then the eggs, too, would be unreal. What the company means is ‘fabled eggs from fabled birds’, but, in our modern depleted vocabulary, that doesn’t work as a slogan.
It’s not only laziness. The misuse of words often derives from a desire to create a superior impression, to ‘big-up’ a responsibility. Therefore, you don’t say you’re on holiday, but on ‘annual leave’, which not only sounds more important, but it also removes any suggestion of slacking. Gardens are now ‘curated’, no doubt because ‘planted’ implies something less exalted. Even menus are ‘curated’, in case the diner might think too little of the process of planning a meal.
In much the same way, rat catchers became rodent operatives and directors of transport now direct transportation. It won’t be long before farmers become ‘soil fructifiers’, dairymen ‘lactation control officers’ and foresters ‘arboricultural maintenance technicians’. Private Eye once ran a column highlighting the widespread use of ‘solutions’ to characterise perfectly ordinary activities. People who provide lavatories claim to be experts in ‘bathroom solutions’, builders ‘construction management solutions’ and weed-killer salesmen will no doubt be providing ‘horticultural phyto-sanitary solutions’. However, even Private Eye could not have guessed that we would invent a new verb: to ‘solutionise’. These businesses will now be said to be ‘solutionising’. Some of today’s petty phrases have really come about so people can avoid any implied responsibility. Ordering a drink doesn’t receive the response ‘Thank you’ or ‘Certainly, Sir/madam’; instead, the barman says ‘no problem’. Of course there’s no problem— you’re in a bar, where the barman’s whole purpose is to serve drinks! Then, when you sit down in the restaurant and they serve your first course, the waiter (waitperson?) turns and says ‘enjoy’. It isn’t obvious whether this is an order or a truncated hope; it certainly informs you in advance of the expected reaction to their food.
This preconditioning of customers is widely used. You seek a second-hand car and discover there are none; they’re all ‘pre-loved’, a phrase that doesn’t describe any second-hand car Agromenes has ever bought. In truth, quite a number of these modern verbosities don’t actually mean anything, but are designed to fill casual gaps. It’s as if we are frightened of silence. We can’t simply say ‘Goodbye’, we have to go through a whole formula, which starts with ‘Have a nice day’ and ends with the compulsory sign off ‘take care’. So, dear readers, ‘have a nice day and mind you take care of yourselves’.
These modern verbosities don’t mean anything. It’s as if we are frightened of silence