Rant. Ranters

Ranters If there’s one thing I just can’t abide, it’s ranters. Not the 1650s nonconformists. Folk who can’t shut up about things.

You know the type: the workplace philosophers, the shouters at the TV.

They come in every walk of life. Every comedian who ever hosted an awards night, football pundits, the current President (plus phone) of the United States, Basil Fawlty…

It’s the humourlessness that really does for them. The veering crazily from ‘point’ to ‘point’.

Of course, a lot of ranters are successful enough to get away with it. Dr Johnson, one suspects, was probably a dreadful ranter. John Mcenroe, obviously. Jeremy Clarkson. Will Self. Naomi Campbell. Mel Gibson. Sir Alex Ferguson was given a knighthood for services to ranting. And then there’s Geoffrey Boycott.

Still, we can usually switch famous people off. Real ranters, though – real, live people you might find yourself stuck in a lift with – well, they’re entirely unspeakable.

A quite close friend of mine goes apoplectic if he sees a button out of place in military

dramas. I’ve had to institute a swear-jar system.

It’s just not really British, is it? (‘I’ll rant as well as thou,’ said Hamlet. But he was from Denmark.) Because we ridicule ranting, our favourite ranting stories end in