Words I Hate, part 3

It’s becoming traditional (come on, we’ve been up and running for three months, so anything that’s been running this long definitely counts as a tradition) for me to wheel out another canister of literary vitriol around the start of the month. And seeing as April is looming up ahead of us I’d better get cracking with… another Word I Hate.

This one is short, because the case can be made very quickly and nobody can argue against it.

Fayre

This word doesn’t even need to exist. We have all the words with this sound and this meaning already: we have fair, meaning an outdoor event or celebration, and we have fare, meaning food and drink and perhaps generous hospitality. Fayre is sometimes used in place of both these perfectly good word by idiots who think it lends their temporary Christmas market or their roast beef serving pub some kind of charming air of tradition and jollity. But it doesn’t do that, any more than calling your newsagent Ye Olde Shoppe gives it medieval heritage. It just makes you an idiot who has called your venture a stupid name for misguided reasons. So stop it. You cretin.

What Became of Miss McGee?

Crystal Palace’s most famous resident (possibly), Bum Chin Bollock Neck McGee, has left Church Road for pastures new.

A new resident has already moved in. I don’t know her name. Perhaps you do?

Missing

We are seeking information on the whereabouts of “Kevil”. He is a bit taller than me and has far longer legs, and is characterised by turning up here and posting comments after weeks away just as I finally get round to making my hilarious “missing” poster, which I’m using anyway because I’ve made it now.

If you have any information about this individual please raise your hand.

Words I Hate, Part 2

It’s March, and time Marches on. Let’s steal a March on it by looking at another Word I Hate.

Knickers

Many undergarments have ordinary-sounding names. Even something intentionally sexy, like a teddy (which is, of course, short for “teddington”) can have an unsexy name. But knickers? Nothing about it suggests something I want to get involved with. Nothing about it says “here is a thing that might attractively adorn a love interest”. It is even worse than “panties”, which frankly sound like a children’s name for pants and which should not be allowed in any romantic context ever.

Knickers starts with a deadly “kn” letter combination, a piece of linguistic showjumping that automatically takes the pleasure out of a word and gives it an ungainly appearance. And after that the rest of the word is all clacking c’s and k’s and a harsh sibilant ending. No smooth sounds here, no silky suggestions of a soft undergarment concealing the downstairs pleasure gardens of a lover or casual acquaintance. No. Just hard noises and an offputting spelling.

Knickers to it, I say.

Frog and Kitty

Let’s unpack March and screw it together with this important ethical dilemma.

Frog and Kitty are clearly comfortable with their unorthodox relationship. But what’s the basis of this? Does Frog really think Kitty is delicious? Or is there something else going on, something deeper?

Finally, Equality at the Royal Mail

For too long, posting letters and other items has been the preserve of the heterosexual. Outdated Victorian rules dictated that homosexual post carried a dangerous residue and it was too risky to allow it into the postal system.

Of course, science disproved that many years ago, and now the Royal Mail are catching up. New Gay Postboxes are springing up everywhere, allowing people of all sexual preferences to enjoy the sending of items nationwide.

Everything Counts in Large Amounts

It is with great pleasure that I am able to announce that heretofore and thereafter, notwithstanding that which is foregone, the Pouring Beans Bean Counter has been updated pursuant to the agreement reached at the Second New Beans Conference on 14 February 2014.

The resolution passed unanimously by the Committee at this important event was that the Bean Counter rules should be revised such that:

Kev making three or more new posts per month shall cause him to score one (1) bean;
Ian making not less than two and not more than four posts per month shall cause him to score one (1) bean;
The rules pertaining to Chris shall not change;
The foregoing shall cause Ian to retrospectively lose one (1) bean which was accrued during the month of January.

This having now been enacted on the Right Holy and Most Worshipful Beans, I retire and remain, sirs, your most humble servant,

Christopher J. 5156 Esq.

Words I Hate, Part 1

Generally speaking, I like words. Many words are lovely, like “frisky” and “solitude” and “rescind”, and I would tuck them up in bed every night and kiss them tenderly on the forehead if I could.

There are other words that sound wrong. Awful-sounding words that leave a nasty taste in my mouth. Words I wish I could replace with something else so I never had to say them again. Words that come back to haunt me, time and time again, words I cannot escape from.

In this post, the first of an important new series, I will bang on at length about words I don’t like. There will be more later. Feel free to add your own.

Portion

This word is almost always used in reference to food, but it doesn’t sound like something I want contaminating my lunch.

You can’t say this without sounding like you’re a bit posher than you are. You can’t say this without it sounding like you could have said something more conversational, as if you’d just said “crestfallen” when you meant “sad”. Except there’s not much else you can say, there’s not a straightforward conversational equivalent. Serving? Helping? Load? They all have their place but there’s some situations where only portion is right.

That’s how it gets you. That’s how you can’t escape. At some point you’ll want a bit of food and the word portion will arrive, ugly and aloof and inevitable, and you’ll have to eat your food with the nasty taste it left behind. Ugh.