It is one in the morning. I was sat outside the Coach & Horses for much of the afternoon, in Greek St, Soho, which was absolutely lovely but it does lead to a slightly jaded feeling in the evening… jaded but, in this case, happy, because I was with a lovely friend whom I have not seen for a year and a half! So, yes. But why am I not in bed? I have no idea. But here is a peek into the future – that is, tomorrow’s Observer. For in the internet newspapers, it is tomorrow today.
It is Catherine Bennett with a wonderful column on what we are doing to our language. Well, not what, exactly – more THAT we are. We’re throwing it out with the rubbish.
Actually, this reminds me of Charles Lambert on the bus:
“I’d planned to start reading the book on the 38 as it wound its towards Hackney, but found myself listening to a conversation between a disorderly drunk and a young artist from Liverpool, possibly about god, in which each vied with the other to see how many times they could address the other as man and still maintain something recognisable as argument. Sadly, the number was lower than either of them fully realised.”
But I am too tired to say anything sensible myself, so back to Catherine Bennett – read her piece:
“Just what makes ‘my my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender’ so piercingly true, for all its touching clumsiness? Could it be that the arguably superfluous ‘did’ actually focuses our attention on Napoleon’s lover-like susceptibility? Anyway, after a week of exegesis, it remains only to ask the big question: Keats or Abba?
“Although a few academics may still be reluctant to concede that ‘Money, Money, Money’ has the edge over the sickly Romantic’s ‘Ode to a Nightingale’, there can be little doubt, I think, that the Swedish poet/songwriters now enjoy a superior claim on the attention of the modern English literature student…”
And now, let’s see if I’m too tired to sleep.
