Mincing our words

One of the great joys in life is shouting at the radio. It’s not big and it’s not clever, but it helps me to vent a little, and puts me in a jolly frame of mind for the rest of the day.  

So there I was this morning, as usual, engaged in the normal ablutions while listening to the eight o’clock news on local radio (Forth One).  And as usual, the news is followed by the morning sports bulletin.  And as usual the top two stories are about local soccer teams Hearts and Hibs. And as usual, the reporter swaps from one story to the other with the link “Meanwhile, across the city …” . That gets a wee shout of its own most mornings.

But not today. Today’s ire was reserved for the reporting of the latest on the new manager for Hibs.  Apparently, said new Boss, Mr Calderwood, is well aware of how many managers the team has went through in recent years.



OMG! It seems that all one needs to qualify as a sports journalist nowadays is to prove that one once threw up in Waterstones’ doorway after a particularly good “sesh” at Uni, and therefore has a passing knowledge of what a book may look like.

I understand that the majority of the population of the country do not know the real meaning of the word “decimate”. I only rant a little bit when people talk about waiting on their friend (it’s waiting FOR, people – unless you are serving them a cuppa). But this supposed purveyor of the English language should be summarily dismissed from his job for such an abuse of participles. 

Damn right I shouted at the radio.  Which, unfortunately, is now covered in toothpaste.


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