The Brother has a view on modern verbiage

++

Now, c’mere ’til I tell you this.

I’m all ears. What is it?

The brother has barred himself from watching television above in the digs.

Excuse me?

Barred himself for the foreseeable future on account of him having been roaring at the TV in the residents’ lounge, man.

Did he see something that’s not to his taste on television?

Begob, don’t start me now, for practically everything that’s on there is not to the brother’s taste at all.

That must be most perplexing for him, as so much of one’s popular entertainment these days is provided by that very device.

Well, it’s not so much the content of the programming if you understand me. The brother has no real beef about that as such. No, it’s more about these-Hop-o-me-thumbs who do be talking rubbidge left right and centre. Seem to speak in riddles inshtead of good clear speech. And the brother has had enough of it.

Ah, I see.

The brother is a stickler for a body saying what they mean. Can’t abide this modern class of nonsense that’s becoming part and parcel of daily discourse. And do you know who the brother blames it all on?

I could not even begin to guess.

Why, all of them lads in the world of commerce and big business. That’s who. Man, you should hear the brother about them when he gets warmed up on the subject. Says that they’re responsible for our langwidge being destroyed and totally murdered with vacuous mumbo-jumbo and business speak that’s crept into the everyday conversation.

It can, of course, rub some people up the wrong way.

Indeed, and it can. Now take the word “leverage” for an example. Bedamn, it’s like a red rag to a bull every time the brother hears it used. Says he, and I am in full agreement with him here, “When did leverage ever become a verb?”.

Well, yes. Quite so.

There was some eejit there the other night, on the main news now, talking about “lev-ridging, the position of IMF”. Well, when the brother heard that he near flung the coal scuttle at the screen. Livid, he was. Sure I thought he was going to take to the drink over it, and him not supping a drop on account of it being Lent. Puce with rage and roaring at the set he was.

Most vexing for the poor fellow, for sure.

That’s not the half of it. “It’s leverage! Not lev-ridge you gombeen. No hyphen and it’s not a verb,” he roars. And weren’t all of them in the lounge looking at him like he was going mad?

Is that right?

Oh, it is indeed, but he was only getting started. For didn’t the next item nearly send him over the top completely? Sure, it was so bad the landlady had her finger hovering over 999 ready to call the ambulance. Thought the brother was going to self-combust she did.

Goodness, what was it that got him into such an agitated state?

Going forward! That’s what did it.

I’m sorry, but I don’t follow you.

Going forward, man. GOING FORWARD. There was this young one on jawing about something or other and begob, do you think she could say the simple phrase: “from now on”? Not the bit of her. Every second utterance was “going forward”.

Yer man doing the interview would be asking her something about such-and-such and nearly every reply started with “Going forward.” The ones that didn’t began with ‘so’. Now, and here’s another thing. What he calls “the proliferation of ‘so’ really gets the brother’s goat, too. But that’s maybes something for another day.

Annyway, wasn’t there one answer that nearly tipped the scales of the brother’s sanity. Sure he had to be restrained from unplugging the set and hurling it out the window.

Most perplexing indeed.

Yer man asks yer wan, “What can be done to improve the overall position?” Well, she got as far as, “Going forward, we must lev-ridge the…”

Oh dear. That can’t have been to your brother’s liking at all.

Who are you telling? All hell broke loose. The brother was out of the seat like a pheasant put up be the beaters, and heading towards the set with murder on his mind. Luckily the big fella who works at the bank rugby tackled him to the floor or the landlady’s 52-inch plasma would’ve been destroyed.

But it was touch and go I can tell you. The brother was a gibbering wreck.

Where the Guards called?

No, the residents somehow calmed him down, insisting he took a small whiskey to settle his nerves. Lent or no Lent, do you see?

The landlady marched him up to see the doctor the next day, and the upshot is he’s taking up the Yoga in the hope of being able to find some class of inner tranquillity. Hence, he has barred himself from the TV lounge in the meantime.

A sensible precaution, I’m sure.

I’d say it is. The brother is a man who sticks to his guns, and he doesn’t want to be upsetting the equilibrium at the digs. He’ll be keeping himself to himself for a while now and maybe taking a course of nerve tablets, too.

I shall pray his soul finds peace again.

Ah, I’ll tell him, so. Annyway, here’s me bus. Cheerio

.