If you’re of a certain age (and you’d need to have been watching Top of the Pops in 1982, by my calculations), you may remember a ditty called, “Words” by FR David (above) which made it all the way to number 2 in the UK charts. FR had a strangely warbly voice, and even now, if the word, “words” comes up in conversation, I will either think or say, “words!” in a similarly trillworthy fashion.
I made that up. Trillworthy I mean. I double checked with Google, which replied, “Did you mean trailworthy?” No, Google, I didn’t. I appreciate that people use and abuse you, then drop you like a hot potato, but if I’d meant worthy of a trail, I would have written it.
Words. Aren’t they great? There are millions of them and we get new ones every year. My lovely friend Sarah from Devon joined Facebook a couple of weeks ago and coined a fabulous word to describe the condition so much typing had brought on. “Fingerachytrouble.” I loved that. That’s an example of a portmanteau word, but you knew that.
I gave her something we called “Beebutterflything.”
Sixteen or so years ago, I was fortunate enough to go through the early months of first-time motherhood with two top mates, Kath and Hannah. We were all new mums and our friendship was one of the things which kept us all going. Every so often, we’d have a toy swap. Kath and I exchanged a crate each, making our babies think they had parents who could afford limitless entertainment (this was not the case). I gave her something we called “Beebutterflything.” Why? Because it sort of looked like a bee, while also strongly resembling a butterfly, but then it also had other qualities which were indefinable. Hence beebutterflything.
Kath gave me something always referred to as “Caterpillarsnakedog.” Please see above for the reason why.
Last week, I went on my first Zoom quiz. It was loads of fun. I won’t lie to you; wine had been taken and there was much chortling and snorting. One of the rounds, delivered by my lovely friend Jenny, challenged us to work out the meaning of some words which sounded terribly rude but weren’t. Here are my favourites. A point if you can work them out without looking at the footnotes:
Scurryfunge[1] (something which I am sure our own dear Queen has never done)
Tittynopes[2] (if you are a picky eater, you will not see these)
Abibliophobia [3] (I suffer very badly from this)
My challenge to you, dear readers, is to try to use at least one of these words in conversation over the coming week. Let me know how you get on.
You could say that words are my business. I certainly write hundreds of thousands of them every year and quite often people even pay me for them. I love them and I always have. I love the diversity, the origins, the sound, the shape and the fluidity of them. Here are some of my favourites, none of which I use often enough:
Consanguineous
Meretricious
Dusk
Succulent
Picayune
Reticule
Equipage
Mellifluous
Twilight
Rambunctious
Maybe I should challenge myself to weave at least one into my next ten blogs.
As a self-employed writer, I daily find myself adrift on a foamy sea of words. Some of my clients want facts, clearly stated with no nonsense, and that’s what they get. Others, God bless them, are happy for me to write pretty much what I think will work. Yet others give me a clear brief and then let me amble around plucking the right adjectives from the air. Only in my own blog, the blog I produce monthly for More Than Writers and in my two, nearly finished works of fiction, can I wander off down bosky paths (there’s another one) and employ any kind of words I like.
George Herbert
Let’s finish with a quote. It’s one of my favourites.
"Good words are worth much, and cost little."
George Herbert, 17th century poet, priest and general all-round good egg said that. He died of TB aged only 39, having devoted the last few years of his life to pastoring his little parish in Wiltshire.
Enjoy the words you read and the words you speak this coming week.