Beef-witted zaftys’
I am deeply fond of the English language. Out of all the languages in the world it is the one I speak, like, the most bestest. The English language has endured for millennia and one principle reason why is that it has evolved with its users. As man has grown and developed, his discourse has shadowed every move.
I studied English language at college and it really is fascinating. Even the most TOWIE of modern society can indentify differences between the 1950′s and today. During the war, when a Dambuster successfully busted a dam with one of his bombs, he would shout “wizard!” in exultation. Today, the same man would shout “f*****g ‘av it!” The dynamic of our language has changed, and that is one reason it is still globally dominant, and why French is not. French is a closed shop and as such in 200 years time may not be spoken at all, like Latin. English grows with each generation.
I like to use archaic words in speech because I find them amusing. A friend and I recently had an entire conversation using a selection of words that have not been used since the Victorian era; lunting, groak, resistentialism, queerplunger. What fabulous words. Then there are contemporary words that I don’t approve of, especially when their context has been misappropriated; bear safe, as in bear safe. Fat, as in it is good or it is bad depending on your levels of telepathy and blood-cannabis ratio. Allow, as in yes, I approve or sorry, I do not agree. I can’t make head nor hide of it.
Then, of course, there are those who use the wrong words at the wrong time. Nothing gets under my skin more than someone who says that something is “well good” when really it should be “very good” or “really good.” Then there are those who don’t understand the meaning of “them” and say “put them ones in that bag” as the word “those” is sent marching with its bindle. “That” and “which” are frequently swapped around and then there is the incessant and un-necessary overuse of the word “like” at seemingly random intervals. “D’ya know what I mean?” no, moron, I really don’t.
I do not approve of poor syntax and I fight it wherever I find it, normally by throwing knives and sachets of polonium. My case is that if you go ahead and speak to someone from the Indian sub-continent by saying “Hiya, when you finished, put them things in that bag you got. Sweet, cheers m’ dears” then they will adopt similar prose before too long. This will cause a great deal of confusion, especially if I speak to them afterwards and invite them for a spot of lunting.
Herein lies the problem, as English is an ever-evolving animal, it makes it well tough for those wishing to learn it. The problem is no more noticeable than here in the UAE. As we come from all over the world, there are many different English dialects circulating and those whose mother tongue is not English must be scratching their heads and wondering who’s in charge.
Things like spelling, punctuation and grammar no longer seem to matter. There are errors all over the place. No, really, how can that be? There are enough English speaking residents in the UAE to assist with the governance of the language. I’m sure there are Arabic errors, too, but every day when I drive past the “English Spaking School” I feel as if I should crash my car into the sign on purpose to protect the masses. People will see it and think that’s it ok, no more so than the children. And that is not fair.
Of course, miscommunication happens everywhere, it is only natural, but somehow it feels as if the UAE suffers more than most. And it can’t all be pinned on racial classification or stereotype, either. No, if I ring my female staff’s landlord then I know straight away that I am going to have to tone it all down. If I called him and spoke properly, as I would to you, then he would most likely catch fire. “Good morning, Mr. Farook. Now, the family of rats that have moved in with the girls are starting to use an awful lot of hot water. The problems I have with this are two-fold; firstly, the disease in which they bring with them is causing my staff to die. Secondly, words cannot express how unhygienic this is, I mean do they have to share the same bathroom?” He would have exploded by the time I had said his name.
What I have to say instead is “Hello, Mr. Farook. Is Mr. Marty, yes, Marty? Ok, there is rats inside this one. You will make gone?” He will understand and execute. So in order to achieve my goal I have to sell out and modify my English to suit his level. Oh it’s not his fault, I could learn Urdu or whatever the hell he speaks, but there’s no time.
But I can’t speak to the CEO of Mubadala like that; I’d be dropped into the shark tank. I would again have to modify my speech to suit the person to whom I am speaking with. It’s a nightmare. You are therefore forced to judge everyone you meet within a nanosecond and resultantly speak to them in a pre-determined style, whether that is like a pigeon or the Queen.
Nothing can halt this phenomena, it is just another stage in the evolution of the English language. And, if I’m honest, I am quite willing to embrace it. I would far rather speak in pigeon English than speak like a pigeon brained TOWIE cast member. Totes? What the hell is that? But, let it be known that despite my willing embrace, I am far happier being a spermologer who’s tyromancy is as Englishable as the snoutfair that I am.
If English isn’t allowed to grow the result would be catastrophic; it’d go the way of Latin, or worse still, French.
