3July1995

London: 2nd July 1995
My dear folks,

Forgive a wordy letter. It's been a wordy week. On the other hand, it was a terse acknowledgement I received from the office of Liberal Democrat leader, Paddy Ashdown, of my recent letter to him. The reply was one of those printed cards with spaces for one's name & address. It confirmed receipt of my communication of June 2, the contents of which - it stated - had been noted. I hope they had. They were directed towards improving Mr Ashdown's grammar which had failed him singularly on the nation's premier current affairs programme. Since I voted for him, I explained, I expected better. Mr Major's grammar has shown equally serious public lapses. But as I pointed out to Mr Ashdown, there's not much hope for Mr Major.

I confess I rather like the language as I learned it - don't we all? - & have waged an intermittent & losing battle against its mindless abuse, a puny voice drowned by the waterfall roar of the streets. I can see only too clearly how "correct" usage (even of a quote such as "a new lease on life", drifts through a cycle of becoming first the exception, then quaint, and finally archaic. "It's I" has long since become "It's me".

"In effect" is twinned with "effectively", even in the mouths of my learned colleagues. One can stamp one's little foot & howl; one can dash off petulant letters to The Times, one can become a raging Colonel Blimp but there's no turning of the tide. At times, Dr Ronald Sole has been known to dip his angry pen in inky bile & loose off a missile. But the writing is writ large upon the wall & it's writ in bad English.

Fascinating to see the "sex equality" drive which drove the preferred male pronoun to its death now entering the religious debate with the campaign for woman priests. God the Father is being turned willy nilly into God the Parent & Jesus the Son of God into the Child of God. I can't take any of it seriously although the battle is being waged to the death by those who do. Call a female actor an actress these days & you risk getting your face slapped. Political correctness rules. "Long live Noddy" is what I say.

I was struck by a comment made on a radio discussion programme at the weekend by Maggie Thatcher's former press secretary, Bernard Ingham, a bulldog of a man who never minced his words. He was speaking shortly after the Gay Pride march through London, a colourful annual procession of gays & lesbians of which he clearly disapproved. He spoke, as I recall, of having watched a "bunch of queers parading their perversities down Picadilly". Queerly dressed they certainly were but that's their style. Mr Ingham clearly inhabits a world of blacks & whites (though he sure twisted a few truths in his time). I used to, too, but mine's merged into multiple shades of grey.

Still on semantics, I have been reflecting on the Los Angeles police description of Hugh Grant's conduct with the prostitute as "a lewd act". I'm not sure exactly what commerce the pair engaged in although the range of possibilities is limited. What I have little doubt is that lovers, husbands & wives & common law partners indulge in much the same activities all the time. Does that make their intercourse lewd, I wonder? Or is it lewd only if you pay for it or do it in public? I don't know. Mr Ingham might but I don't think I'd want to live in Ingham land. Sounds a bit like Ayatollahland & other unfortunate lands I write about. Okay, enough for today.