Now, anyone who knows me will be aware that the default setting for my general disposition is, well, somewhat less than sunny.
Several months ago on this blog (that's to say, in the last piece I posted - sorry about the gap), I said that I'd keep an eye out for key words and phrases during the General Election campaign.
This is probably going to be a bit of a bitty post, but hey ho...
Once again (which I say because this happened not so long ago), a list of words deemed to be old-fashioned and moribund has been published.
Good grief, has it really been that long since I wrote a blog post? I should really make amends by writing a lengthy piece of depth and substance, but I'm afraid I only have a few light titbits for you...
First, an alarming comment made by our son Harry during this summer's World Cup. During a kickabout in the garden one afternoon, I'd shielded the ball from him by exaggeratedly sticking out my ample backside in his direction. I didn't think anything more of it until we were watching a game on TV a couple of days later and a defender used the same method to ward off a striker.
Another awards ceremony, another chance to practise my magnanimous smile when someone else wins. (Not that the EDF Energy East of England Media Awards were being broadcast live on TV, but I didn't want to appear a bad loser in front of the other people at my table.)
I knew this day would come, just not yet...
I guess most copywriters have an ad in their past which still haunts them; an ad which still makes them shudder when they think of it and which (if they're unlucky) is still used by others in the know to beat or blackmail them.
Hello and welcome to the semiannual post on the 'Talking Scribble' blog. (OK, so the posts aren't supposed to be that far apart, but that's the way it seems to be going at the moment.)
Right, now where was I?
Thrift Shop is currently their best-known track in the UK, and the one that brought them to my attention. How can you not love a song which starts with the hilarious swagger of:
And Jimmy Iovine captures perfectly the vacuous flattery of a record company executive:
In any case, I'm currently trying to tackle other language issues with our six-year-old son Harry. Although very articulate, he uses nonsense words in conversation a lot. For example, when asked what he'd like for breakfast, he's as likely to say 'Shred-shred pleeeedd!' as 'Shreddies please'. Asked if he'd like some waffles as well, the answer is as likely to be 'cooty-coo' as 'two'.
Occasionally he'll stumble unknowingly upon a rude word. The other day, instead of expressing a desire to go the the park, he said he wanted to go to the 'wank'. Ahem.
I just hope it doesn't last; I once worked with someone who was still talking nonsense in his forties. One day he came into the office complaining that the traffic had been particularly heavy in the vicinity of Blackstock Road - though he expressed this as: 'Blimey, it was chock-a-blocky round Blacky'.
Right, that'll do for now, I think. I'll try not to leave it so long before the next post. Byesy-byesy. (Damn, I'm doing it now.)