Where have you been?

And finally we come to our last post about my favorite British word. This is an excerpt from an article by Martin Samuel (although I do not know from which British newspaper nor the date). It sums up my feelings about words like this nicely. This picture, of a wall just outside some church in Poland, shows somewhat childish graffiti of cats. It fits with this post nicely. So, without further ado...

"We start this morning with a joke. Not just any old joke. My favourite joke. Now some of you may find it offensive. Actually, most of you will find it offensive. In fact, if you are at all the sort of person who writes to the editors of national newspapers complaining about declining standards in the modern media, I would advise you to look away now...

...There are two guys talking. The first one says: "You know, the day I met you, I thought you were a c***. And every time we've met since I thought you were a c***. And it can't just be me, because everyone who's ever met you thinks you are a c***, and probably everyone who will ever meet you will think you're a c***. In fact, you've got to be the second-biggest c*** in the world."

The second guy thinks about this for a while. "So the day you met me you thougnt I was a c***?" "Yep." "And every day since you've thought I was a ..." "Right." "And everyone I've ever met thinks I'm a..." "You got it." "And everyone I will ever meet will think I'm a..." "Uh-huh." "So how comes," he says, triumphantly, "I'm only the second biggest c*** in the world?"

The first guy looks at him with total contempt. "Because you're a c***," he says.

Peter Cook wrote that. And if he had written that, and only that, in his entire life, I'd still think he was a genius...

...I used to collect background material and make notes and write salient points and themes and areas for debate. Now, mostly, I've got one newspaper cutting with four letters scrawled at the top of it and the rest is window-dressing. When John Reid panics the nation by telling us that it is highly likely we will be under attack from terrorists in the build-up to Christmas and absolutely nothing happens...I no longer think of a thousand words. I think of one...

...So why is it good? It has a hard "c" and a sharp "t", making it short and explosive and lending power, drama and, wielded correctly, humour. A few years ago, I was eating at one of Marco Pierre White's restaurants. There was something of a commotion. A party, and one lady in particular, appeared very unhappy with the behaviour and attitude of the maitre d'. Espying the owner dining quietly with a friend in the corner, she began assailing him loudly and forcibly ("Marco? What kind of a poofy name is that?" is remembered with special fondness.) At the end of the highly inventive foul-mouthed tirade, the customer finished with what she clearly believed to be an irrefutable allegation. "That man," she said, pointing at the maitre d', "is a complete and utter c***!"

It is the most spectacular rendition I have ever heard, each syllable given a full aerobic workout down to the resounding "tuh" at the end. And then, addressing the remaining open-mouthed (but, secretly, loving it) patrons she strode towards the door with an unlikely claim. "And that is not a word I use lightly," she said.

Nor should it be. For deep down, I hope the moral guardians of Britain get their way and continue to be made furious. I hope the politicians pontificate, and the faint-hearted reach for the smelling salts. I hope we veer from acceptance and smug writers continue to denounce its use as evidence of a limited vocabulary. Because, the way I see this, you have the entire English language at your disposal, its wonderful richness, its beautiful multifariousness. And so do I. And then I have c***. So I've got one more word than you."