It has been my habit of late to make Monday’s blog a bit news-related. The idea is that, since I read the Sunday papers, and, since I always have an opinion about something, I take that opinion and write about it on Monday morning.
It’s a nice way to start the week, because it means that I don’t really have to think too hard about my first bit of doings on a Monday, and it’s nice to be able to ease my way into the working week.
I didn’t read the Sundays yesterday. I never got as far as the garage to pick up a selection of papers. Heaven only knows what happened, because I honestly can’t remember. There were plans, which were scuppered, and there was a good breakfast of mushrooms on toast, provided by the husband, but there were no papers.
This morning, I grabbed the Saturday Guardian magazine in the vain hope of finding something to fill the Monday blog-slot, and I happened upon Imelda Staunton. I reasoned that bumping into Ms Staunton couldn’t possibly be anything but positive, and I began to read the Q&A conducted with her, no doubt for the purposes of plugging the Royal Court’s Circle Mirror Transformation.
One of the questions Ms Staunton answered was, “What is your favourite word?”
What a great question.
We have favourite words, the husband and I.
Words are power.
Ms Staunton could have been an entirely different sort of woman, and, had she been, I doubt the answer to that particular question would have been used in the article. Had Ms Staunton been some vacuous model/actress from some suppertime soap opera, she might have answered with the name of her firstborn infant or with some saccharine nonsense word like love or mum.
Favourite words should be those that confuse the mouth or mind; they should sound like nothing else or like nothing at all; they should fail to be musical or onomatopoeic, and they should be utterly untrustworthy. Some of the best words are also the simplest, which, when said over and over just start to sound bizarre.
Ms Staunton came up with ‘tabard’, and I can just see her saying it, and the bafflement on the interviewer’s face at the other end of the telephone line. What a marvelous choice.
|A Badger on a Plinth for the One and Another project|
the Fourth Plinth at Trafalgar Square 2009
The husband has lots of favourite words, but top of his league table are ‘badger’ and ‘plinth’. If you didn’t know what those things were, you’d never be able to guess, now would you? And let’s not pretend that when put together, the one on top of the other makes a rather fetching picture.
Now try saying ‘black’ half a dozen times. How freaking weird is that? It messes with your head, doesn’t it? Go on, do it again... The word loses all meaning. It isn’t a colour, it isn’t a thing, it’s just hypnotic... and mind-blowing... and...
I like ‘frangipane’ and ‘traduce’.
When was the last time you used the word ‘traduce’ in a sentence? I think you should make that your mission for today.
Go on, do it, I dare you!
While you’re at it, if you’ve got a favourite word, do feel free to share it with the rest of us. That’s what the comments section is for.
Crikey! That’s two dares in one blog, and it’s only Monday!