Wednesday, 7 January 2009

Perverted by language

Listening to: This Gift by Sons & Daughters

Dialect word of the day: Jings (an expression of surprise)

Happy New Ears to you all!

Well goodbye to 2008, a year roughly divided between the mundane and the horrible, although things picked up a bit towards the end. In my teens/early 20s I would religiously compile lists of my favourite records, books and films. However inertia, limited money and general haziness on when stuff was released has made me less likely to do this, although I would say I've enjoyed This Gift by Sons & Daughters very much, so by default is my album of the year. I would have also mentioned Fleet Foxes but all and sundry seem to be raving about that, so it would hardly be an original pick. Biggest disappointment was the re-issue of Dennis Wilson's Pacific Ocean Blue, which is soft rock stoner nonsense, not the lost classic it's purported to be.

2009 has been exhausting so far, I have eventually started my job with the badass street punks at the council, whilst still donning my lovely cape at the weekend. I am permanently tired and bewildered by the effort of maintaining one job and getting my head around the complexities of a new one. The basic problem is that my ability in interviews far exceeds my actual ability to perform the job in question, perhaps I should give them fair warning and tell them that I am basically a buffoon with a talent for flanneling my way through interviews, get the disappointment out of the way early. Nevertheless it is very odd being back in a social services office again, I'd forgotten how as a species, social workers are extremely foul mouthed. In every social services office the f-word has been the building block of most sentences, perhaps Social Workers en masse are attempting to play down their image as sandal wearing, yogurt knitting do-gooders, by using the kind of language that would make a sailor blush.

Give it a few weeks and I'll probably be effing and jeffing with the best of them. Well I say that, but I am actually a rubbish swearer, it always sounds slightly forced and if I'm trying too hard to shock, impress or be 'one of the lads.' I blame my parents for bringing me up too well, despite years of illicit practice I still can't swear convincingly or spit properly - no one knows how the children of the aspirant lower middle class suffer.

1 comment:

Madame DeFarge said...

Don't forget. It's usually, 'jings, crivens, help ma boab' - at least it with me and I am officially couthy.

Nothing wrong with going with the tide on Fleet Foxes. I can listen to it for hours.

My mother rarely swears, but when she was teaching, she would invariably blame any inadvertent 'cussing' on what she's picked up from her class. Never convinced personally.