2010-11-25T04:34:00.000-08:00

Well, with only two weeks to go before I commence my final year at The University of Manchester it’s getting harder to suppress those increasingly regular swathes of enthusiasm. Although, to be perfectly frank, my enthusiasm is not at such a level that twenty minutes into my first lecture concerning the ridiculously complicated subject Advanced Grammar of English Verbs and Noun clauses I’ll more than likely be back on the ocean bed of life’s miserable sea, masquerading as a wreck of rotting indifference.

Grammar does that to a man. It sucks every ounce of a summer’s gathered verve from a body’s cavities and spills them into the waters of lethargy and pointlessness. I don’t really care about past participles, genitives, accusatives and their ilk, any more than I care about saving the world’s much maligned Seahorse population – but a good degree in English Language from a respected red brick University such as Manchester is worth stuffing down any pair of academically fashioned trousers. Afterall, you never know just when (or where) you may need it?

In preparation for my final year I’ve armed myself with an amazing amount of academic weaponry; the usual arsenal of books and reading material; an open but inquisitive mind; a huge spade of motivation and, rather inexplicably, a brand new dictionary. Inexplicably because I already have access to the Oxford English Dictionary (On-Line) but then again, I suppose nothing can really compare to holding the very orthographic bones of the English language in the palms of your own moist hands. There is nothing quite like the smell and feel of a fat wedge of lexicographer’s toil sitting on the preserved wood of old teak fashioned into the shape of a writing desk - words waiting excitedly under the dark yet clear and concise skies of its unopened pages. Words such as obdurate and similitude practically smile at you as you flick through the order of its volume and salivate at the potential for making a noise inside the vacuous world of modern day literature. I know, I know – it’s just a dictionary but try telling that to the likes of Doctor Samuel Johnson and other beardy linguists. Dictionaries are revered with much the same gravity as holy books. If they’re not – they bloody well should be.

I suppose one benefit of perusing a dictionary is that it significantly increases a reader’s chance of stumbling across a great sounding word. Notwithstanding a word’s conceptual meaning(s), many words as they’re uttered are as smooth as a silkworm’s bottom. Their phonological sound lingers like that of Chopin’s timeless musical notes. Words such as elementary and loquacious are two examples of words that strut their rhythmic melodies with an arrogance often reserved for the sexually alluring sounds of the romance languages themselves.

Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just weird. Maybe the idea of’ jacking off’ to the notion of linguistics is as bizarre as having unprotected sex with root vegetables or watermelons – but words are all we have. Well, that ain’t exactly true, I know. Yet without words life would be much more primal - and a lot less exciting.

same desert - different tent.