At the risk of stating the bleeding obvious, words do not spring from nowhere. Their birth is the result of inspired thinking and some naturally are better than others.
Shakespeare, for example, was pretty nifty at them: addiction; arch-villain; assassination; bedazzled are all attributed to him. Horace Walpole came up with my favourite – serendipity. Yet not all coinages are quite so felicitous; Movember, Veganuary, frankenfood, illiterati, jeggings, moobs. None of these contrived constructions is in any way pleasing, especially the last – a horrible neologism for an unpleasant appearance. As for the first two – surely, if we wanted themes for a month, then, if you’re going to give up drinking, for example, March would be better than January, and it could be called Parch, while for those giving up smoking, then Vapril has a decent ring to it.
So I confess that my heart leapt last week when I read a statement from Thérèse Coffey, “the minister for litter”, when she called for direct action against the use of plastic straws, calling these excrescences “strawpedoes”. Yes, I know we’re supposed to deprecate puns, but show me a journalist who doesn’t have a weakness for them. However, this one word seemed to me to be a perfect summation of the plastic blight that is besetting the world and exercising everyone from Theresa May to David Attenborough and all right-minded people in between. Bravo, Thérèse Coffey, for this snappy and clever word.
In late breaking news, a brickbat, I’m afraid. A golfer called Eddie Pepperell was offering his opinion on the possible return to golfing greatness of Tiger Woods: “Our obsession with image, personality and the past, as opposed to substance, amazes me. I say that with respect, ie not meaning Tiger can’t substantively impact the game moving forward.” For that last hideous phrase, Pepperell should take himself back to the driving range.
