Until about 40 years ago the production of newspapers, magazines, and books relied on technology you could touch.
Pages were composed in hot metal type. A spongy paper-like material called a flong was pressed on to this metal. The flong was bent into a mould, and molten lead poured in to create a curved plate. That plate was bolted to a leviathan-sized press and newspapers were printed.
I grew up in that world. I was thrilled by the process of news rushed out and sold on street corners before the ink had dried.
Books were produced largely the same way, but slower. A dictionary could take years, perhaps decades, to compile. An addition was a major operation. An extra entry might require a whole chapter re-set, re-read, and re-checked.
Therefore, additions were rare. A change to a word’s meaning had to be firmly entrenched in the language before it earned a place. This control was reinforced by schoolmasters. If they heard pupils misuse a word, that pupil was corrected. If any upstart complained: “But sir, everyone in the playground is saying . . .” he was advised that the playground’s opinion was wrong.
Nowadays, people express themselves in an individual way. And are encouraged to do so. People innovate. They experiment. They create. The language is a turbulent, roiling whirlpool of meanings that cycle dizzily through being new, common, hackneyed, ironic, then discarded.
Online dictionaries reflect this. “Updates” (I’d term them “damage reports”) are regularly issued. This is made possible by digital technology. Dictionaries are now ephemeral entities existing in the ether. They have new meanings, new cantrips, whole pages of drivel added. This is called, by some, “progress”.
Is it really progress? Technology has become a bloated god on a throne far above mere mortals. Infallible, omnishambolic, uncaring. To rail against the unstoppable creep of “hi-tech” probably makes me sound a fool. A deluded King Canute who thinks to hold back the waves.
But then, I had a chap visit this week to fix my “smart meter”. He failed.
He hummed, hawed, and havered but the thing still sits beeping blindly and flashing forlornly like an electric fish washed up on the sand.
I had spent many an entertaining hour being misunderstood by call centre workers as I tried to pay someone, anyone, for gas and electricity I might have used. Though no one could unravel the mystery of how much had been used. Or if any had been used at all.
To get even to that stage, I had patiently cradled a phone to my ear for weeks, months, it may have been years.
I did learn something, though. I learned yet another change to the language had been made without me realising. The words “I’ll transfer your call” have come to mean “I’m going to cut you off, ha ha ha.”
Word of the week
Mispay (verb)
To displease, or dissatisfy. EG: “Who do I phone if my power supplier’s phone service mispays me?”
Read the latest Oh my word! every Saturday in The Courier. Contact me at sfinan@dctmedia.co.uk
