82 – A post with a difference: Shafted in the shaft

This is what happened to me on 17th July 2015. While the tone of this post is jocular, I can promise you that I wasn’t laughing when all this was happening.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Aren’t they a marvellous invention, shopping trolleys? Mine, of sleek design and funky appearance, is rarely parted from me, and I wheel it around exuberantly. So it was to my stripy Rolser that I entrusted some books and other reading matter that day. The stuff was heavy, and I can’t be doing with attaché cases and the like. But one thing a loaded trolley doesn’t like is being dragged up the stairs, so there was only one thing for it – the lift, an invention nearly as marvellous as the trolley itself.

Even though I rarely take lifts, I summoned this one unhesitatingly, stepped in gingerly and pressed the up-button – somewhat nonchalantly. The machine creaked, shook and commenced its upward crawl. As we inched upwards, I marvelled at this ancient piece of engineering and wondered whether it would qualify for a listed status – grade C, maybe? As I was pondering if a lift could actually be listed as an object of special architectural or historic interest, the thing came to a gentle stop. I grabbed my trolley and moved towards the door – only to find that there was no door.

I stood there, startled: where the hell has it gone? I looked around, but all I could see were walls – on all four sides. Good grief! I looked up, and there it was, a sliver of light at the very bottom of the door. But it was way above my head; even on tiptoe, I couldn’t reach it. How? Why? What the …? I looked around my trap: the only thing I could do – apart from screaming, obviously – was to press the buttons. One was the down-button, one was the up-button, one was the panic button and one was the stop button. Well, I certainly didn’t need that one! I pressed the up-button with all the force I could muster – nothing. I frantically pressed the down-button – not a thing.

The next logical thing was to scream at the top of my lungs, at which point it occurred to me that the panic button could also come in handy. Granted, pressing it didn’t offer any practical solution, but both actions produced the desired effect: after a spell of my hollering from the depths of the lift shaft, reinforced with the alarm bell, a female chin appeared high up in the small window positioned at the top of the lift door. The owner of the chin, a female council clerk, for I was in the offices of our borough council, looked down into the lift shaft.

“Have you pressed the button?”

Have I pressed the button!?! Never in the history of button-pressing has there been a more concerted effort expended on pressing the damn thing.

“I have, I have, look!” I yelled and repeated the manoeuvre in a most demonstrative way I was capable of. The clerk nodded and disappeared from view. I could hear footsteps echoing in the free world and then some sort of commotion. Another chin materialised high up. I waved, rather pathetically. The possessor of the chin cheerily waved back and made a helpful enquiry.

“Have you pressed the button?”

Have I … ? “Yes, yes, look!” Reassured that I had, indeed, pressed the button in question, my interlocutor nodded and said, “We’ll get you somebody”.

“Maybe the fire brigade?”

The chin disappeared, and I could hear more noises; one female voice was pondering the practicalities of using a crowbar in similar situations, with others making contributions I couldn’t quite catch, although somebody did mention a ladder. Now was the time to appraise my predicament more coolly, if coolly could be applied to what was in effect an increasingly stuffy cage. I examined my trap again. How far was it to the bottom of the door – five/ six feet, perhaps? So, after they have smashed the door, they would have to lower a ladder to get me out. How many rungs would that be? Now, I have a confession to make: although I have scaled innumerable mountains, I’m no good with ladders and turn to jelly after the first few steps. But, somehow, I didn’t think I would be a reluctant ladder-climber on this particular occasion and began to feel slightly better.

“Are they coming?” I yelled.

A voice from above said, “Some council bloke is.”

“What council bloke?”

“From Workington.”

“From Workington? But it’s miles away – with the parking and that, it may take an hour!”

“No, no, they said 12 minutes.”

“But you can’t get from Workington to Keswick in 12 minutes!”

“No, no, they definitely said 12 minutes. Have you pressed the button?”

“Y-E-E-E-S!!!”

My exasperation with this line of questioning notwithstanding, I felt that, if they’d definitely said 12 minutes, further arguments would be futile. Besides, I wasn’t exactly in a strong bargaining position, although – with hindsight – I could have feigned a faint or something. But people of my moral rectitude don’t pull stunts like that. The only thing at this juncture was to relieve tension by cracking manic jokes, and I believe I started demanding that my rescuers be handsome and making other similarly inappropriate comments. Gallows humour, they call it – I can certainly see what they mean.

After more than half an hour, however, even this strategy began to show cracks.

“May I have the fire brigade, please!”

“He’s coming, he’s coming!”

“The fire brigade?”

“No, they are not allowed to call the fire brigade.”

“Who is not allowed?”

“The council.”

“Whyever not?”

The reply, if there was one, was drowned out by all the noises on the floor above, and my anxiety began to get the better of me.

“Please, please, get me the fire brigade!”

“Not long now, not long now. But we’ve found the manual!”

Now, lady pensioners, of whom I am one, are incontrovertibly a pillar of the community, but the image of them holding the manual with one hand and fiddling with lift electrics – or was it electronics – with the other somehow failed to offer me the reassurance I so desperately needed at that point. Were any of them (apart from the clerk, they were all lady pensioners) into electrics at all? I knew for a fact that one was into bird-watching and another into table-tennis, but I wondered about the others. Wait, wait, one said she was in the Women’s Institute! Didn’t somebody tell me once that the WI is supposed to have made great strides since the days of jam-making and was now into all sorts? But could they have possibly progressed so far? I mean, providing women with educational opportunities is one thing, but actually branching out into engineering …?

“Fire brigade!” I wailed in a voice I barely recognised.

“Won’t be long, won’t be long. But you know what?”

“What, WHAT?”

“Apparently, they serviced the lift last week.”

Heavens above, was our local government in such dire financial straits that they couldn’t stretch to half-decent lift maintenance? If so, we were surely all doomed, this refrain from a well-known British film racing through my mind. But the thought of my own impending doom was far more pressing.

“GET ME THE FIRE BRIGADE!”

“He’ll be here in a minute!!”

An hour into my imprisonment, I heard some loud banging and, for the first time, a male voice. A male voice! Now, I defy anybody who denies men their uses.

“It may be the fuse,” said the male voice.

“This fuse?” My lady pensioners were clearly on the ball.

I heard some more noises, and then, out of the blue, the light in the lift went out. What the …?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have warned you,” said the male voice.

So he should have, but at least he was apologetic.

“I’ll let you know before I turn it off again.”

“Please do,” I squeaked. He did, but no amount of fiddling with the electrics – or was it electronics – could bring the lift back to life. There was further banging and shaking, there were further footsteps and confabulations, but I still wasn’t going anywhere.

It was now an hour and a half into my ordeal, and, to make matters even worse, I could no longer hear the male voice.

“CALL THE FIRE BRIGADE, PLEASE!!!”

“We are calling the fire brigade.”

Did I hear this right? It looked as if the lady pensioners had taken matters into their own hands – at long last! The fire brigade arrived within a few minutes. When it appeared high up in the little window, the first male chin, with a helmet above it, was a vision to relish. The boys set to work immediately. Amid much noise, the lift began shaking violently and then, millimetre by millimetre, making its slow descent to the floor below. Suddenly, a portion of a little widow appeared at the very bottom of the lift. I crouched and, instead of chins, I could now see foreheads, then eyes, then noses, then lips, then entire faces, for, in anticipation of my imminent release, the congregation had relocated to the lower floor. And then, I was free. Needless to say, the firefighters were the handsomest men I had ever set my eyes on!

PS

I have since written to the Chief Executive of our borough council, who has replied, assuring me that he ordered ‘a thorough investigation’ into the incident. To me, the key thing is to ensure that nobody is ever again left trapped for that length of time – over an hour and a half – because of some, totally inexplicable, rule preventing council staff from calling the fire brigade. On my release, I simply couldn’t believe my ears when the council clerk told me that her line manager had FORBIDDEN her from calling emergency services. She did phone the firm responsible for servicing the lift, but, despite the 12-minute reassurance, the lift engineer arrived only AFTER I was freed by the fire brigade. And, when he did turn up, he appeared completely unperturbed, dismissing my question as to the exact time of his arrival with a shrug and failing to show any concern at all. ‘Excellent customer experience’, which our borough council apparently prides itself on providing, it wasn’t – although it certainly was an experience! (By the way, show me ONE  ‘customer-facing’ – urgh – organisation which doesn’t pride itself on ‘providing an excellent customer experience’, and I will show you a three-legged Kakapo.)

PPS (added on July 22nd)

The said lift engineer, who breezed in blithely after the rescue operation had been concluded and seemed to exude I-don’t-give-a-fig indifference, had Express Elevators emblazoned on his sweatshirt. Express – you couldn’t make it up!

But council officials have been contrite and promised an investigation and a review of the relevant procedures; they have also sent me a nice bouquet of flowers. Given that I’m fine, we might just remain friends – as long as nobody else is put in a similar position.

Advertisements

81 – Midi-rant: The Education Secretary in a comma tangle

“It says here that Nicky Morgan is your Education Secretary.”

“She is indeed.”

“Goodness me!”

“No, no, they say she is quite good.”

“It’s not that!”

“What do you mean it’s not that? You wouldn’t want cabinet ministers to be incompetent, would you?”

“No, no, it’s how she was quoted in yesterday’s Daily Telegraph. She is supposed to have been speaking about changing her mind on gay marriage.”

“Oh yes, yes, she used to be against. I mean, honestly – in this day and age …”

“No, no, NO: it’s not THAT!”

“So what is it then?”

“How they put it.”

“How did they put it?”

“What changed my mind was talking to same-sex couples.”

“So? All credit to her, I’d say. Not everyone would publicly admit to changing their mind – and on such a sensitive issue at that.”

“No, no, no, it’s this idiotic comma!”

“What idiotic comma?”

“The one they plonked after ‘mind’. Look at this!”

And, indeed, there is was, leaping off page 5.

 “What changed my mind, was talking to same-sex couples.”

“Oh yes, yes, it’s not all that uncommon, the comma separating the subject from its verb.”

“How come? Isn’t that a basic punctuation principle? I mean that you don’t separate those bits of the sentence that are closely related?”

“Of course it is. But I don’t think British schools used to be bothered. They may be now, but they weren’t for a long time.”

“Good grief!”

“I know, I know. So many folk are in the dark.”

“Including newspaper sub-editors?”

“Including newspaper sub-editors. And, of course, to avoid this error in all contexts you need to be taught that the subject needn’t be a noun phrase and may be a nominal clause such as this.”

“I wonder what your Education Secretary would make of that.”

“‘Must try harder,’ I should imagine.”

78 – Frolic: When editors fall asleep on the job

Finally, they have cracked it! The venerable Oldie has just provided an answer to the question which has been vexing us for ages.

“The overwhelming majority of climate scientists accept that climate change is occurring thanks to factual evidence gathered over decades and more.”

So that is why climate change is occurring – fancy that! And what length of time is more than decades? Some more decades? Careless word order is at the root of many a misunderstanding, yet a moment of reflection (aka editing, a concept which seems alien to some) is all it is likely to take to prevent similar slip-ups. Usually, moving an unfortunately placed phrase or clause does the trick.

Thanks to factual evidence gathered over decades, the overwhelming majority of climate scientists accept that climate change is occurring.

Meanwhile, the editor of Your Money section of The Daily Telegraph had me utterly baffled with this sentence.

“You battled long and hard to get redress without success.”

I imagine getting redress without success would be nigh on impossible. Yet all it takes to make this oxymoron disappear is one, judiciously positioned, comma.

You battled long and hard to get redress, without success.

Alternatively:

You battled long and hard, albeit without success, to get redress.

Not a Guardian devotee, I was nevertheless hooked by an article on multiculturalism. Having been appointed professor of public policy at Stanford University, the author, originally from Canada, was waxing lyrical about becoming an American citizen. And not only did the professor expose the abject failure of multiculturalism in Western Europe – he also made a ground-breaking anthropological discovery. The latter went like this:

“The judge actually told us we now had equal rights to anyone in the country who had lived there for 3,000 years.”

Where the US leads, the rest of the world follows, so I rejoiced at the prospect of such phenomenal longevity. Alas, I quickly realised that what the professor must have been trying to say is this:

The judge told us we now had the same rights as anyone whose ancestry in the country went back 3,000 years.

Even so, one needs to plan for one’s retirement, which is why I devour articles on pensions. Imagine the extent of my discombobulation when I read this in The Daily Telegraph.

“Annuities provide a guaranteed income for the rest of someone’s life in retirement, but when they die the pension dies with them.”

So what is one supposed to do when one’s annuity dies? Having been diligently saving into a private pension, I began to panic – only to remind myself that pronouns are often used in ways which obscure their reference. Phew!

Annuities provide a guaranteed retirement income for the rest of someone’s life, but, when the person dies, the pension dies with them.

Finally, in an interview to The Sunday Telegraph an Italian chef goes a boast too far with a description of his six-acre kitchen.

“My villa has eight bedrooms, a cinema room, outside kitchen and inside kitchen set in six acres with a vineyard and private lake.”

Why such nonsense should ever be allowed to slip the editorial net is hard to fathom.

My villa has eight bedrooms, a cinema room and not only an inside but also an outside kitchen and is set in six acres with a vineyard and private lake.

This is what happens when sub-editors fall asleep on the job.

74 – Midi-rant: Accented moustache and suspect soundness

What on earth was I doing reading about a chap who got off on owning Rolls-Royces? A non-driver, I’m completely impervious to the delights of any automobile, so this must have been one of those temporary aberrations to which I fall prey on occasion. Anyway, here I am, deeply buried in The Sunday Times and feeling mildly bemused by this journalist waxing lyrical about how a Rolls-Royce “carries a greater weight of association, assumption and prejudice”, when I get walloped with this revelation.

“I got it from a nice man called Alan, who owns a moustache with a strong Midlands accent.”

While I would agree that having an accented moustache is no more than any man selling second-hand Rolls-Royces deserves, I have a sneaky suspicion that this was not what the hack, hailed as the paper’s most brilliant writer, meant – unless it was a tortuous attempt at hilarity (which I doubt). So what is an inveterate editor to do? How about this?

I got it from a nice man called Alan, who owns a moustache and has [OR speaks with] a strong Midlands accent.

Or might a shorter version be better?

I got it from a nice man called Alan, with a moustache and strong Midlands accent.

In either case, the solution lies in deploying coordination, that is linking units of text by means of a coordinating conjunction (i.e. and, or or but).

Having overdosed on the unparalleled virtues of Rolls-Royces and the author’s verbal dexterity, I turned my attention to BBC Radio 4. To those reading this outside Britain, BBC Radio 4 is a beacon of broadcasting excellence, so I was slightly taken aback by this statement.

“She begins to suspect the soundness of her own mind.”

Had she been of unsound mind before, I wondered. But the context categorically precluded that interpretation, although it was the only one allowed by this sentence. It didn’t take me long, though, to work out what the broadcaster was attempting to say, which was this.

She begins to doubt the soundness of her own mind.

Careless word choice is at the root of many a misunderstanding, my file literally bursting with similar examples. But, since I’m trying not to be over-indulgent with this rant, I’m saving these quotes for later; I hope you will bear with me.

 

 

69 – Frolic: Babies and participles

“Blimey, your health service …”

“Yes?”

“It’s incredible.”

“Do you think so?”

“Well, maybe not all of it, but your midwifery – the mind boggles.”

“It does?”

“Absolutely. I mean delivering babies isn’t usually a walk in the park – not in Poland anyway.”

“I’d say not anywhere.”

“A-a-a-a, but that’s just it.”

“That’s just what?”

“It is, apparently.”

“It is what?”

“A walk in the park.”

“Look, you are not making any sense here – what is a walk in the park?”

“How you deliver babies. In Britain.”

“Get away!”

“No, no, it is. Or, at least, it can be.”

“Says who?”

“The Times Educational Supplement. I’ve found this article – in your archives. Listen to this.”

 “When delivered in a fresh, artistic way, children will seize on writing as they do art and drawing.”

 “Oh this, ha, ha, ha!”

“What’s so funny? I mean what a feat: they manage to deliver kids in a fresh way. And artistic! I defy you to beat that.”

“No, no, they don’t deliver children!”

“What do you mean they don’t deliver children? Are you saying that The Times Educational Supplement would have wilfully misinformed its readers?”

“No, no, of course not; it’s just that they didn’t know their grammar.”

“Are you saying you need to know grammar to deliver babies?”

“No, yes, I mean everybody needs grammar to communicate – grammar is the mortar that holds the bricks of vocabulary together – but this has nothing to do with babies; it’s a dangler.”

“A dangling baby?”

“NOT A BABY THERE IS NO BABY – IT’S A DANGLING PARTICIPLE!!!”

“A dangling what?”

“Participle. ‘Delivered’ is a dangling participle here.”

“Why is it dangling?”

“Because they made it refer to the wrong noun.”

“They did?”

“Absolutely. They obviously thought that you could relate an initial participle such as ‘delivered’ to the object – which, in this sentence, is writing – but you can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“Nope. Initial participles will always be interpreted as referring to the subject of the main clause – ALWAYS. And the subject here is children.”

“Sure, it’s an important subject.”

“No, no, I don’t mean a subject of discussion – I mean grammar. It’s a very common error.”

“It is?”

“Yep. But it’s very easy to put right. Whenever an initial participle is meant to refer to the object instead of the subject, you just change the voice of the main clause from active to passive – that’s all.”

“Is that really all?”

“Yep. Because, when you change the voice, the object becomes the subject.”

“And what happens to the subject?”

“It becomes the agent.”

“Secret?”

“Get away! Look, what they were trying to say was this.”

  “When delivered in a fresh, artistic way, writing will be seized on by children as eagerly as art and drawing.”

 “Blimey.”

66 – Grammar shot: Asymmetry with correlatives (either/or)

Happy New Year! I have decided to introduce yet another type of post, namely a grammar shot. While I will aim to keep such posts light-hearted, the emphasis will be on grammar.

 

“How right they are.”

“About what?”

“Charm.”

“What about it?”

“You either have it, or you don’t.”

 “Either you have it, or you don’t.”

“Exactly.”

“No, no, I mean asymmetry.”

“But I was talking about charm.”

“No, yes, what I mean is that you’ve got asymmetry there.”

“Where, where? Pass me the mirror, will you?”

“No, no, not your appearance.”

“Thank goodness! You know what they say about beauty: the more regular your features …”

“No, no, no! I’m talking about grammar.”

“Grammar? What has grammar got to do with charm?”

“No, no, not with charm. But you said: ‘You either have it, or you don’t’.”

“So?”

“You see, ‘either/or’ are correlative conjunctions.”

“Are they really?”

“Yep. Or correlatives – for short.”

“And?”

“Well, people often misplace them, and what results is asymmetry. It’s a very common error.”

“It is?”

“Yep; you’ve just made it.”

“Me?”

“Aha. Just bracket off what comes after each of the correlative conjunctions, and you will see.”

“How do you mean?”

“Look.”

 You either [have it], or [you don’t].

 “So?”

“Now extract the bracketed stuff and put it side by side, like this.”

 First bracketed unit: have it

Second bracketed unit: you don’t

 “So?”

“Well, how does it look?”

“Bitty.”

“No, no, that’s not the point.”

“So what’s the point?”

“Would you say that these two bracketed constituents do an equivalent job or have an equivalent status?”

“I don’t know; are they meant to?”

“Absolutely. Look what happens when I do this to my version.”

 Either [you have it], or [you don’t].

 First bracketed unit: you have it

Second bracketed unit: you don’t

“Are the bracketed constituents equivalent now?”

“I suppose; but does it really matter? As long as you can get what the stuff’s about …”

“Oh yes, yes, the famous proclamation.”

“What famous proclamation?”

“We know what we mean – the less you know, the more often you trot it out. I mean … I don’t mean … not you, obviously. But asymmetry is asymmetry: while some instances can be barely perceptible, others are more striking.”

“They are?”

“Yep. Take this; it’s from The Sunday Times.”

 “She’s either criticised for being too fat or too thin.”

 “Who?”

“Never mind who; just bracket off what comes after either and or.”

“Just a sec, just a sec; you mean that what they should have written is this?”

 She’s criticised for being either too fat or too thin.

 “Absolutely. But that was easy. Just look at this – from The Evening Standard.”

 “Nick should either be able to carry on investing via his Personal Equity Plan (PEP) or by using the tax shelter within the new Individual Savings Account (ISA).”

 “Hmm …”

“Brackets, brackets!”

“Just a sec, just a sec; you mean this?”

 Nick should be able to carry on investing either via his PEP or by using the tax shelter within the new ISA.

 “That’s it, that’s it! And this is from The Times Educational Supplement.”

 “Teachers would either be paid extra to supervise the sessions, or non-teaching staff would be employed.”

 “You mean this?”

 Either teachers would be paid extra to supervise the sessions, or non-teaching staff would be employed.

“By Jove, you’ve got it! But such asymmetry is extremely common; even professors of English stumble over their correlatives.”

Professors of English?”

“Yep; and all sorts of other luminaries. And it’s not only ‘either/or’ that are problematic.”

“Get away!”

“No, no, I’m serious. Other correlatives notorious for being misplaced are ‘neither/nor’, ‘both/and’, ‘not/but’, ‘not only/but also’ and ‘whether/or’.”

“Blimey!”

“So mind how you go and, when in doubt, just use brackets.”

“Hmm, I think I’d better.”

 

 

Frolic: Meek parents and content disjuncts

“Blimey, those British parents!”

“What about them?”

“I never knew they could be so meek.”

“Meek? British parents?”

“Well, to allow yourself to be abused like this when you are a fully-functioning adult. Particularly when there’s a few of you and only one abuser.”

“Depending on the type of the abuse, I suppose. What have you been reading now?”

The Daily Telegraph.”

“And?”

“They wrote about this children’s doctor who sexually abused not only the boys he was supposed to be looking after but also their parents.”

“You are kidding!”

“No, no, look: that’s what they wrote.”

  “John Farmer, prosecuting, told the court how Bradbury abused boys with their parents in the room and said the doctor began using a camera pen in an attempt to gain images of the boys when partly clothed.”

“No, no, it’s the commas!”

“But they said it was sexual abuse.”

“I know, I know, it’s absolutely awful, but he didn’t actually abuse the parents.”

“But they said he had abused boys with their parents!”

“No, no, no: ‘with their parents in the room’ is a content disjunct.”

“A what?”

“A content disjunct – a type of adverbial.”

 “Of what?”

“Adverbial – one of the five clause elements. This one is actually a contingency construction.”

“A WHAT?”

“Oh never mind; the point is that ‘with their parents in the room’ should have been enclosed with two correlative commas.”

“Correlative commas?”

“Yep, commas that come in pairs – because they co-relate. If The Daily Telegraph had used these commas, the meaning would be completely different.”

“I s-e-e-e, so he didn’t actually abuse the parents themselves.”

“Nope.”

“But, even so, they must have twigged.”

“Well, it says here that he was behind a curtain, doesn’t it? So they probably couldn’t see him.”

“But, but … how could anybody not have noticed that this doctor was partly clothed? Surely, alarm bells must have rung or something …”

“Ha, ha, ha, it wasn’t he who was partly clothed!”

“But that’s what it says …”

“I know, I know, but it’s a relatively common error. Look, participial adverbials really are a minefield – how many times? What they should have written is this.”

 John Farmer, prosecuting, told the court that Bradbury had abused boys, with their parents in the room, and said the doctor had begun using a camera-pen in an attempt to obtain images of the partly-clothed boys.

 “Or they could have said: ‘to obtain images of the boys, who were partly clothed’. What they can’t do is leave this sentence as it is.”

“But that’s exactly what they did.”

“Yep, that’s exactly what they did.”

“So how …”

“Don’t even ask!”

Frolic: Another dangling participle

“Poor, poor man!”

“Who?”

“This Rupert.”

“Which Rupert?”

“Rupert Christiansen. From The Daily Telegraph. I thought that Rupert was supposed to be a posh name.”

“It is, but there are worse things you could do to a kid. Fair dos, he might prefer to be called something down-to-earth like Peter or John, but you can’t expect all parents to be that sensible. So I wouldn’t feel too sorry for him.”

“No, no, it’s not that!”

“So what is it then?”

“His background; poor mite.”

“Hmm, I see what you mean: some of those toffs can be right weirdos; at least that’s what I’ve read.”

“A-a-a-a, but that’s just it!”

“That’s just what?”

“They weren’t toffs at all.”

“They weren’t?”

“Nope.”

“So what were they?”

“Pagans, apparently.”

“Well, some toffs may well hold different beliefs, so I wouldn’t …”

“No, no, no, if they were toffs, why did they then palm him off on some peasants?”

“Peasants?  Listen, you are not making any sense.”

“It’s not me – look at what they wrote. Right at the very top of this article.”

 “Begun by pagans, kept alive by peasants – Rupert Christiansen traces the surprising origins of our favourite seasonal songs.”

 “Ha, ha, ha, it’s another … ha, ha, ha … it’s another dangler.”

“Another dangler?”

“Yep; you know, a dangling participle. Two, actually: begun and kept. I’ve told you about dangling participles, haven’t I?”

“You have, you have.”

“They are an absolute classic.”

“But it’s The Daily Telegraph …”

“Makes no difference. Look, what they were trying to say was this.

 Rupert Christiansen traces the surprising origins of our favourite seasonal songs, begun by pagans, kept alive by peasants.

 “I s-e-e-e. But didn’t you tell me that people often started their sentences with participles to sound sophisticated?”

“They do, they do, but a dangler will never sound sophisticated – trust me.”

“Are you saying that it’s not possible to plonk these participles at the beginning here?”

“Nope, I’m not saying that at all. But you have to rearrange this sentence to make sure that both participles refer to the subject of their governing clause.”

“Like … you mean … I’m not sure …. so how would you …”

“That’s how; look.”

 Begun by pagans, kept alive by peasants, our favourite seasonal songs have surprising origins, traced here by Rupert Christiansen.

 “A-a-a-a-a!”

Did I read that sign “write”?

This is from my cyber friend, Ankur Mithal. It should raise a smile – or two.

darkofficehumour

While I wait for the creative juices to flow, here is a collection of funny signs I received on email from a friend (source unknown – before the friend I mean) that I enjoyed reading:

In an office:
TOILET OUT OF ORDER……. PLEASE USE FLOOR BELOW

In a Laundromat:
AUTOMATIC WASHING MACHINES: PLEASE REMOVE ALL YOUR CLOTHES WHEN THE LIGHT GOES OUT

In a London department store:
BARGAIN BASEMENT UPSTAIRS

In an office:
WOULD THE PERSON WHO TOOK THE STEP LADDER YESTERDAY PLEASE BRING IT BACK OR FURTHER STEPS WILL BE TAKEN

In an office:
AFTER TEA BREAK STAFF SHOULD EMPTY THE TEAPOT AND STAND UPSIDE DOWN ON THE DRAINING BOARD

Outside a second-hand shop:
WE EXCHANGE ANYTHING – BICYCLES, WASHING MACHINES, ETC. WHY NOT BRING YOUR WIFE ALONG AND GET A WONDERFUL BARGAIN?

Notice in health food shop window:
CLOSED DUE TO ILLNESS

Spotted in a safari park:
ELEPHANTS…

View original post 71 more words

Daily Frolic 30: Pure-nonsense sequel

Phew – the final day of the daily-blogging challenge! Thank you so much for your patience; I will now revert to a more civilised frequency.

 

“How interesting.”

“What?”

“This Marine Policing Unit of the Metropolitan Police – how they dive and recover all sort of stuff, including bodies.”

“Including bodies?”

“Aha, they find quite a few, apparently.”

“Oh dear.”

“And they have this one female diver; The Sunday Times did a very interesting interview with her.”

“Oh yes?”

“I mean the conditions she has to endure under water – the darkness and the stench and all that …”

“Must be awful; I wouldn’t want her job for all the tea in China.”

“Me neither; but you know what the worst thing is?”

“You mean even worse than the bodies?”

“Aha.”

“What?”

“I think it’s affected her … ummm … cognitively, shall we say.”

“It has?”

“It must have done.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what she said.”

 “All of us are qualified to drive the lorry; the rest of us read and chat on the way back from the site to Wapping.”

 “I see what you mean – poor, poor woman.”

“I know; I hope it’s reversible.”

“Me too. But, evidently, sub-editors are also afflicted.”

“They are?”

“Yep. Only, in their case, the condition probably isn’t.”

“Isn’t what?”

“Reversible.”

“You reckon?”

“Yep.  Listen what they let through.”

“Who?”

“The folk on The Sunday Times.”

 “More than 45,000 pensioners are living in one of McCarthy and Stone’s 40,000 retirement homes.”

 “Oh dear, it must be awfully crowded in there!”

“You would think so. I must say these editors are quite consistent. ”

 “So what else have they let slip through?”

“This.”

 “A separate report by government inspectors showed that 4 out of 10 pupils aged 11 were two years below their reading age in three London boroughs.”

 “You mean they should have suppressed this for political reasons?”

“No, no, no – how can you be below your age? You can’t: you are always at your age – reading or otherwise. What they were trying to say was ‘below their expected reading age’.”

“A-a-a-a.”

“Listen to this; it’s more obvious.”

 “When he died, he grabbed my hand and said (…).”

 “Ha, ha, ha!”

“And how about this?”

 “A 12-year study by the American National Cancer Institute published last year found that men who drank at least six cups of coffee a day reduced their risk of dying by 10%.”

 “Well, even a 10% shot at immortality is not to be sniffed at; I will be plying hubby with coffee from now on.”

“So will I; ha, ha, ha! Here’s another one.”

 “Schools forced to readvertise blame the lack of candidates and their poor quality.”

 “Not sure I follow; I’d also be peeved if candidates were of poor quality.”

“Not if you didn’t get any – which is exactly what they wrote.”

“Who?”

“The Sunday Times; that’s where all these examples come from. But other newspapers can be just as illogical. Don’t have other examples to hand at the moment, but that’s what I heard on BBC Radio 4; they were talking about merging fire and rescue services.”

 “There have been two mergers in the past 20 years but none since.”

 “What?”

“I know, I know. This was also on the radio.”

 “After this, he had moved 360 degrees from his original position.”

 “Wow, that was quite a turn!”

“Yep; not quite the volte-face they meant, though.”

“It certainly wasn’t!”