Visibility: I see a buzzword

Visibility: not what it used to be

Visibility: not what it used to be

Once upon a time, if people didn’t know the answer to a question, they’d say they didn’t know the answer. Now, if they work in a big organisation, they’re just as likely to say, “I don’t have visibility about that.” They’ll say they’re sending an email so the recipient “has visibility”.

I first heard visibility used in this way in Rebekah Brooks’ evidence to the House of Commons media select committee hearing into the News of the World phone hacking scandal in 2011:

“One of the problems of this case has been our lack of visibility and what was seized at Glenn Mulcaire’s home. We have had zero visibility.”

Where did this nonsense come from? I have no idea, but I’m sure it follows the belief that jargon and buzzwords are more impressive than plain English. The truth is the opposite. Language like this deadens the senses. People use it without thinking.

Here’s my earlier post about jargon and buzz phrases. Sadly, ‘roadmap’ and ‘granularity’ remain as common in office language today as two years ago.

You guys – the greeting that grates

Call me old fashioned if you like. But I hate the expression ‘you guys’.

I’m not sure why I dislike it so intensely. It may be because it seems vulgar – I’m not impressed when restaurant staff use it. (I certainly don’t want to be called sir, but ‘you guys’ seems crass and discourteous.) Or it may be because referring to women as guys seems a bizarre and backward development after women spent decades rebelling against the idea that references to men should be taken to include women. (A bit like the infamous 19th century book whose index said ‘for Wales see England’.)

I’m not alone – the Guardian has published a series of letters this week from readers rebelling against ‘you guys’. My favourite was the following:

Can I propose a new year’s resolution that the expression “guys” be banned unless one is actually named Guy.
Guy Sowerby
Bingham, Nottingham

I await a deluge of comments from women saying they’re perfectly happy with the phrase!

When cappuccino was called frothy coffee

Today’s Guardian carried a lighthearted editorial ‘In praise of … a simple coffee’. It praises Debenhams’ plain English coffee menu. Goodbye to latte, hello milky coffee.

The story made me think back to coffee time with Mum in 1970s Cardiff. South Wales has long been associated with Italian cafes: a legacy of the arrival of scores of people from Italy during the 19th century boom years. Mum and I used to go to Ferrari’s on Wellfield Road near Roath Park. I’d enjoy a frothy coffee after visiting the toy and book shops on Albany Road, or the library.

Years later, I discovered cappuccino. It took a while before I realised that it was exactly the same drink. But usually a lot more expensive – with the honourable exception of the 50p takeaway latte I bought in Giraffe in Richmond this morning!

In praise of Great Britain and London 2012

Great Britain: our country. Our greatest team.

Tonight marks the end of the greatest show on earth, the London 2012 Olympics. (Roll on the Paralympics!) It’s been a triumph for Great Britain as both host and the third most successful team.

I’ve loved the fact we’ve competed as Great Britain. I wrote during the Beijing Olympics how Great Britain is a far more resonant title for our country than United Kingdom. It’s small wonder that Churchill immortalised Britain in describing our battle for survival in 1940 as the Battle of Britain. He was proud to describe himself as Great Britain’s prime minister. ‘United Kingdom’ carries no such emotional weight. It simply refers to our country’s constitutional status. No one would die in a ditch for the ‘Youkay’. (Britain’s national anthem leaves me equally cold, given it’s all about the head of state not the country. I remain unmoved by the song even after 29 plays…)

(PS: Before anyone comments, I do know the difference between Great Britain and the UK. Perhaps some loyalists in Northern Ireland feel aggrieved that the media never use the Olympic team’s full title of ‘Great Britain and Northern Ireland’.)

Deckchairs on the Titanic

‘Deckchairs on the Titanic’ is one of those clichés banned by John Rentoul in his Banned List book. So I should be wary about using it in a post, after praising John’s campaign for plain and fresh English.

But I’m prompted by a letter in today’s Guardian from Colin Shone reporting a promotion for Wrexham Lager ‘as served on the Titanic’. Is there an opportunity here for deckchair makers?

And so it begins*: the fight against jargon and cliché

I love plain English. Not boring English, but English that is a pleasure to read.

The journalist John Rentoul feels the same way, as he has written a wonderful short book called The banned list: a manifesto against jargon and cliché. You can download it as an e-book or pick up a printed version.

In today’s online world, phrases move from vivid newcomer to cliché far more quickly. Rentoul mentions ‘It’s the economy, stupid’ as the phrase that first provoked him. This famous slogan is now 20 years old, and was a highlight of Bill Clinton’s first presidential campaign.

By contrast, few of today’s new expressions will still be around in 2032. Take ‘roadmap’. This has spread like wildfire in the last year or so, almost replacing a perfectly adequate, and shorter, word: plan. Another phrase, or device, banned by Rentoul is the intensely annoying trick of using full stops for emphasis. (The.Best.Book.Ever.) This may have been clever once (though I doubt it) but it’s now just very irritating. It’s the linguistic equivalent of 1970s chocolate coloured bathroom suites.

Politicians are the worst offenders. They should pay 75% tax for a year if they use phrases like ‘hard-working families’ or ‘delivering on a promise (or agenda)’.

John Rentoul is following the example of Sir Ernest Gowers, who wrote Plain Words in 1948 to help civil servants write clearly. As Gowers said, the idea of writing is to get an idea from one person’s mind to another. Jargon baffles people while clichés can distract and also reduce a writer’s credibility. I bought Gowers’ updated book, the Complete Plain Words, when I was at university in the 1980s and applauded his intentions.

Rentoul and Gowers both argue that short words and phrases are usually better than long ones. Rentoul describes ‘opportunity’ as a way of saying ‘chance’ in seven syllables instead of one. There are many examples of this: ‘on a monthly basis’ is an ugly way of saying ‘every month’. ‘In terms of’ is almost always a wasted phrase: you can usually delete it. (‘Better value in terms of price’ just means ‘cheaper’.)

All this matters. Tired phrases don’t inspire people. And complicated phrases challenge the reader, who may give up or misunderstand what the writer is saying.

Part of the problem is that some writers think plain words are unimpressive. They think they need to use complicated words to show how clever they are. Yet the opposite is usually true. Clever, eloquent people use the right words and avoid clichés. Winston famously told Anthony Eden ‘As far as I can see you have used every cliché except “God is love” and “Please adjust your dress before leaving.”‘”

My own banned list

So… Why are people starting to start answers to questions with so? As in: “What’s different about the new product?” “So we decided to add…”

“Deliver on a promise”. This is a horrible expression. We used to keep promises. That’s a lovely phrase. So why the horribly ugly alternative? I blame politicians. (I complained about this in a letter published in the Guardian last year.)

“Granularity”. This just means detail. Only a management consultant could have thought this better.

‘Use case’. What’s wrong with ‘use’?

‘Form factor’. This is all too common in the technology industry. Like ‘use case’, the second word is superfluous.

‘The gift that keeps giving’. Shame on the Guardian for using this in an editorial about David Cameron and charities today.

* PS: I was being provocative using ‘And so it begins’ in the headline to this post. Sorry.

A promise: my letter in The Guardian

Today's Guardian includes a short letter from me on one of my favourite topics: how simple phrases are being replaced by ugly, longer ones.

It was prompted by a letter from Mary Williams about a query in the paper's Notes & Queries column asking why many people now say train station instead of railway station. In my letter I asked what fool decided to replace the lovely expression 'keeping a promise' with the horrible 'delivering on a promise'. 

Politicians and business leaders are the worst offenders. (The founder of BlackBerry-maker RIM, Mike Lazaridis, used a variation, 'deliver on a goal', in a RIM YouTube video saying sorry to customers whose smartphones had been out of action for days.) 

I've never understood why business people and politicians use gobbledegook. The simple way to get a message across is to use plain English. But as I've said many times on Ertblog, too many think simple language is somehow inadequate or unimpressive. The opposite is true.

On the subject of language, I discovered Tim Phillips' Talk Normal blog today. I loved the post about the nonsense spoken by sports commentators. Tim confirms the suspicion that politicians use obscure language to make unpalatable messages unintelligible – take this example from the HS2 high speed rail proposals

 

 

 

Obama in Britain: let’s stop talking of special relationship

PM Obama

An essential relationship? Photo © Prime Minister's Office

President Barack Obama's visit to Britain has been a huge success. We like America's 44th president. We're touched by his place in history as the first black president. And we cheered his election, as I blogged at the time. So the fact Obama has stolen hearts is no surprise. 

But I was dreadling the visit, in a small way, as I knew it would prompt a wave of comments about whether Britain and America shared a 'special relationship'. This is an obsession of politicians and the media. Yet no one in the bars of London, Cardiff or Edinburgh would give it a moment's thought. If they did, they'd surely point out that the UK and US have lots of relationships with lots of countries. And then get back to talking about Ryan Giggs.

Yet The Times carried an Obama and Cameron article lauding the essential relationship

It's true that Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt forged a very close relationship during our darkest days, the second world war. But the war leaders weren't in total harmony: FDR was soon tormented by WSC's wilder ideas, and Churchill was rightly frustrated and frightened by FDR's complacency about Soviet designs on eastern Europe. 

And all this talk of a special relationship encourages the two countries' addiction to military adventures, as the Guardian's Simon Jenkins comments today. At a time when the BBC's World Service (not to mention all our public services) has had its spending slashed, David Cameron miraculously found £1 billion to burn on a war in Libya that has absolutely nothing to do with Britain. Yet a BBC reporter said in all seriousness that America thinks Britain should spend more on 'defence'. 

Britain admires America and its president. But neither country has any reason to spin an idea of a mythical special relationship.

 

(What’s the narrative) morning glory?

(With apologies to Oasis…)

Why do people feel simple words aren't good enough? This question has featured before in Ertblog. I called it word inflation in a January 2008 post asking if we need a language policy committee

My current gripe is the way the lovely word 'story' is being replaced by 'narrative'. Columnists seem the worst offenders, as regularly seen in The Guardian's comment pages:

"Privately, they know human tragedy is a raw material ready to be forged into facile tabloid narratives..Richard Peppiatt

Why do they do it? Surely journalists of all people should know better than replace simple words with overblown buzzwords? 

If you can't beat them, join them. Here are a few suggestions:

Bedtime narrative

Rags to riches narrative

Tell us a narrative

Narrative time

Same old narrative

Narrative teller

Love narrative

Never ending narrative (sorry, Limahl…)

Multi-narrative car park (oops, wrong storey…)

 

Why is The Guardian addicted to swearing?

The BBC's Rory Cellan-Jones blogged today (Prudish about politics) about how he's been shocked by the foul language used by political bloggers and tweeters since he's been covering the general election campaign. His post was prompted by the fate of Labour candidate Stuart MacLennan, who made a string of offensive comments on Twitter. 

But my favourite paper seems just as addicted to language I'd never use in front of my mother. The Guardian's style guide is clear: the paper should not casually use words that are likely to offend, but should use them only when absolutely necessary to the facts of a piece, or to portray a character in an article; there is almost never a case when the paper needs to use a swearword outside direct quotes.

Yet the paper routinely ignores such sensible advice. On Good Friday, it published a letter from reader Patrick McNamee that included the f-word. It was part of a weak joke about the The Guardian's April Fool about Labour's election posters, and could hardly be regarded as necessary. Saturday's paper included the f-word in Charlie Brooker's television review and in an interview with Jonathan Ross and in a profile of actor Kayvan Novak. (The last two examples were at least in direct quotes.) A quick search suggests other instances in print and online. 

The Guardian's former readers' editor Siobhain Butterworth pointed out in her Open door column in 2008 that the printed paper used the f-word 843 times in 2007, compared with 33 times in 1985. Many people will hardly notice such profanity, as society generally effs and blinds far more casually than it did 25 years ago. But I find it strange that a paper so highly regarded for its stylish writing thinks swearing is necessary.