We are nearing the date when some of us launch into certain wearied phrases in the hope that those reading them will become happy and/or merry. I am against this practice and have been twitted – misguidedly – on the assumption I’m against humanity (or worse). I’ll discuss this later but there are two rather obvious reasons for re-examining these salutations.
Why pick out this date alone? Might it imply we don’t give a damn about our audience during the other 364 days of the year? Also, if parochially British middle-class, the adjective “merry” can mean “drunken”. Suggesting we approve of indulgence and could also be harbouring a hope that our readers may enjoy good sex on the 25th. Fine, but let’s keep it tightly moored in the harbour.
But chacun à son gout as the French say, although it’s wise to acknowledge that they may not be saying it these days. The French tend to discard colloquialisms on the grounds of old age. Unfrench tourists may get frosty looks when they try to dig them up.
What I truly detest is that these clichés arrive unthinkingly as blog comments. As proof that their launcher has hovered somewhere near the post AND DONE NOTHING ELSE. That they have imitated the way a dog shows he has passed this way. A dubious insurance policy against the possible charge that they can’t be said to have ignored the post.
If the post turns out to be duff either (a) point this out in a literate manner, or (b) say nothing. If the post has benefited you in some way you are briefly in debt to its author; think about it for a minute or two; then transcribe those thoughts. It could be the start of a dialogue and dialogue is what distinguishes us from lettuce-eating slugs.
Have I rained on your seasonal parade? It’s a privilege of extreme old age and you too may make 90 as I have done. Goodness knows, I may even flirt with merriment tonight.
Crusty? Certainly.
Sententious? Without doubt.
Still worrying about what Abraham agreed to do to Isaac?. It never goes away.
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