The blithering idiot who was feckless with his cliches

EXCUSE me, I wonder if you can help me . . .

Try me.

I was a bit worried by what this bloke called me the other day.

I see. And what did he call you?

A blithering idiot.

Hmm. Well, I wouldn't worry too much about that. By modern standards of insulting . . .

No, I wasn't worried about being insulted. I just wondered what it meant.

What what meant?

Blithering. I mean, how does one blither? How can one stop blithering? How do I know when I am blithering? Or is blithering perhaps a useful core activity these days?

I think it is a mistake to assume that it means anything at all.

But surely if a word is there it must mean something?

Not at all. That is not the way the English language works. A great deal of conversation is made up of words that serve no function, rather like buttons on a jacket sleeve which no longer have button-holes to go into.

Could you give me an example?

Well, 'blithering' is a good example because it not only means nothing but can only be used with the word 'idiot'. We never call someone a 'blithering fool' or 'blithering twit'. Whenever you find a word that is always tied to another word, it is a fair bet that you have a meaningless bit of luggage on hand.

Go on. Give me another example.

'Rakish angle'. Certain people's hats in a certain kind of book are always set at a 'rakish angle'. Never any other kind of angle. Never a 'Bohemian angle' or a 'louche angle' or even a 'devilish angle'. But why?

You're the expert. You tell me.

Because people like it that way. They like nostrils to be flared, they like shames to be crying and they like health to be rude.

Health to be rude?

Yes. I am in rude health. That is the expression. Not uncivil health or raw health or crude health. Only rude health. Alternatively, they like to be in the pink of health. Not the blue or the green or the red. Only the pink.

Why do they like this?

Because it saves them from thinking. Here's another example. A handsome apology. Why not a good-looking apology? Or a pretty apology?

Well . . .

Apologies are not pretty. But kettles of fish are. 'Here's a pretty kettle of fish'. If we could find out why kettles of fish are pretty and apologies are handsome, we might be able to crack the DNA of language.

I see . . .

Why do we say a blazing row and a roaring success? Why not a blazing success and a roaring row? Why is the opposite of a roaring success a signal lack of success? It couldn't be a signal failure, of course, because that means something different.

Yes, I see . . .

Why do we say a 'diabolical liberty' and 'infernal cheek', but never the other way round, even though they mean roughly the same thing. Why not 'infernal liberty' and 'diabolical cheek'?

Well because . . .

And why is someone a 'rank amateur', but never a 'rank

professional'?

Look, why can I never get a word in edgeways?

You're right] Why do we always get words in 'edgeways'? Never 'sideways' or 'anti-clockwise' or any other direction? If we could solve all this, we would be on the verge of a . . .

Momentous discovery?

You said it.

The thing that worries me about this obsession of yours is that if you spend the rest of your life collecting cliches, you may well turn into a . . .

Crashing bore. I know. Why 'crashing', incidentally? Why are bores meant to 'crash'? Why don't we say a 'crashing liar' or a 'crashing cheat'?

Well, actually, I was going to say 'pain in the neck'.

There's another: why is it the neck we are supposed to find painful when being bored? The parts of the body have had a bad time when it comes to cliches, or linguistic hard skin. 'Someone after my own heart', 'of the same kidney', 'put your foot in it', 'beady-eyed' - incidentally, what is beadiness?

Well, I don't know . . .

You see, a lot of what we say we don't even understand. We say it because that's the way it has always been said. In our approach to language we are quite feckless.

Yes we are.

What is feck?

Pardon?

You agreed just now that we are feckless. You made it sound as if you knew what 'feckless' meant. So I asked you, what is 'feck'?

I don't think I've ever thought . . .

I believe you. You will go through the rest of your life never wondering what 'feck' is.

That's because I have more important things to do.

No it isn't. It's because you're a blithering idiot.

This is where we came in.

It's also where I get off.