Boris Johnson: what a fun man. And the reason? His joyful approach to language. To Boris’s mind, the ending of the Olympics was a ‘final, tear-sodden juddering climax’; and the female beach volleyball contestants were ‘glistening like wet otters’. As well as this salacious turn of phrase, Boris has a penchant for slightly tricky words that brighten up everyone’s day – just look at these three examples:
On the Olympic Village: ‘Tessa Jowell…takes her duties as deputy mayor of the village so seriously that she actually pernoctates in the village, sharing the life of the young men and women on whom we pin our hopes.’ (The Daily Telegraph)
On Roger Federer: ‘…money is surely among the embrocations that has kept his genius so elastic for so long.’ (The Daily Telegraph)
On Norway’s mass killer, Anders Breivik: ‘Some people will read his dismal expectorations and conclude that this inflammatory guff is what really drove him on.’ (The Daily Telegraph)
But what do the three words in bold mean? Read this book if you want to find out. All three are in here, along with another 600 or so that are equally fun (whilst still managing to be common currency, and definitely not ‘dead’ or obsolete). For the last two years, I’ve been jotting down the most wonderful words I’ve come across (in conversations and in newspaper articles), and this book is the result. These are the words that made me raise an admiring eyebrow, when I heard them trip off other people’s tongues; and smile at, when I came across them in newsprint.
As you read them, some will give you that delightful rush as you recognise le mot juste – like iridescent (to describe the rainbow sheen of the soap bubbles in your bath), umami (of that meat-like taste in mushrooms and miso soup) and casuistry (of an argument that sounds great at the time, but afterwards doesn’t quite add up).
And also the stories behind everyday words which pepper this book will surprise you – like that behind pastiche (and why it derives from the Italian for ‘piecrust’); piece of cake (and what it has to do with American slaves working in 1900); and virago (an insult that started out as a compliment – to Joan of Arc).
Finally, you’ll be able to clear up those linguistic riddles that no one around a dinner table ever seems to be able to – such as the true meanings of the words nonplussed (which people use – wrongly – to mean ‘not bothered’), disinterested (which everyone thinks means ‘not interested’, but actually is all about money) and gauntlet (which in fact boasts two completely separate meanings and backstories, both steeped in buckets of blood: but how to tell which from which?).
Perfect for reading for 10 minutes before drifting into the arms of Morpheus, you’ll amuse yourself – as well as any interlocutor (who’ll be relishing your richer vocabulary) – with the answers in this book, and also ensuring your diction approaches the level of that most cunning linguist of all, Boris himself.
PS If a word’s pronunciation is difficult, I have included a phonetic guide to saying it out loud; if it’s not, I haven’t.