Verbs You Right

I was looking through a photo album of the kids the other day. One of those old ones. It had a section called 'negative pocket.' I opened it and it said 'these photos are shit.'
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So where was I? Oh yeah, the Olympics. I must admit I was cynical but the Paralympics have really inspired me. I've cut my left leg off.
The legacy of the events will live on. Most notably in the English language and not just the mangling it got from Trevor Nelson who, let's face it, compared to Fearne 'Amazing' Cotton sounds like Richard Dimbleby.
It was good to see our athletes medalling, some only bronzed but others silvered and many golded. But it was not just about those who rostrumed, it was about those who evented in general.
Never have so many verbs been added to the lexicon in such a short space of time. Or to put it another way, new words were verbed on a daily basis.
Mind you, even Radio Four have got it wrong. I heard an announcer trying to read out a headline that Britain had got a one-two in the archery. This was obviously a phrase far too modern for our man at the Beeb. He said: "In archery Team GB scored a one. Two in the athletics a new world record...I'm sorry, I'll repeat that. Team GB scored a one. To athletics, a new world record...."
Of course I've enjoyed it. It's sport after all. Which is more important than most things in life.
Doesn't mean there haven't been downsides. The crowds at Stratford Station who fail to notice which way a spotty purple-clad teenager is pointing his great, foamy hand and decide to walk the other way.
Canadians who stand on the wrong side of the elevator.
Jon Snow reminding everyone which competitors live in wartorn countries and showing us why Claire Balding is brilliant at this and he isn't.
Oscar Pistorius who, along with Kevin Pietersen has reminded the world what a bunch of shits white South Africans can be when they want to. With a couple of notable exceptions of course (my next door neighbour and a bloke called Bernard for instance).
American athletes with mild hayfever who reckon it qualifies them for the same swimming events as double amputees.
People posting the same bloody pictures of the Olympic Stadium or handball arena on Facebook as if it's the first time anyone's ever seen them.
And Coldplay.
And then there are the bits which would even cheer up Morrissey. Well maybe not. But I enjoyed:
The Brazilian judo girl on the Jubilee line wearing her bronze medal and letting everyone take her photo with them. And then bursting into tears when the carriage applauded her.
The Spanish triathlete my daughter tried to chat up (in Spanish) who was charming, on the Central Line.
The Tube driver who made all the announcements in French as well as English.
And Danny Boyle's wonderful story of the history of the Labour Party which he successfully disguised as an opening ceremony.
Oh and Claire Balding. Even though she has let her autobiography currently be serialised in the Daily Mail, a paper which once ran quite a nasty story about her sexuality soon after she was 'out' but whose publisher found the best deal it could.
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Post-Leveson and are newsrooms losing their sense of humour? If there was one thing about working in a national (or local) paper newsroom it was the bawdy, naughty but hilarious humour that goes on, much as it probably used to in any workplace.
The language was often blue, unPC and not for public consumption but they lightened the mood even on the darkest days and without the pisstaking, impressions and digs, life would have been a lot duller.
Not any more it seems. A senior executive at the Mail on Sunday is being investigated for bullying. It's in Private Eye so I'm not betraying a confidence.
Basically the news editor called his assistant a c**t. (Some of you are sensitive but this is the lingua franca of the newsroom. Whereas 'lingua franca' is not of course.)
If someone was sacked every time they called me a c**t at The Sun the newsroom would have been empty within two weeks. And the editor would have been had up every five seconds. Though in the case of one particular executive, justification as a defence would probably have worked with any judge in the land.
But at the Mail on Sunday it forms the basis of a 12-page complaint. Twelve bloody pages! There's more to it than that but I'm sworn to secrecy. Needless to say it's a pile of bollo.
Leveson may end up doing a lot of good for our industry. Considering the money spent on his inquiry, you'd bloody hope so. But if he kills humour in the newsroom, then it's an even sadder day for Fleet Street that we could have imagined.
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Robbers get shot by householders. Great story for the papers because everyone has a view. Which is either: 1.Good for them/an Englishman's home is his castle/hope they killed the bastards/give them a medal.
Or: 2.Why are the only people who legally own shotguns nutters who live in the middle of nowhere.
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Last week saw the 15th anniversary of Princess Di's death. I think there was something about it in the Daily Express but I could be wrong.
So that's 15 years of sentimental idiots wrapping a bunch of petrol station flowers to lamp-posts and leaving teddy bears out for people they have never met.
Everyone remembers what they were doing when they heard she'd died. I was listening to Radio Four wondering why on earth they'd invited Polly Toynbee on as a royal 'expert'.
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When Tony Blair was in power it was said that the three most dreaded words in the English language were 'John's in charge' when the PM went on holiday.
Though the Olympic Opening Ceremony announcement 'Sir Paul McCartney' instils almost as much dread. As does the byline 'by Mihir Bose' in the Standard. Or 'Kelvin wants you' spoken by his secretary. The point is, whatever the reshuffle, whatever the party and whether it's a room full of rich, white Old Etonians or one with the obligatory crook in a sari, working class buffoon pr former head girl forced to face Jeremy Paxman, no one seems to get it right. And some people don't believe The Thick of It is a documentary.
Cheers for now....Solly