Nuance.

^6th July 2020

‘Where do I begin...?’           Good song title that. 😊

Maybe with a frustrating week, weather wise.  Or perhaps more precisely, weather forecasting.  They seem to be unable to get it right, with any time or location accuracy unless it is either a massive Azores high sitting over us for a fortnight, or an Atlantic low (upon low upon low) which will blanket the entire landmass of the United Kingdom for 5 days at least.  Anything in between defies planning.  So, if to walk, when to walk, how far to walk? How big a gardening job should I start - given that it takes a few hours to go from base camp (shed and house)  - to any situation / location requiring attention.   And the several trips with tools, compost, pots, plants, rubbish bags, drinks, sun hats, music/podcasts delivery system… – in both directions, before a scrap of work has taken place.

It also messes with allocated writing time, but fair do’s, it gives an opening gambit. 

This afternoon, when I should have been at the writing desk, I re-arranged and re-potted the pots (herbs, caca salad leaves and a few pots of summer colour) near the house, then on-route to snip some herbs from the front of the house, I paused to pick a few of the tiny alpine strawberries that self-seed all over the chuckies that adorn the off road area in front of the houses down our stretch of high street.  A disputed territory, between council, community and householder – but that’s another long, complex and probably unresolvable story.

These tiny berries, jewel-bright, pint-sized flavour bombs remind me of picking berries when I was a wee’un, down in the south in England.  Then, on the rare occasions (holidays at jeans farm in North Devon, or later, on the Norfolk broads) when we ere taken strawberry picking, you only picked the ones that came into your hand just by lightly cupping them, a slight pull to see if they come away into your hand, leaving the stalk and hull behind.  They were truly ready.  Of course, now, so many more varieties, and different breeding habits – so they are sweeter earlier. So they can be picked with a ‘snap’ from the plant with the hull still in.  I think it keeps them fresher for longer – better for shops and retail outlets.  But back then, you just wanted them home to have some cream that night, or to bemaze into jam if they were a bit over soft.  These wee gems will be wash then popped into ice-cube trays, with water, perhaps three to a cell.  And they will be a wonderful addition to the champagne with Christmas lunch or Twelfth night party.

The other thing that has been exercising me this week, is the topic of nuance – or lack of. 

It seems to me that we inhabit a society that lost sight of nuance, of the myriad shades of grey that lie, gradated, available, offering clarity and variability of thought, that makes us truly original, authentic and useful contributors to that society.  Free thinkers are a rare breed, and rather too often fall victim to the bluff blinkered voices that seem to dominate all outlets.

What we seem to see, what we mostly hear, mandated in part by the main Stream Media (MSM) is that there are two camps, two stances – black, or white, and if you don’t stand firmly on one or the other, you are a nowhere man.  You are decried as a soft, woolly, liberal fence sitter, or worse.  Hence the abomination, by the MSM and then the public, of anyone actually changing their mind based on uncovering or understanding new data, information or opinion.   If you are not with us, you are against us.  There is too little comprehension, too little compromise.  Too little acceptance that different isn’t necessarily wrong – it may simply be – different.  Vive la difference.

And it is the language, clumsily, sometimes even totally incorrectly, used by journalists and news presenters, no longer just the watering place of the red top, but goddamnit, the BBC and broadsheets extensively also, that bugs the living daylights out of me.

Too often, journalists and news presenters make the news; make their own news, but sadly they do so in such a sloppy way as to confuse, perhaps as a deliberate device.  Imagine a plumber turning up to mend your pipe with a hammer and a saw; the car mechanic taking a pair of secateurs to the fuel hose or the dry cleaner using bleach on your deep dyed velvet curtain.  The tool of the journalists’ trade is language.  I am cross because I want better; expect better.  Be clear. Be consistent. Be nuanced.

Some examples that are catching my ear and eye currently, relate to use of language and often related to Covid-19 reporting. 

Blame. The word ‘blame’ is used widely where perhaps ‘responsibility’ is the nuanced option.  ‘Blame’ is accompanied by a jabbing finger, loud voice, harsh language and often a desire for revenge; for seeing someone else ruined for what may have been a very human error.  Responsibility wears a disapproving, chastising expression, but lays a hand, firmly but encouragingly across the shoulder, the turned in finger tips holding the culprit to account, but suggesting support in efforts for penitence and righting any wrongs it may be possible to right.

Warn. News stories are full of ‘warnings’ whereas alert or aware, might be gentler and less distressing.  These words are not, as the online look up might suggest, synonyms, but they are subtly nuanced options.  They are shades of grey.

And there is a plethora of stories striking fear where perhaps a lesser emotion, a more nuanced language might be more appropriate. Concerns perhaps?  We have a growing number of people, including young children, living with extreme anxiety, and the language of fear and impending doon, unsubtle, devoid of balance, may well be contributing to this problem.

One long standing irritation is the interchanging, sometimes in the same sentence, of ‘postponed’ and ‘cancelled’. They refer to different things.  One is an event that will never happen eg, the 2020 Olympics.  The other is an event that has been postponed to a later date.  THE Olympics.  See.  That’s nuance. 

Oh, and if I hear the word ‘Tsunami’ used one more time in relation to the Covid 19 pandemic, I warn you, be afraid – be VERY afraid, I may not be responsible for my actions.  It will, in some way, shape or form, be the Government’s fault, M’lud!

If you have any thoughts or comments on this rambling, please do respond. I would rather this were not a talking to myself