Save the words, for gods sake man! Save the words.

Yesterday I had the website http://savethewords.org/  brought to my attention.


A fabulous little site designed to highlight the number of words that are being eradicated from the English language every year.


I have personally adopted three of these words in an attempt to save them from the literary scrapheap.


The words I am attempting to save are below but in all honesty there are hundreds of words on there I would save given half the chance. 

I have adopted squiriferous, Snollygoster and Panchymagogue

Squiriferous – Having the characters or qualities of a gentleman.

After 30 years in the jungle living with monkeys, Mongo had lost his squiriferous manners, but he was a whiz at collecting coconuts.

Snollygoster – A shrewd, unprincipled person, especially a politician.

Instead of giving snollygosters the key to the city, it might be better to change the locks.

Panchymagogue – Medicine purging body fluids from the body.

I can’t belive you tongue-kissed Chris – here, you’ll need this panchmagogue.

Infuriation!

Infuriated, that is the only way to describe the feeling I currently have. I shouldn’t be, Millwall have started the season well, England are the no.1 test team in the world but neither of those can mask the outrage and disgust I felt on Saturday evening.

It was meant to be a few drinks in town with some friends, it was meant to be enjoyable, it was meant to make me realise that town wasn’t that bad, that a good night could be had.

I was hopeful when I left the house, I was still hopeful after an awful pint in walkabout, I was still hopeful as we sat in the Yard waiting for friends to come out of the stadium. The streets were full of people enjoying themselves, England fans mixing with Welsh fans, banter with the local police, the mood was good, the result didn’t matter. Wales had won, fair and square they were the better team, there was no sign of any public disorder. I was still hopeful. This was going to be good. We had got ourselves a good table at just the right time in the Yard.

Then it happened, we decided to leave the Yard, the girls wanted to dance, I wanted to carry on drinking so a decision was made. Reflex was the place to go, it would satisfy their desire to dance, I could get a drink and listen to some cheesy 80’s pop. Or so I thought.

I have never been so disgusted, we walked in, ordered our drinks and for the hour we were in there we were served up music from the current charts. I was expecting to be transported back to 1988, Reflex offered Cardiff something different to the bog standard Saturday night bar. Or so I thought.

My infuriation, has turned, from infuriation to disappointment. I feel let down.