Words on Grammar

Have you ever wondered what would happen when London's grammar nuts gather together in one room? Probably exactly what you imagine it to be like, actually.

Last night I went to Words on Grammar, a prescriptive versus descriptive discussion between David Marsh, Production Editor of the Guardian, and Nevile Martin Gwynne, a tutor and former businessman. Both men have written a book on grammar, 'For Who the Bell Tolls' and 'Gwynne's Grammar', respectively. 

It was hosted by Matthew Reisz, Reporter and Features Writer for The Times Higher Education Supplement, who got the night off to an accurate start by introducing the audience to 'Gwynne Nevile'. And then it was over to Nevile, who covered the basics of his approach to grammar. "Mine is a minority position," he said, "but it used to be everyone's".

"The better your grammar, the better your thinking, and the better your thinking, the better your decisions are." Nevile's succinct opener perfectly summed up his approach to grammar.

He said that civilisation 'depends on grammar', and that grammar is a fixed language. "Words are added here and there but grammar doesn't change. Shakespeare didn't split infinitives or say 'hopefully', and neither do I."

Nevile's take on grammar was both romantic and depressing. Good grammar can save the world, it's just a pity no one is capable of it these days. But I did admire his ardour. Quite a few of his statements got a laugh from the audience, but he said them seriously.

Then David took the stand to tell us about his approach to grammar. "Many people may not know what a reflective pronoun is," he said, "because it's boring." He said that he wrote his book because grammar can be fun.

This pretty much summed up David's approach to grammar, which was a more realistic one. Throughout the night his answers were grounded, whereas Nevile was a bit more nostalgic. If one of them could save the country's grammar, I would have to put my money on David.

Then Nevile spoke about how young people knew their pronouns in his day, and were all capable of writing a well structured essay. He said that David's book 'has a lot of fuzzy thinking', but that his biggest problem was with David's approach to 'hopefully', which proved to be the word of the night. He said that the only way the word can be used correctly is in the format: 'I looked at it hopefully'.

David responded by calling Nevile's approach 'dated'. He said it baffled him as to why people get so wound up about the 'hopefully' debate, and that it makes learning about grammar off-putting. He is, however, a stickler for grammar, especially the apostrophe.

He said that this was his reason for founding International Apostrophe Day - although he said it while laughing, so I'm not actually sure if that was supposed to be a joke. If not, he's definitely gone up in my estimations. But the fact that he laughed as he said it further cemented his approach to grammar as a kind of guilty pleasure. If you're passionate enough to set it up, why can't you say the sentence without looking mildly apologetic?

After responding to a few points David made, Nevile said that there are times when incorrect grammar doesn't matter, but that you need to know good grammar to be able to know this. In other words, learn the rules before you break them. This was probably the most liberal thing he said all night, and I found myself doing that embarrassing thing of nodding along like I was at a gig.

According to Nevile, grammar was abolished in the 1960s and we've been doomed ever since. No longer are people capable of thinking or communicating effectively.

"If grammar was abolished in the 1960s,  then how do we have such amazing thinkers today?" asked David. "I think grammar is better now. People complain that the greengrocer doesn't know where to put his apostrophe, well he never did." The man makes sense.

Nevile said that exam standards have collapsed since the 60s. Were people really making better decisions in his day, asked the host, Matthew. "When I was younger there was no such thing as suicide," said Nevile.

Yes, you read that correctly. Unfortunately the authority of Nevile's whole argument was tarnished by his apparent belief that a) there were no suicides in his day, and b) that all suicides can be prevented by better grammar. I'm not sure how he's lived as long as he has without hearing of Sylvia Plath, but there we go.

"I don't have a problem with OMG," said David, bringing some sense back to the debate. "Where do you think RIP came from? It's been done for centuries."

A question or two from the audience mentioned the problems of grammar being dull. "I don't care about that," said Nevile. Grammar being dull, he said, isn't something he cares about, because it can turn someone into the most successful person they're capable of being. A lovely sentiment, and one I agree with. But I can see why Nevile says he's in the minority.

One aspect to the evening that I didn't enjoy was the fact that both men admitted to mistakes in their books - a fact I'm even less fond of hearing since I own them both. The conclusions have drawn from the evening are as follows:

David Marsh is every bit as 'Guardiany' as I expected him to be.

Not to detract from his intelligence, but Nevile Gwynne is adorable.

Even among grammar enthusiasts, the word 'grammar' is always accompanied by the word 'dull'.

David's approach could save the world's grammar problems.

Nevile's approach can't really help us.

Books on grammar have mistakes in them.

Audience members are weird. One man gave an impassioned attack at Nevile for his pronunciation of 'off'.

The BBC's token woman debate

Last week the BBC’s director of TV, Danny Cohen, announced that it will no longer have any all-male line-ups on panel shows.

"You can't do that. It's not acceptable," he said. 

Only, it has been accepted up until now, which is why I think we should take his protest with a pinch of PR salt. Especially because it feels as if comedy panel shows have been perennially criticised for this. Over the duration of Mock the Week's lifespan, only 11% of its panellists have been female. He's obviously a slow learner. 

The news has predictably resurfaced the trite debate over whether men are just funnier than women. As far as my knowledge goes, although there some differences in the cognitive abilities between men and women like spatial awareness, empathy and walking in heels, I'm not aware of a difference that makes men truly funnier than women. 

After reading several articles questioning why it's got to this, talking about why positive discrimination is needed and how panel shows have been so male-dominated for so long -  I believe the answer  is simply because there is an inherent difference between how we view men and women.

There are things hardwired in us when it comes to gender. Even when it comes to the battle of sexual equality - I might not be the only woman who would be slightly offended if a man looked me up and down and addressed me as 'love'. But if a woman did it I'd think she disapproved of what I was wearing but was mildly friendly nonetheless. 

In the French film Oppressed Majority that went viral last week - telling a story of the day in the life of a man if gender roles were reversed - one sentence in particular stood out to me. After being beaten up and given a hard time by a female police officer, the man's girlfriend comes to pick him up. "Take me home," he says.

The more I think about it, the more I realise that something within me found it a bit of an odd thing for a man to say to a woman. It really shouldn't be - but this just proves that despite it not being logical, these gender imbalances are sometimes there. 

We expect women and men to behave differently and use different language in certain situations, and men have gotten away with turning panel shows into male-orientated territory, because we, as an audience, accept it. Panel shows are the optimum environments for males, not just because they dominate it already but because a lot of the time the male contestants take the piss out of each other and try to compete between themselves. 

On most panel shows the comedians (almost always males) make fun of each other and if there's a woman on the programme who is relatively attractive, often this will be picked up on throughout the show. I don't recall ever watching a panel show where women guests repeatedly refer to a man's attractiveness, which is a shame for David Mitchell. 

And let's not talk about 8 Out of 10 Cats, where women are only cast as either the attractive or stupid one for male comedians to direct their easy jokes to. 

But is positive discrimination ever the answer? 'Let’s patronise women and give them a shot' is all I hear. If an industry didn't want me based on my being a woman, then this move by the BBC wouldn't make any difference. There is often a noticeable difference between the way men talk to men and they way they talk to women, and the men have created their own optimum conditions for panel shows where they get to set the tone. Having more 'at least one woman' on each show won't redress this. 

Falling out with Take Me Out

Out of all the days in a week, Sunday morning holds the greatest potential for one to sink into those weekly rituals that bring unexplained comfort, and enjoy the conclusion of another week. Perhaps it’s a leafy walk fuelled by the thought of a bacon sandwich at the finish line. Maybe it’s a Sunday newspaper read between bites of an unhealthier variant of the week’s breakfasts.

For the past few Sunday mornings I’ve bestowed the privilege of the top slot to Take Me Out. Or at least, the first five minutes of it, after which my brain thinks ‘hey, I’ve seen these idiots in this exact scenario with these very same teeth-clenchingly bad chat-up lines before.’

It inevitably stays on in the background while I flit between reading in an attempt to fill the self-imposed numb void in my brain, and making unattractive snorting noises to complement Paddy McGuiness’ exasperations over a female contestant’s pointless metaphor about their potential suitor being a ‘puppy’, when she wants a ‘dog’. I always thought, as a sex, we preferred puppies, but whatever.

The women, however, are relatively harmless compared to the format of the show. For those who have better things to do on Saturday nights, this consists of a row of women who turn off their lights if they don’t like the man in question. At the end of the show, the remaining women are subject to the contestant running up and down, looking at them, and if they deem the woman to be unattractive, turning off their light with an accompanying loud noise.

Why am I complaining about this after 3,000 previous series of the same format? I think because I expected it to have changed by now, or been complained about more. I thought it couldn’t be that bad if no one else seemed to have a problem with it. I blame the Bystander Effect.

But every weekend, the same scene unravels. A man runs past a row of women and extinguishes the hopeful lights in front of the ones he deems not good enough based on a quick judgement of their face.

I see articles all the time about everyday sexism, sexism in the workplace, on panel shows, in the world of publishing. And then there are the articles on why women should age gracefully, and isn’t it a shame that recent statistics say that we accounted for 90% of cosmetic surgery last year?

The people who are allowed to decide what entertains us through the television have too much power, and they are decelerating societal improvements. Channel 5’s The Big Benefits Row was completely overshadowed by Katie Hopkins, who was plonked there to keep our tiny minds ‘entertained’.

Many of our improvements in equality could be completely undone by a child watching Take Me Out and assuming the sort of behaviour displayed is acceptable. In the real world it isn’t okay for a man to publicly disregard a women solely based on her appearance. Nor should it affect us if he does. Women shouldn’t be compared to the appearance of other women, pitted against each other for a man’s affections and be publicly rejected (minus the lights and sound effects).

But the women get to turn off their lights if they don’t like the man, too, I hear you say. This is true. Except the absolute absurd and ridiculous reasons they conjure up for not liking a contestant – from a dislike in his socks to his reminding them of a family member/former lover – proves that even if they think it, they very rarely admit to their rejection being based upon a dislike of an inherent physical feature.

There’s little doubt the women on Take Me Out aren’t briefed beforehand not to take these things personally. But if I get a little offended watching a man look at a women and think ‘nah’ because of the size of her nose or hairstyle, then I can’t help but think it must get to them, too. 

A meaty telling-off

Over the past week, I’ve read a few articles related to vegetarianism. I didn't even go looking for them – it was one of those weird things that happens every now and again where something will pop up everywhere for a few days and restore your faith in the beautiful phenomenon that is coincidence.  

Among the articles, one in particular has stuck in my mind from a bacon/meat/vegetarian theme in the Dec-Jan issue of the glorious Oh Comely magazine. The writer spoke about feeling guilty for eating meat, saying she couldn’t think about it too much or it would upset her, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop eating it. "I know things that make me cry and gag when I think about them too much", she says. 

I’ve been looked at like I’m insane for choosing to eat tofu of my own free will enough times to feel justified in saying that The ‘Reluctant’ Meat Eater is the worst kind of omnivore. I’m not the sort to waste the very little energy in my deprived, iron-deficient body to scold anyone for choosing to eat meat, unless they bring morals into it.

If you’re a meat eater – that’s fine. You can gush about juicy steaks and crispy bacon all you like (is bacon crispy? It’s been a while), but don’t try and sound like an animal rights activist while you do it. Or really worried about the environment. Or the demise of the antibiotic.

You can’t have it both ways. Either eat meat and live with the guilt that comes with putting instant gratification before your morals, or stop eating it. The only exception is if you must eat meat for health reasons – as I do fish – but that’s a different kettle of, well you catch my drift.

The writer also says one reason she doesn't want to be a vegetarian is because 'to be vegetarian in this country is to be 'confrontational and inconvenient'. Vegetarians (and pescetarians) aren’t ‘fussy’. Many of us put morals before taste, and for nothing less than a glorified ape that’s quite an achievement. So don't pretend that you're such an ethical person for feeling bad about your non-free range eggs and bacon. Let us have all the glory, tofu tastes better that way. 

Why I sing the blues

Forget people - how do you truly know when you love something? What we're attracted to develops as we grow up, as our personality is drawn out and projected onto all of the things we’re introduced to. And what we grow up to really love depends on the innate, immediate effects it has on our body.

That flurry of happy chemicals bursting through us, the dance of sensation on the backs of our necks. The rush that starts off as physical sensation and reassures the mind that at that moment nothing else in the infinite universe matters. 

Of all my loves, blues music would be the one I would marry if I could. I’m not sure where my love came from exactly, but I’ve got a hunch it was partly from hearing it throughout the house when I was little. (Although, I’m sure I also smelt a lot of steak and kidney waft through the house too, and if you come near me with either of those things I’ll definitely vomit.) My early years with the blues planted a seed, and I’ve grown up to love it of my own accord.

I love the trudging rhythm of blues. I love its delicious melancholic minor keys. I love its rich history. It's refreshing naivety in comparison to most music these days.

The blues is a very isolated pleasure that usually requires my waiting until I’m alone before turning the speakers up, or squeezing my eyes shut and unreservedly shaking my head and inwardly enjoying it for myself through headphones.

Despite this, however, you may be surprised to learn that until yesterday I had never been to a blues club. And I felt like a bit of a fraud. 

So last night I went to my first blues club, Round Midnight blues and jazz bar in Islington, to see Tim Aves and WOLFPACK, and it brought a feeling to the surface that only blues music can do to me.

The frontman, Tim, was dancing like the middle-aged man he was. There were pointing fingers, twisting legs and pivoting feet. Unselfconscious, unbridled dancing, the kind that only happens when the blues rushes through your conscious mind and deep into the pleasure centre.  All I could think was: I'm so lucky this thing can make me just as happy as he is.

Its effect on me is like eating a rich, gooey chocolate pudding covered in chocolate sauce (if you like that sort of thing, if not this will be completely lost on you). It can only cover the surface area of your mouth and your taste buds can only take in so much, but you want the feeling to be stronger, you want to be able to keep it going forever. Your body loves it just a little bit too much to know how to react and what to do with it.

And something that nicely ties in with my other love is a comment made by the late author Elmore Leonard:

“I'm very much aware in the writing of dialogue, or even in the narrative too, of a rhythm. There has to be a rhythm with it … Interviewers have said, you like jazz, don’t you? Because we can hear it in your writing. And I thought that was a compliment.”

If I could one day master how to write with a blues rhythm, I’ll die happy. Ha-ha-happy, I will die. I've got a little way to go yet, I think.