I do have respect. It’s just that I don’t have much respect for words, that’s all.
For sure, when it comes to the things that words seek to represent, that’s a different thing. Those things I do respect. The boxy-looking things with wheels on them that drive past my house on the black stuff with white lines on it that’s laid out on the ground out there, for example. I have respect for those things. Enough respect at least to wait until they go by before I step out and get killed. But do I have respect for the word “car”? Or for the word “road”? Well, no! I’m pretty sure I don’t, really. Or if I do, I don’t have much of it. I do know I find words like “car” and “road” convenient, sometimes. As short-hand representations of the things I really want to think about. But finding something convenient isn’t respect. Ask King Charles’ valet. It’s just that, well … OK:
Imagine some bloke is standing outside my house right now, looking for all the world like he’s about to step out onto the black stuff that’s out there. And now, uh oh, look! Here comes one of those boxy things with wheels, bearing down on the poor bastid at a great rate of knots. Oh no, what will I do? Stand there screaming, perhaps, with a crazy look on my face, gesturing wildly?
No. I won't. Because if I do, he might well just look at me with a bemused look on his face and step out onto the black stuff anyway. Thinking, as the second last thought that will ever go through his mind just before his arse does: “far out, who let that psycho out?” No. It’s better, I think, in such a scenario, to use words:
“Hey! Stop! Car!”
“Désolé, je ne parle pas anglais. Qu'est-ce que vous avez dit?”
SCREEEECH … BANG!
Oh, for goodness’ sake. What’s a Frenchman doing in Essendon?
Coach, 19 Jan 2023
