Lets Bring Back Some 17th century Civility To Blogging

My blogging vocabulary has been immeasurably enrichedtoday, thanks to Grauniad commenter AllyF:

AllyF

Comment No. 1240032

April 1 16:21
GBR

Oooh, brilliant. I’ve just found online the famous passage from 1653 (well done Ariane) from Thomas Urquart’s translation of Rabelais, where I first encountered the word slubberdegullion:

“The bun-sellers or cake-makers were in nothing inclinable to their request; but, which was worse, did injure them most outrageously, called them prattling gabblers,lickorous gluttons, freckled bittors, mangy rascals, shite-a-bed scoundrels, drunken roysters, sly knaves, slapsauce fellows, slubberdegullion druggels, lubberly louts, cozening foxes, ruffian rogues, paltry customers, sycophant-varlets, drawlatch hoydens, flouting milksops, jeering companions, staring clowns, forlorn snakes, ninny lobcocks, scurvy sneaksbies, fondling fops, base loons, saucy coxcombs, idle lusks, scoffing braggarts, noddy meacocks, blockish grutnols, doddipol-joltheads, jobbernol goosecaps, foolish loggerheads, flutch calf-lollies, grouthead gnat-snappers, lob-dotterels, gaping changelings, codshead loobies, woodcock slangams, ninny-hammer flycatchers, noddypeak simpletons, turdy gut, shitten shepherds, and other suchlike defamatory epithets;”
————

It’s remarkably like a George Galloway speech, come to think of it.

It’s hard to choose a favourite defamatory epithet from that comprehensive list. Every single one seems ready-minted for current political use; for instance, Home Secretary Jacqui Smith just is a ninny-hammer flycatcher; you only have to see her speak to see it.

Gordon Brown is definitely a blockish grutnol. Or perhaps a codshead loobie; yet somehow, magically at one and the same time he also manages to be a flouting milksop and a turdy gut. Is there no end to the multifacetedness of the Dear Leader’s fascinating personality?

As for London Mayoral wannabe Boris Johnson, nothing but doddipol-jolthead will do. Actually you can reduce the whole mayoral election to a race between a cozening fox, a doddipol-jolthead, a drowsy loiterer and a grouthead gnat-snapper. You choose which is which, hours of fun for all the family.

I’m all for bringing a bit of 17th century language into today’s political discourse: I’d especially love to see what the political writers of yesterday would’ve made of the blogosphere. Imagine Voltaire or Tom Paine* laying waste to the comments section at Little Green Footballs.

For imaginative exuberance alone it’d certainly entertain more than the vulgar, unimaginative effing and blinding that passes for insult these days.

[Yes, I know they’re 18thC, but I’d still like to see it.]

We Gotcha Meta Right Here (23% complete)

Do you too have a secret passion for progress bars? Just for you, what may be the most meta video clip ever, from Slate V:

Bonus clip:

For those still swooning from continuity announcer Charlotte Green’s collapse in giggles on the Today programme yesterday here’s “A frankly gratuitous cutting from Engineeringtalk read by Charlotte Green, concerning larger balls, as well as shaft and nut assemblies. No, really”.

Who needs Viagra when there’s Charlotte Green? Listen at your own risk, I hereby disclaim all responsibility.

[Edited slightly to reflect reality]

Rafael Behr, Whiny-Ass Titty Baby

Rafael Behr is yet another well-connected writer for the Guardian. He has a regular writing gig there, having previously been online editor, and also writes a personal typepad blog.

His employer, The Guardian, is having a spot of bother right now related to the nepotism around Max Gogarty’s travel blog (see below). and Rafael decided to insert himself, whether prompted or unprompted I don’t know, into the furore by attacking commenters to the orginal blogpost as a baying mob, as bad as or worse than during the Chinese Cultural Revolution.

Yes, really, and yes, he’s a professional, paid writer.

But he also admits to trolling Guardian commenters with his personal post defending Gogarty: but he now says didn’t really mean it, that it was just a convenient topic to hang a saleable article on – how cynical is that – then he goes on to apologise for offending anyone . And shuts down comments.

Whiny ass titty baby.

This is the comment I would have posted at his blog had Rafo, as he apparently likes to be known, not been such a whiny-ass titty baby as to be too scared to take feedback.

Dear Rafael: what you seem to be saying is that you deliberately jumped into an inflamed situation to pour fuel on the flames – not because you were at all engaged with the discussion, but because you wanted to make a point and cleverly earn a fee while doing it.

I’ve read every one of the nearing a thousand CIF comments and they’re not at all as you describe; I’ve seen a lot of hilariously witty bitchery but very little actual abuse, certainly nothing to compare with what any other young Harry or Josh might hear from their mates in the pub.

Your CIF post was a deliberate misrepresentation of what was being said (something you aknowledge in this post) and made matters worse.

Now I’ve only been blogging and commenting five years or so; I’m not a real writer, unlike you or young Max, but where I come from that’s called trolling and it’s very bad manners, doubly so from someone who professes to love him some blogging.

What was actually being discussed boils down to:

  • The shoddy and nepotistic hiring practices of a self-described ethical and fair newspaper and its staff’s overcosy relationship with PR agents.
  • The overall decline of the quality of the papers’ opinion pieces and blogs and CIF writing generally, which is seemingly now narrowcast to a well-off coterie of metropolitans who happen to know someone who knows someone.
  • The utter hypocrisy of providing an online comment facility and then squealing like an outraged maiden aunt when people actually comment.
  • The stupidity of compounding all the above errors by attacking readers in the paper and on television.

What I think you and the current editorial staff and writers at the Guardian/Observer (they’re pretty much the same in the public eye; the Observer is the Sunday edition of The Guardian) fail to get is the visceral connection some readers have with the paper, or the sense of betrayal we feel at the blatant exposure of its inner workings.

We love The Guardian – or rather we did. It was our parents’ and grandparents’ newspaper; it stood for truth and social justice and all that is now quaint and outmoded. At least that’s what we were told then, although mature reflection and a little reading shows that was never entirely true. Still, it was a a noble aim even if it fell woefully short of its target at times.

But now? Now the Scott Trust and it’s editorial staff aren’t even trying. Truth, liberty and social justice may be still occasionally be paid lip service to in its columns, but they’re certainly not in it’s practice.

Both papers have degenerated in my lifetime into little more than self-referential lifestyle mags, padded with puff pieces penned by PR agents or trite text extolling the joys of the latest lifestyle fad or fashionable paranoia or designer bag, lifted straight from a press release and all of it gilded with lucury brand ads and a few pensees from the friends and family of London’s politicoliterati. (I exaggerate for effect, but not by much.)

But hey, it’s a globalised, media-savvy world and everyone understands how journalism actually works, nod nod, wink wink. We all get it, don’t we?

Well actually, no we don’t and we’re sick of it.

It appears to me to be this blithe acceptance of New Labour’s relaxed attitude to wealth, privilege and the status quo that has rankled so many; that and both papers’ continued promotion of well-off, well-connected nobodies who aspire to tell us feckless, idle proles what to think, as though being born bourgeois is the new divine right of kings.

This in a week which has not only seen several political nepotism scandals but also the publication of Nick Davies’ expose of the inherent corruption of British journalism.

Readers were already angry at the media: dear, sweet, young, disingenuous Max’ execrable blogpost was merely the spark to some bone-dry tinder.

Because the Guardian and Observer have been the only online newspapers in which some of us jaded cynics have retained a modicum of trust (despite Aaronovitch’s war-cheerleading, Polly Toynbee’s nosepeg and Jackie Ashley’s increasingly painful moral contortions in support of Labour) we’ve even stayed loyal when Labour ministers have been given column inches to publish ghostwritten lies and egregious spin.

But try complaining about the poor quality and shoddy commissioning of a trivial travel article – for this we stupidly loyal readers are accused of being a baying mob of jealous wannabes. Silly us for thinking a comment facility meant that some honest feedback was wanted or needed : as with New Labour government, comment and consulation is for show only. The Guardian/Observer, being as it is effectively an adjunct to and labour exchange for the government, has become in the last decade as thoroughly corrupted as every other British institution.

Max’ original blog is almost irrelevant now, except as a the spark that ignited a small blaze of public comment: though I suppose it has also had the useful side-effect of labelling skinny jeans as irredeemably naff, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.

A couple of years ago The Washington Post had its own issues with commenters pointing out its hypocrisy and the readers editor, Deborah Howell, handled it about as badly as it could possibly be handled, thus damaging the paper’s remaining reputation still further.

The Guardian seems to have learned nothing from that: perhaps it could use Howell at the next awayday as a case study of what not to do? Similarly they could also use your CIF post as a warning –

  • Don’t treat your CIF readers like idiots, because they’re mostly not.
  • Don’t troll in one forum and then admit it on your own personal blog – it just makes you look like a hypocrite.

.

“Oh, No It Isn’t!” “Oh, Yes It Is!”

scans and x-rays and tests and readjusting to medication changes, on top of the expensive, time-intensive household disasters that tend to break out at this, the most inconvenient time of the year.

Typically I’ve got a dead washing machine, both sons coming home this week and no guarantee of a new machine being delivered in time for Christmas. Bah.

Presents have yet to be bought and wrapped, the house decorated and lights repaired, cats avoided, cake iced, bedding organised, cards sent and general bonhomie maintained and as I tire very easily these days, it’s a matter of priorities.

The blog has to lose for a little while, a decision made much easier for me by the sheer unutterable dismalness of the general political, economic and ecological outlook: it really is difficult to wiite amusingly about the pecadilloes of politicians when the future survival of humanity is quite probably in doubt.

Easiier to retreat into Hohoho-ism and deck myself in tinsel and turkey and jiollity, put my head in the sand and make my own reality for a while – and why the hell not? I don’t think i’m alone in feeling at the back of my mind (“It’s beh-i-i-ind you…”) that this may be the last decent Christnas we’ll all have for a while, so what the hell, why not make it a good one?

But at least if I’m being deliberately oblivious to what’s happening in the world outside my immediate environs it hurts no-one. When the people in charge start denying the truth staring them and us in the face, we all suffer.

That’s exactly what’s happening with the Brown government, who are sharing a joint denial of reality in the face of all the evidence by trumpeting New Labour policy and achievements in friendly national papers, in the hope that if they shout lies loudly and for long enough that failure will transmogrify into glorious success by sheer willpower alone.

This was amply evidenced last week by UK Justice Minister Jack Straw’s delusional Guardian article championing Labour’s contrbutiion to liberty. Straw was quickly and comprehensively taken apart, his lies exposed in detail and at length by Guardian commenters – he realy did take a metaphorical kicking, with over 400 negative comments.

You’d think after that humiliation that a politically astute PM would think twice abouit putting up another guy to be knocked down, wouldn’t you?

But no. Now here’s former Blair/Brown advisor David Clark, donning his red-rose tinted spectacles to come to the aid of the party, again in the Guardian:

Labour can win if it has the desire to make a fight of it
Ignore the hysteria and hyperbole – the government’s main problem is a collapse of morale .

What? It’s a morale problem? Oh, my, lord. he can’t seriously believe that, not after everything. that’s happened, – can he?

It’s real bang your head on a table stuff. Clark demonstrates beyond a doubt that New Labour really do not see that they have done anything wrong in their entire ten years of power. As they did with Straw’s lies, commenters take Clark’s article apart line by line, but it’s obvious from the lack of response that Labour ministers either don’t read the comments to what they’ve allegedly written – which rather negates the point of posting an article in a semi-open forum – or they do read them, but they just don’t care.

There’s a phrase, pioneered by Hazel Blears and beloved of New Labour ministers, when confronted with inconvenient facts by a Paxman or a Humphries – “I don’t accept that.

Peter Hain used it at least three times this morning while denying he had any responsibility for failed pension funds, despite being confronted with many court decisons against the government, and it totally derailed ( as it was meant to do) any chance of getting any sense at all out of the process,

Interviewers, however skilled and tenacious, bang their heads in vain against the brick wall of “I don’t accept that” – it immediately cuts off debate by denying that there is even a debate to be had.

“I don’t accept that” isn’t “That’s untrue” or “I think you may be mistaken” or “That’s open to interpretation”. “I don’t accept that” doesn’t question the veracity of an argument, assertion or fact: it simply denies that it exists.

Faced with a complete, flat denial that any other position than the one they have taken can exist, that any other facts than the ones they promote can exist, that any other reality than theirs can exist, what is anyone to do make a dent in the facade of this incompetent and corrupt government, short of wreaking physical violence?

But tis the season to be jolly tralalala, and I have a cake to decorate and mice pies to bake. I shall be posting at least once a day between now and the new year, but don’t expect much in the way of astute analysis from me. I am making my own reality too, at least for a while, and there will be snow and robins and chestnuts roasting an open fire on the blog between now and the New Year, and if you’re lucky maybe a few festive comedy sex toys or cute pictures of kittens in santa hats.