On encountering a living, breathing encyclopedia with dictionary tendencies…
Lord Dictionary has in the practice of his career, read a wide variety of information on many different topics.
For some fifty plus years he has scanned articles on anything from bridal dresses to the invention of a new drilling machine for mining.
He still reads voraciously.
In the days before the internet, he was the human Mr Google.
Sir Encyclopedia Britannica …..
The problem with being a living, breathing encyclopedia is that it becomes almost impossible, to keep all that information to yourself.
Though shalt hold forth on every topic known to humankind.
Ask him about his new car or the weather, the time or if he’d like his spaghetti in a bowl or on a plate.
It really does not matter…
Every and any question asked, will result in an hour long regaling of every fact a person could ever not need to know and still live a full and happy life.
At dinner parties, people will get the ‘frantic-trapped-wild-animal-need to be rescued’ look when engaging in conversation with him.
It’s not that he doesn’t have interesting and often riveting facts and stories rolling around in his head. It’s that he needs to tell you every single excruciatingly minuscule detail.
A humorous and wonderful anecdote about his days as a child in World War Two, will be wrapped and blanketed and smothered in the entire history of the war and the events leading up to its outbreak. Sigh…
He will interrupt his wife’s telling of a story to correct a minute detail that has very little, if any, bearing on the overall story….
“Mary, as I recall, the house was in actual fact, white with a blue door.”
This will result in a twenty minute argument between the two of them, as they debate the colour of the door.
The door could have been all the colours in the efffffing, shittingwell rainbow. The story is neither about the house nor the bloody door and the listeners are beyond giving a damn…
On the plus side, it does afford everyone an interval, in which to take in some air, make a cup of tea or pour another drink.
His dictionary tendencies are quite useful, I have to say. It’s the pedantic application of it, that wears us all down.
It was Christmas. The extended family were gathered under one roof. A rare and rather special time. Different generations huddled around a board game.
The general idea of the game was to spell words backwards; guess the correct meaning of obscure words; mime phrases for others to guess etc.
There was much hilarity. Raucous camaraderie, teasing and belly laughing. No one was taking anything seriously.
Well, except of course, for Lord Dictionary….
He was harrumphing and gesturing and correcting. He was coughing loudly and stamping his foot in indignation. He was pompously nit picking at word pronunciation. He was espousing ad infinitum, the many definitions of every single word….
Talk about buzz kill
Someone took a card and posed the task “Spell mischievous backwards.’ She pronounced the word as ‘mischeeeveeeeis.’ As the team started to answer, they were, yet again, interrupted by a loud clearing of the throat…
“The word in question is pronounced ‘mis cha vis’ and most definitely not ‘mis cheeee veee is.’ There are only three syllables not four. Where did you go to school? Look here, it is clearly spelled ‘mischievous’ not ‘mischeevious’…. He proceeded to count the syllables, making a point to count very slowly and loudly.
As the person, this was directed towards, started to blush and stammer. I’m ashamed to say I lost it. It was the final straw… I saw red .. I disrespectfully overreacted..
I plucked up a question card and asked him in a dramatic and enunciating tone…
“So tell me, precisely how many syllables are there in Fuck You?”
There was a minute of complete silence as all (including myself) were frozen in disbelief.
Then the sound of hysterical laughter filled the air.
I was horrified at what had poured out of my mouth. I am not readily given to cursing at my elders. It was an indication of just how riled and irritated I was. That is not a justifiable excuse. I apologised immediately.
I was (despite my frequent apologies) cold shouldered and ignored for the rest of the stay and for the next few months.
I deserved it, although I must admit, the shunning was also somewhat of a blessed relief..
Until his wife, put her foot down and after one more apology, I was once again, harrumphed into the fold.
She pulled me aside to thank me profusely. Turns out, my remark, had given him food for thought and he is now a pleasure and delight to be with.
There is nothing to be done about his hour long stories, other than to smile and be happy and grateful that he is still around to tell them to us. It is who he is — a rare and genuine, ‘one of a kind’ treasure — to be respected in large proportions and enjoyed in small doses!
My imaginary game card has acquired legendary status and has become a family joke. Board games (well, not those that include children, of course) start off with “So tell me, precisely how many syllables are there in Fuck You” ….
It certainly sets the tone for a pompous free, don’t take yourself quite so seriously, raucously fun experience…
Lord Dictionary (good sport that he now is) included…
His stories have acquired legendary status too.
I wouldn’t have it any other way…
