My friend, who is in his sixties,
just had his hair re-styled. I think it looks fab but a much younger
acquaintance of his used the word "awesome" when complimenting him on
the new look. My friend and I are not inclined to use that word in that way -
if at all. It's not that we are averse to embracing change, but we already have
a vocabulary which, when we first adopted it, probably sounded just as
outlandish to our grandparents.
But the fact that language moves
inexorably onwards is cause for celebration: if it didn't move, it would be dead
- and it gets hard to communicate subtleties of meaning with dead language. When
younger generation speaks to older generation we are bound to see the
asynchronism of change, but we are still able to interpret meaning because
there is the context of human interaction: “awesome” = “fab”, obvs. And there
is a funny side to the juxtaposition of old phrases still in use alongside new
ones: yesterday I spotted the signs Funeral Parlour and Body Shop above
adjoining premises - which is the sort of irony you are not as likely to notice
when you are speeding along in a car as you are when walking by at a leisurely
pace.
More leisurely still is the prospect
of floating along a canal in a narrow-boat - or so I thought when we were
invited by old friends to spend a day cruising with them. They had come over
from Canada specifically to pootle around the canal system for a few weeks and,
if you think that's unusual, the first people we met at the first lock we
negotiated had come all the way from Brooklyn, NYC for exactly the same
purpose. I had looked forward to a relaxing day: the weather was warm and fair
and we were equipped with a picnic and a bottle of dusky pink Cรดtes de Provence. I'm still not sure whether it was by design or
coincidence that the seven mile stretch of canal we travelled boasted 23 locks,
but the experience certainly wasn't leisurely. It was hard work, involving
winding gigantic gears, pushing heavy lock-gates and walking most of the way.
It even included an altercation with another boat-person whom we had managed to
upset by failing to follow some obscure but time-honoured procedure.
But, for those who don't like change,
life on a narrow boat could be just the thing. On the canals change appears to
be unwanted, which is just as well because the scope for it is severely
limited: the shape and size of the boats will always be determined by the
dimensions of the locks; the maximum speed at which they can go is determined
by the mass of water they displace; the choice of destinations is unlikely ever
to vary and, if you really don't want to adopt modern figures of speech, you
can just float on by with a cheery smile and a nautical salute.
The paradox of the canal network is that
it persists alongside the road, rail and airway networks, not because it is a
useful addition to the infrastructure, but because it is a useless distraction
from it. From time to time there may have been talk of incorporating it into
the system for the purpose of carrying freight, but it has never happened
because the system is un-modernisable and therefore un-economic.
And therein lies its attraction: this
one-time marvel of modern engineering has become a refuge from progress, a
place to go when you can't take any more change; a place where the phrase
"go with the flow" will never sound dated.
No comments:
Post a Comment