Why settle for three words when thirty will suffice?
I come from a wordy family, I married into a wordy family, I gave birth to … no not a wordy family – why have five children when one is such chatter box delight?
My father is the king of all words – which is why, no doubt, he taught me, in no uncertain terms, how to keep it short. I remember writing essays, in more tongues than my mother’s, teachers admiringly stating that they’d never read such convincing tosh, my employing limited vocabulary with little grasp of foreign grammar yet so concise, so stylish, they couldn’t help themselves but give me top marks. If I could frame those comments of theirs I would.
Don’t ask. To this day I have no idea what they were talking about. Probably best. As soon as you become self conscious, aware of your (in)abilities, it takes the innocence away. Compliment me on my eloquence and I will promptly fall into a stammer. Which is fine when you speak English in England: It’ll immediately mark you as a member of the inbred upper class
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