When the Economist berated Britain's political parties this week for their "periphrastic ways", journalists everywhere will have nodded wryly. Some, like me, will have had to consult a dictionary first, which ruins the effect. But the problem, if not the adjective, is certainly a familiar one.
In case you don't know, "periphrastic ways" is a roundabout way of saying "circumlocution". The Economist was referring to the parties' ever more complex attempts to disguise the truth, and cited Labour's habit of saying "faith-based organisations" instead of "churches", and the Tories' preference for "the British people" when they mean "the Daily Mail".
The point was underscored by the week's other essential reading, The Racing Post, which showed how bookmakers are coping with the loss of so many sporting events to the foot-and-mouth outbreak.
Specifically, a London firm specialising in "spread markets" (a system loosely based on the stock exchange) invited bets on Wednesday's British budget: allowing punters to back everything from the first letter of Gordon Brown's opening word ("S" for "since" was a shock winner), to the number of times he would say "prudent", or a derivative thereof, in his speech.
Prudence is a mainstay of finance ministers, and a periphrastic favourite. Yet the bookies' prediction of between 6.5 and 8 mentions was badly wrong. After a miserable two appearances in Brown's speech, prudence trailed home lame and is now a doubtful starter for the election campaign. Connections were mystified at the performance and insisted the word was perfectly well when it left the yard. (That's enough equine metaphor - Ed.)
Circumlocution has its place in politics, of course. A fact I was reminded of when reading on Wednesday that, reversing plans to curb travel, the Government here will send ministers throughout the world on St Patrick's Day to "spread the word" about our efforts in combating F and M. This had a nice sound, recalling the missions of Ireland's early Christians. But in the circumstances, the idea of the Government spreading anything seemed imprudent.
Moreover, at a time when even faith-based organisations on the Border are closing their doors, it underlined the folly of the Dail remaining open during the crisis. Anyone familiar with its atmosphere knows that, in Leinster House, even rumours can be airborne. And the high level of physical contact in politics - shaking hands, rubbing shoulders, stabbing backs, and so on - would seem to put TDs and senators in a high-risk category.
It might have been better to say our ministers would be "conveying" or "broadcasting" the word, but, despite reputations, our leaders are not as skilled in circumlocution as the British. The Taoiseach, for one, has never been known as a straight talker; yet the record suggests otherwise. There was a famous occasion when he accused an Opposition spokesman of blatant periphrasis ("Sit down, ye waffler!" were closer to the exact words). And I see he was at it again on Tuesday, awarding Michael Noonan "full marks for hard neck".
This arose from the week's other big story, Fine Gael's unwanted donation from a company which refused - despite the party's best efforts - to take it back. The amount was £33,000, and the affair has uncanny similarities with the quiz show Who Wants to be a Millionaire? In case you don't know the programme's format, contestants who reach the £32,000 mark are offered a cheque for that amount. And they never take it, either.
PERIPHRASTIC issues aside, we in the media are constantly warned to be careful when dealing with language, a notoriously slippery customer. Every big story brings its problems. Only last week, for instance, we were cautioned to remember the difference between events being "cancelled" and "postponed".
To the relaxed reader, these words may seem totally unalike, but when you're under deadline pressure you'd be amazed at the resemblance. And the fact is that Mr Postponed has turned up in several Dublin newsrooms lately, posing as Mr Cancelled and passing off dodgy cheques. The result is that, for example, the St Patrick's Day festival was reported cancelled when it had merely been postponed. An understandable error, perhaps, considering that the idea of having St Patrick's Day at a later, and maybe warmer, date would be like having the Twelfth of July in March.
Speaking of which, even the siege of Drumcree has been suspended in the effort to prevent the dreaded virus walking the queen's highway. And on the basis that the parades issue has been exacerbated by the words of politicians on both sides, I was going to conclude this column with a suggestion that the North's marching season is basically a foot-and-mouth problem. But in the national interest, I've decided to cancel.
fmcnally@irish-times.ie
