Words of court – An Irishman’s Diary on the need for an adjectival standards authority

I welcome news that the Food Safety Authority of Ireland is to act against misuse of such adjectives as “artisan” and “farmhouse” on product labels, prosecuting those who divorce the terms from all meaning, as defined by new guidelines.

But ideally, I’d like to see the establishment of an overall National Adjectival Standards Authority (Nasa), to police language in general. Under a suitably qualified person (Ahem!), this would be empowered to deal with the constant abuse of certain adjectives in public life, and impose whatever punishments it considered fitting. Here are a few of the terms that need action.

“Clear”. When a politician begins a sentence with “Let me be clear about this”, and then fails to be clear about it within a reasonable period of time – say three months – he or she would be deemed to require what the Chinese used to call re-education. Offenders could expect community service as window-cleaners, or in some other transparency-increasing role.

“Sorry”. The targets in this case would be those who claim to be “sorry” about something, but then add a qualifying clause (eg “if anyone was offended by what I said“) implying that there are no real grounds for remorse, and that the only problem is the morbid sensitivity of the parties to whom they’re pretending to apologise. If prosecuted successfully by Nasa, offenders would be required to climb up and down Croagh Patrick on bare knees, repeatedly, until a panel of psychologists certified them to have achieved a state of genuine sorrow.

“Stunning”. Once reserved for vistas of Himalayan grandeur, this adjective is increasingly deployed by estate agents to describe mediocre houses, or by Twitter users posting lame pictures of barely visible full moons over Dublin. Under the Nasa code, repeat abusers would be forced to present the supposedly stunning photographic evidence to a jury. If this failed to produce at least one case of mild concussion, the offenders would be tasered.

“Important”. This is still an acceptable adjective in most contexts. The exception is where it occurs in the sentence “your call is important to us” and is then followed by an interminable soundtrack of musak interrupted periodically by mind-numbing repetitions of the original message. Offenders would be imprisoned for an indefinite period, but could find out how and when they might be released by listening very carefully to the following menu.

“Iconic”. Yes, some figurative use of this adjective is reasonable. But it is now so hackneyed, and applied to such an absurdly wide range of undeserving subjects, that Nasa would reserve the right to frame the term’s worst abusers behind glass and hang them in churches.

"Legendary". Again, some leeway may be allowed here vis-a-vis the original definition, which relates to stories of mythical or semi-mythical figures, such as saints, Greek gods, the Fianna, etc. Applying the adjective to celebrity hairdressers, however, or to hurlers under the age of 30, is unacceptable. Punishments would include hitting offenders over the head with leather-bound copies of the Annals of the Four Masters.

"Passionate". Dictionaries still insist that this refers to strong emotions of the kind associated with love or anger. Ever since its hijacking by the corporate sector, however, we have been asked to believe that you now can be passionate about banking, or proctology, or hardware manufacture, or countless other careers. To prevent further abuse, Nasa would select test-cases of such alleged passion at random and fit the claimants with heart monitors. Anyone failing to produce an above-normal pulse rate during working hours would be required to learn Romeo and Juliet verbatim and recite it before a live audience.

“Hand-crafted”, “pan-fried”, “triple-cooked”, etc. Although not confined to upmarket restaurants, the use of pretentious compound adjectives is especially beloved of menu writers. Nasa would punish authors of the most egregious examples by inserting hyphens in their most sensitive places, without anaesthetic.

"Deceptively spacious". This one is exclusive to estate agents, and of their many crimes against euphemism it is probably the worst. If subject to an investigation by the authority, the user of the term would have to prove that the shoebox apartment he or she was flogging did indeed have unseen expansion potential, via, for example, a Chronicles of Narnia-style wardrobe. Failing that, the guilty party would be forced to undergo a period of reflection on the deceptiveness of space while locked in the boot of a car.

@FrankmcnallyIT.