Some time I ago I wrote about a peculiar anti-busking sign by Southwark Council that employed a line from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. Now a second gem from the Council’s resident team of poet-bureaucrats has come to light. This one was spotted and snapped by Karl Sharro (who, by the by, writes brilliantly here). Once again, it’s an intriguing mash-up of quip and quibble. There’s another line attributed to Wilde that might work well as an addition to the sign: ‘Bureaucracy expands to meet the needs of the expanding bureaucracy.’ Or better still, this: ‘Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.’

Spotted by fellow copywriter Mike Reed, who rightly comments: 'If music be the food of love, this is a famine.'

Tone deaf

You’ll find this sign down by the Thames, on London’s Southbank. The setting explains the allusion to Shakespeare – the Globe Theatre is nearby. So you can imagine what might have happened here: A brief to create a warning notice about busking surfaces in the council’s communications department. Someone with a touch of culture flowing through their veins thinks, ‘Hmm, buskers are performers, so let’s create a friendly notice that picks up on the link to Bill, while gently pointing out that you can’t perform here.’ Hence that rather nice idea to lead with the line from Twelfth Night. Perhaps their original draft then went on something like this:

We all love music, but there are times when we all need peace and quiet too.

Unfortunately, busking can be a real nuisance for the people who live in this area.

So we ask would-be performers to please find another spot – somewhere you can play on while everyone enjoys your performance.

Thank you.

It’s not the height of poetic expression or clever copywriting, but it links the Shakespearean reference with the communications objective in an engaging way. Unfortunately, the version that made it into the public realm transforms the warm voice of culture into a crackling megaphone announcement from a crotchety, authoritarian bureaucrat. The ‘but do not play on here’ is a sharp linguistic slap, while ‘busking causes a nuisance to local residents’ seems an obscure way to ask for consideration of others. They then paste in a statement from the legal department, but this distracts from the first two points by introducing other reasons why you can’t play on – obstruction and unlicensed selling. So, in fact, the ban isn’t entirely intended to combat anti-social artistic activity, it’s about policing commercial activity in a public space too.

The design language of the sign reflects the bossiness of the words. They use hyphens instead of dashes or bullet points, and the second dash is pushed up against the word ‘busking’, so it looks like a word is missing. Bizarrely, they add a stop after the first point, but not after the second. And they start each line from a different place, instead of ranging it all left, or centering it.

The message ends with a more personal element – the name ‘Southwark’ rendered in handwriting. But another side of the council’s personality has already stamped its mark on the language. It seems a long way from the nicely expressed celebration of the area on their website: ‘Borough and Bankside has a reputation as the racy side of the river across from the City. History shows the area as a roistering quarter of theatres and taverns with rich and poor all out to party like it’s 1599.’

In Shakespeare’s time many of the locals disliked the play houses and the lively crowd they attracted. Perhaps their spirit lives on.

Tim
PS Thanks to Mike for permission to show his shot.

If you detect a waft of sarcasm in the air it’s because I’m not a great fan of Plain English, as I outline in some detail in Plain Wrong. I also give it a flick on the ear in Writing Wrongs. I think Plain English is the anxious health and safety regime of working language. I don’t object to public bodies investing in training to help their employees produce clear information and guidance; what’s odd is that so many businesses have signed up to Plain English schemes. Whatever happened to competitive advantage, differentiation and brand personality?

Clear writing has its place – and there really are plenty of organisations who should communicate with greater clarity – but sometimes there’s more to life than instructions and information. Clarity is a good first step on the path to effective writing, but in business we should aspire to go further. Designers don’t limit themselves to pure function; why should writers at work restrict themselves to functional language? What about the possibilities offered by the colour, shade, shape, movement, sound and character of words? Why would any reader choose plain over flavoursome, unless they’re boring? Why would we ever think plain was something to celebrate, when what we really want is to be interesting or persuasive or challenging or helpful or memorable or surprising or inspiring or something in addition to clear?

So, to counterbalance all the smug guff we’ll probably hear today about gobbledygook and jargon, I wanted to offer you some words that take us to the other end of the language spectrum. Forget the style police; enjoy a few allusions, delusions and gorgeous profusions from Joyce’s Finnegans Wake:

Countlessness of livestories have netherfallen by this plage, flick as flowflakes, litters from aloft, like a waast wizzard all of whirlworlds. Now are all tombed to the mound, isges to isges, erde from erde… For that (the rapt one warns) is what papyr is meed of, made of, hides and hints and misses in prints. Till ye finally (though not yet endlike) meet with the acquaintance of Mister Typus, Mistress Tope and all the little typtopies. Filstup. So you need hardly spell me how every word will be bound over to carry three score and ten toptypsical readings throughout the book of Doublends Jined (may his forehead be darkened with mud who would sunder!) till Daleth, mahomahouma, who oped it closeth thereof the. Dor… In the Nichtian glossery which purveys aprioric roots for aposteriorious tongues this is nat language in any sinse of the world… Tis as human a little story as paper could well carry.

If you enjoyed that, you might like to watch the film Passages from James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake (1965). Directed by Mary Ellen Bute, with a screenplay by Mary Manning. You can see it for free here.

Tim

PS There’s also a smart riposte to plainness over at The Writer’s Joycean sounding Thingamablog.

The English language in America is fog-bound. This is hellish serious, more serious than who will be the next Republican nominee for the Presidency. If we cannot communicate clearly with one another, who can tell what our votes will mean? Two lousy forces are at work: (a) stencilism and (b) carbonic plague. They have in common only their hideous fear of straight talk. We cannot now say “in colleges”: we must say “at the college level”. Nor can we say “yearly”; things are now “on an annual basis”. Who done this? Webster’s Third? Here is one crime, I think that cannot be lain at their door. But at whom’s?

April no longer brings “showers”, it brings “shower activity”. There is also “flurry activity” here, on a winter basis. Do we have “fog”? Goodness knows we do, but it is “fog conditions” which create “chain reaction pile ups” on the New Jersey Turnpike. (The Turnpike is, of course, a “facility”, just as Columbia University is a facility, at the college level.)

Analysis, is giving way to “analyzation”, by the way, to keep things straight “at this time”—and you’d better not get caught making a summary of things any more because what you’re really after is a “summarisation”. If it’s a good summarisation it could lead to a significant “breakthrough” which could accelerate the toothpaste “explosion” and thus close the dental “gap”.

If a media of communication wants to be more than a passing phenomenon at a satisfactory profit level on an annual basis, it ought to contemplate a facility for more analysation on what in hell’s name is being done to the English language by some “doee” or “doees” unknown.

New York Herald Tribune, 1964

Strangely, an even more recent hour spent nosing through old newspapers unearthed another pedantic, weather-related missive from 1964. This one is from a newspaper that is alive and well today, despite some creaking in the knee department.

“There could be,” said the radio yesterday, “a little snow here and there.” “Snow showers,” it said on Saturday, “could be prolonged.”

Thus the B.B.C. catches up with current cant, which through substituting “could” for “may” or “might” weakens the language by blurring definition. It is now quite common to hear or see “could” used twice in one sentence with a different meaning each time.

Of all people, the B.B.C. should know better. But as yesterday it also said that “cycling past Woburn Abbey, a black squirrel ran across the road,” the situation could now be hopeless.

Daily Telegraph, 1964

Tim

There’s been lots of coverage of business jargon in books and articles, and I think people are a little more conscious of their language as a result. Even ‘going forward’ seems to be going backwards. Having said that, businesses do seem to be stretching for words to describe the way different groups of people communicate and connect. There’s much talk of us ‘interacting’ with each other, which conjurs up scenes of humans dressed as Cybermen. Probably the most discussed pieces of jargon in my neck of the woods are ‘tone of voice’ and ‘brand storytelling’, which have become buzzwords emanating from practically every mediocre brand agency. I’ve just seen that The Apprentice contestant Alex Epstein – who was recently Germ-O-Nated by Sralan – has set himself up as a ‘brand storyteller’. Business jargon is still several leagues below public sector gobbledygook, however. Fans of Carry On might enjoy some of the terms that issue forth from local government, like ‘Citizen touchpoints’, ‘pump priming’ and ‘deep dive’. But my favourite public sector phrases are ‘predictors of beaconicity’, ‘goldfish bowl facilitated conversations’ and ‘meaningful reusable interactivity’. There’s that word ‘interactivity’ again.

Tone of voice is a specific service, not just an add-on to copywriting

Some have queried my inclusion of ‘tone of voice’ and challenged me to come up with something better (I can’t). I do think ‘tone of voice’ is useful when applied to the spoken word or a piece of writing, but it’s becoming less useful when describing a specific service provided to clients. Lots of copywriters have added tone of voice to what they say they offer, but they don’t necessarily have expertise in analysing, assessing and improving a company’s tone – they’re simply good, bad or mediocre at writing bits of its communications. In other words, they can apply a tone but not necessarily create one. Meanwhile, design agencies are adding tone to their list of services, but few have any real understanding of it.

Getting to the heart of how a company uses words is a substantial job, and not every writer or agency can do it. For example, a major tone of voice programme can be fraught with dull but deadly obstacles to change, from office politics to compliance restrictions or a sprawling network of offices; do many copywriters understand how to address issues like this? Could many design agencies create a writing training programme for employees?

So ‘tone of voice’ is becoming degraded to the extent that it’s unclear what someone means when they say they offer it, and that’s a problem. It reminds me of a time when designers started to say they offered ‘branding’ when, in fact, they created logos. Talking of loose language, in the summer I wrote about how a bureaucratic mindset poisons language. This wasn’t simply another rant about jargon; I was trying to point out that public sector organisations often create anti-gobbledygook initiatives without addressing the fundamental reasons why bad language is generated in the first place. It’s not enough to get someone in the communications department (or an external consultant) to produce a guide criticising ill words and promoting plain English – the root causes of complex, confusing and wasteful writing go too deep to be resolved by that.

Back in July, my feeling was that PR noise about plain English would increase in direct proportion to the growth in austerity measures. A campaign that seemed to represent the public interest might help to dilute sentiment against the public body involved as it went about making cuts – a cynical measure for desperate times. In other words, when the public is scrutinising its representatives more closely than before, jargon might be a handy Aunt Sally. I wrote:

A blazing star turns Lewes night to day. The oratorio of shrieks and bellows and wails begins. This humpy necropolis at the meeting point of Downs and Weald is shuddering its ghosts from the mortar. Bonfire. A wake. You are not welcome, however. Lewes Bonfire Council suggests ‘outsiders’ stay away. Police issue health and safety warnings. Trains are cancelled. Parking is impossible. It rains. Seventy five thousand people turn up.

I can’t find reference to Bonfire in Belloc. Perhaps it offended his Catholicity, for tonight, as always on the fifth, an effigy of a Pope will burn. The infamous ‘No Popery’ banner is already flying down by the Ouse. It’s normally a pleasant gift shop area. I’ve often wanted to add a banner declaring ‘No Pot Pourri’.

There is serious history at play, however. Bonefires burned across Sussex in the 1550s. According to John Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, four Protestants went to the stake in my home village, Mayfield. Seventeen more were burnt outside the Star Inn in Lewes. A memorial in Mayfield depicts logs and flames and declares ‘Thy Word is Truth’. I think of Matilda Who Told Lies, And Was Burned to Death. Remembrance of the martyrs was introduced to Bonfire in the 1850s – a Protestant response to contemporary political and religious issues.

Torches are lit, the procession begins, rook-scarers split cold air, and the bacchantes chant “Oi! Oi! Oi!”. There are Cavaliers. Zulus. Mongolian warriors. Siamese dancers. American Indians. Pirates. Space aliens. A man dressed as Herne the Hunter. A long line of mixed metaphors. Despite the anti-popery, there’s something Bellocose about this combination of dark fuming and expressive zest, this farrago of black powders. Effigies of ‘Enemies of Bonfire’ – usually local officials – are paraded on pikes, but there’s also a sense of togetherness and vitality. Sectarian prejudice is a persistent but feint stain. ‘Popery’ has become shorthand for authoritarianism. We Wunt Be Druvvery is in the air, spiced with a smoky Bellocian verve.

Following a Society to its firesite, we find ourselves mixed up in the ranks of torchbearers. A marshall dressed as a Wren screeches “Respect the procession! Respect the procession!” The pyre is lit. The Archbishop of Bonfire hollers his sermon into the wind… to blazes with identity cards… Bonfire prayers rumble. Guy’s head explodes. I raise a glass and a cheddar sandwich to Belloc. He would probably see all this as a memorial service for lost ways – a remembrance. But I think we can choose our fate. The real story of Sussex is one of resurgence not passive wistfulness. All the energy stored in the trees; the budding promise in the ground; the enduring local passion for the land; the vibrant spirit that filled the alleys of this town tonight – Sussex still has what it takes to inspire exuberant feelings, exuberant words. It may have ceded ground, but there is life in the old kingdom yet.’

And here’s an additional excerpt, this time on Belloc and language:

‘Belloc’s best work is a counter-blast to current anxieties over readers’ attention spans, to our timid aspiration to write ‘plain English’ that gets to the point quickly. He wanders around his point like a farmer inspecting a cow at market; ruminating, prodding, prompting, proposing. He sets up rumbustious dialogues that stretch and strain his themes. Even his interior monologues have a sense of conversation and exchange; of opinion forming as the writing unfolds.

I find Belloc a particularly fine writer of paragraphs, rather than sentences. And long paragraphs at that. Here’s just a section of a paragraph I love, from an essay called The Mowing of a Field (1906):

‘Good verse is best written on good paper with an easy pen, not with a lump of coal on a whitewashed wall. The pen thinks for you; and so does the scythe mow for you if you treat it honorably and in a manner that makes it recognize its service. The manner is this. You must regard the scythe as a pendulum that swings, not as a knife that cuts. A good mower puts no more strength into his stroke than into his lifting. Again, stand up to your work. The bad mower, eager and full of pain, leans forward and tries to force the scythe through the grass. The good mower, serene and able, stands as nearly straight as the shape of the scythe will let him, and follows up every stroke closely, moving his left foot forward. Then also let every stroke get well away. Mowing is a thing of ample gestures, like drawing a cartoon. Then, again, get yourself into a mechanical and repetitive mood: be thinking of anything at all but your mowing, and be anxious only when there seems some interruption to the monotony of the sound. In this mowing should be like one’s prayers—all of a sort and always the same, and so made that you can establish a monotony and work them, as it were, with half your mind: that happier half, the half that does not bother.’

Holler boys, holler! Have an explosive night.

Tim

It’s probably a good thing that many public bodies invest in training to help their employees produce clear information and guidance (although the Taxpayers’ Alliance seems to disagree). What I find peculiar is that so many companies have signed up to Plain English schemes. In no other area of business is it acceptable to aspire to be just as good as your competitors. What about standing out? What about competing at the level of the word? What about being the best in your market when it comes to communicating? Have you ever seen a design brief that says ‘Please make us look exactly the same as everyone else’? Setting Plain English as the highest level of aspiration for a company is like briefing the R&D department to invent what has already been invented, the sales department to sell what people already have, the marketing department to create advertising already seen, and the human resources department to recruit mediocre employees. It’s communications as compliance rather than competitive advantage.

Should companies rely on an outside organisation to 'assure' the world they are honest?

On the other hand, characterful language can be a brilliant and enduring point of difference between one business and all others. Powerful and particular words speak volumes about the personality and quality of an organisation, especially its employees. And language with character lasts longer in the reader’s mind. For these reasons alone, every business should devote a little thought to defining and enhancing its unique way of writing and speaking. But too many opt for the limiting linguistic health and safety regime of Plain English, rather than a more enterprising use of words. Plain trumps particular in these risk-averse times.

To get a sense of how far Plain Englishness has penetrated into business you only have to go here. Those are the Plain English Campaign’s current corporate members (life membership at £12,000, otherwise £3,000 per year). There are lots of commercial organisations on that list. Many other businesses pay to apply the Campaign’s Crystal Mark (£500 per year) and Internet Crystal Mark. The Campaign has also introduced an Honesty Mark – ‘a free logo available to any document displaying a Crystal Mark, so long as the organisation is prepared to sign our declaration. This declaration guarantees that everything in the document is true.’ So, if I have understood correctly, organisations effectively award the Honesty Mark to themselves, which seems a bit odd to me.

I think the Plain English Campaign has done some very useful work in highlighting misuses and abuses of language by public agencies, but I have reservations about their role in business. For me, the growth of such independent approval schemes tells a rather sorry tale about the lack of purpose and confidence within contemporary corporate culture. Really, no medium-to-large company should need outsiders to come in to tell them that their communications are comprehensible, let alone require their stamp of approval to confirm that they are honest. And no company should think that honesty and clarity are anything but sound steps on the way to truly effective writing. Hasn’t business life come to something when so many organisations feel the need to outsource the judgement of communications quality and integrity?

Substantial businesses should have the expertise to know when they are communicating effectively, and the competitive drive to find unique ways to talk to the world. They should win people’s trust by being trustworthy. And they should have the self-belief needed to stamp their own mark of authority and authenticity on what they say, not someone else’s. After all, who knows its customers best – the company itself, or its Plain English consultants?

Tim