Going forward

GOING forward, yet again. This phrase is creeping into our language like a virus. Last week I heard a senior army officer use "going forward" in a speech, three times in three successive sentences. On the same day , as a senior police officer was banned for drink-driving, his lawyer told the court: "A momentary lapse of judgment is going to have a profound effect on him, going forward." Any further sightings of "going forward" will be gratefully received.

IN FACT, what we need is a going-forward gong, a small device like a dinner gong to be sounded whenever "going forward" is used. That could provide a lot of innocent fun going forward. BOING! Dammit.

HULL has made it into the top 10 happiest towns in Britain according to a website survey. Hull, for gawd's sake. There is hope for us all.

A MOOD-mapping tool (don't ask) has been used to analyse the internet fallout after Conchita Wurst's Eurovision victory. It found a sudden spike in words such as "amazing," "surprising" and "funny" and concludes that the drag act spread happiness across the continent. It would be worthwhile looking for another set of words among UK internet messages, given that in British popular culture, Conchita is not the first bearded female impersonator we have known. Try looking for words such as "Kenny" "Everitt" "Stunt" and "Cupid."

I WROTE last week about Clive James who has retired, terminally ill, as a television critic. One phrase echoed in my head but took a while to find. It describes James's priceless gift of being able to take his readers from the first word to the last of a 1,000-word piece without anyone losing interest. It's like a glue that keeps the reader fixed to the page. And the less effort it takes to read, the more sweat went into it. It was the American writer Nathaniel Hawthorne who said: "Easy reading is damn hard writing."

WHEN you win an award, the congratulations of your colleagues and friends are grand. But the real joy comes from the seething rage, envy and resentment of your enemies, screeching and whining across the blogosphere. Since being voted Blogger of the Year at the Regional Press Awards a few days ago, I have been thrilled by a perfect storm of Twitter-vitriol. The icing on the cake.

REGIMENTAL war diaries put online by the National Archives last week reveal that Tommies of the First World War kept up their morale with pillow fights, wheelbarrow races and mule wrestling (my money's on the mule). We should not be surprised. Any unit that does not keep its fit young soldiers fully occupied and entertained between battles is asking for trouble. In May 1940 the Sixth Battalion of the South Staffordshire Regiment found itself on the beaches at Dunkirk. While other units may have sunk into depression as the Germans advanced, the Black Country lads were sorted into sports teams. Someone even organised motorcycle races using abandoned dispatch-rider bikes. These Territorials were so well led and bound together that something extraordinary began to happen. Stragglers from other units drifted across and attached themselves to the Sixth. Which is why this battalion has the distinction of being the only unit to bring more soldiers out of Dunkirk than it took in. Bring on the wrestling mules, sergeant-major.

I REFERRED recently to the gantry sign warning of deer on the road – in Glasgow. A reader points out that in the event of a collision they would become the deer departed. Going forward.