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The increasingly inaccurately-named blog of journalist and futurist Chris Taylor. Either the most sporadically brilliant amateur blog, the most brilliantly amateur sporadic blog, or the most amateur sporadic brilliance on the Web since 2001.
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Who are you?
I'm the newly-appointed Future editor at Business 2.0 and the former San Francisco correspondent for Time Magazine.
Wow, so does this mean everything you write reflects Time Inc's opinion? Or do you perhaps have some sort of standard disclaimer to the effect that it doesn't?
Naturally, the opinions contained in this blog are not those of my employers. In fact, some opinions may be the polar opposite of my employers. Some may be the same, for all I know. Hey, it's not like I ask my employers their opinions about everything in the news, okay? Let's just say that if this were a Venn diagram with one circle marked "my opinions" and the other one marked "my employers' opinions", there would doubtless be some overlap. But neither I nor my employers are able to pinpoint exactly where that overlap is.
What is this Daily Blah thing?
An experiment for a column I wrote about blogging back in December 2001. All these years later, I haven't been able to kick the habit.
Do you write any other blogs, by chance? Could that have something to do with the fact that Daily Blah isn't always Daily?
Yes -- the Future Boy blog for Business 2.0. And yes. If you want true, editorially-mandated daily coverage from me, that's probably the best place to look.
Mister, you talk funny. Are you one of them furrners?
Why yes I am, as it happens. I was born, raised and educated in Great Britain. I've been living in the U.S. since 1996 and identify as British.
I say, old chap, you forgot the "u" in "colour."
No I didn't. I may identify as British, but I am also an American journalist writing for an American audience about mostly American issues. These two different sides of me are a constant source of tension. Nevertheless, Daily Blah will adhere to American English grammar and spelling.
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Daily Blah for... Friday, March 10, 2006
The Gaff Gaffe
Taxi driver at King's Cross: "Where you going then, mate? I 'eard 'Camden,' then I just 'eard 'blah blah blah.'"
Me (taken aback by the potential impertinence, but polite as ever): "Royal College Street, please. You know the bit where it becomes Kentish Town Road?"
The cabbie goes quiet for a bit, no doubt flicking through the pages of the A-Z in his head. This innate knowledge of London's byzantine street system is what they call The Knowledge, and every driver of a black taxi is supposed to have it.
Taxi driver: "Oh yeah. That's where that sauna gaff is, innit?"
A number of things go through my head at this moment. First of all, I am delighted by the word "gaff", which I haven't heard in years. It's cockney for home, house, business, establishment; basically, anywhere you can get a cup of char (tea). One strand of thought goes off in search of the word's historical origins. It's got all the hallmarks of original Anglo-Saxon -- the four-letter construction, that hard Germanic 'g'. I wonder if straw huts and stone castles were once both called 'gaffs', and what delightfully leveling Saxon impertinence that would be.
Secondly, I think of the 'sauna gaff' itself. It's a self-proclaimed "sauna and massage parlour" called Touch of Class, although the 'l' on the sign has rubbed off so much over the years that Emily calls it 'Touch of Cee Ass.' Given that it's the only establishment of its kind I've seen in Camden -- this is not exactly the red-light district of North London we're talking about -- it's somewhat revealing that the cabbie should mention this landmark rather than, say, the Old Eagle pub, or (a very cockney thing, this) the Pie, Mash and Eels shop. I try not to think about whether my cab fare will contribute towards my driver having a Touch of Cee Ass tonight.
My thoughts thus distracted, I let slip what I'm constantly on guard against when back in my homeland: an Americanism. "Yeah," I reply. "It's on the same block." On the same block! Oh, what must the cabbie be thinking of me now. "Is 'e American? Is 'e puttin' on that toffee-nosed accent? 'E must be 'avin' a larf." But what, I wonder, was I supposed to say? "Yeah, it's on the same street?" No, Royal College Street extends for miles; that can't be helpful. "Yeah, it's near that intersection?" Surely 'intersection' is even more American. Maybe 'block' is one of those words that will have to seep into English English, because we Brits have no equivalent for it. Indeed, when I tell this story to Mark, one of the most cockney people I know, he confirms that he's used it once or twice. Still, I oughtn't make a habit of it just yet.
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