Mrs Oliver and I do not dispute with one another on matters great or small. We are, for the most part, good friends, well met, in addition to our deep well of mutual affection. All this, however, flies right out the Pella skylight when the topic of pronouncing names of Italian foods comes up. For her, it’s “managot”, “mots”, “spaget”, “brashoot” and so on. To counteract these linguistic abominations, I say such words with their vowels fully intact and, to twist the knife, in a posh English accent. Thus “brashoot” becomes prosciutto as enunciated by HRH Princess Anne, the HM’s sister. This results in what, in diplomatic circles, are known as open and frank discussions. The act of clipping words in our language is an ancient one, starting in Old English, as I now elucidate.
© 2024 John Oliver
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