Dear learned logophile,
Exciting news! This month’s newsletter is brought to you courtesy of a groundbreaking new collaboration with the English language. Over the coming paragraphs, I shall be laying out a salivatory smorgasbord of verbs, nouns, adjectives, pronouns, adverbs, prepositions and conjunctions: a feast of words on which to graze and ruminate, nibble and gnaw, or possibly just choke and retch. Some may be mysterious or mellifluous:
My Favourite Words
Pipette and plectrum, obumbrate and flimsy,
balderdash, spatchcock, flapdoodle and whimsy,
obnubilation and nontrepreneur –
these are a few of my favourite words.
Sachet, humdudgeon, haboob, hurly-burly,
scroddled and dottle, goluptious and surly,
mumpsimus, tawdry, decumbent and blurb –
these are a few of my favourite words.
Susurrus, zephyr, rubescent, boondoggle,
reboant, gaggle, hubris and hornswoggle,
plethora, refulgent, plinth and perturb –
these are a few of my favourite words.
When the rose droops
When the branch snags
When I’m lachrymose
I simply remember my favourite words
and then I don’t feel morose.
But please be assured that this newsletter will not restrict itself to flashy, showboating words of the kind featured in the poem above. There’s a place here, too, for the hardworking toilers of the English language: those words which go about their everyday business without flamboyance, the load-carrying carthorses plodding their path in quiet stoicism, barely noticed, while their fancy dan associates grab all the glory.
In Praise of “The”
How do I love “the”? Let me count the ways.
I love how you always know your own mind.
Steadfast and certain, you’re one of a kind,
Yet under the radar; rare is the praise
That comes your way in spite of your presence
In seven percent of all printed words.
You give me context and make life less blurred.
I love your candour, your selfless essence.
You’re too particular claim your critics –
An assertion I find most farcical.
If you were not there to be specific,
Our language would become anarchical.
“The”, I love you – I think you’re terrific.
For me, you’re the definite article.
There may be certain readers of this newsletter who have begun to take umbrage. Those who may have decided to overlook the spelling of ‘favourite’ in that first poem, but who can no longer turn a blind eye to the spelling of ‘candour’ in the one that followed. I apologise for that but it’s simply not possible to please all of the people all of the time – and besides, I have never quite forgiven you for ruining my streak on Wordle.
On Discovering the Wordle Solution
to be ‘FAVOR’
Americans,
I have some news to report.
I have done the ‘math’
and you’re one letter short.
That extra letter
gives it colour and flavour.
Yours, with candour,
An affectionate neighbour.
Words can be tricky customers, however. I find them much easier when I get a chance to think about them first, then write them down. That’s why words are the ideal format for an email newsletter. If I had to tell you my news in person, I doubt it would go very well. I’d jabber and gibber, blather and blither, gabble and chunter. Also, it would also take me ages to get around and visit all of you. It’d be expensive, too. Yes, the more I think about it, the more impractical and foolish that whole idea seems. I’ll stick to email.
Words
Words are absurd.
They can stick in your throat,
particularly the ones
you can’t get in edgeways.
Words can teeter on tenterhooks
or on the tip of your tongue
(until someone comes to take them
right out of your mouth).
Sometimes you can even have a word
in someone’s ear.
If it was a long word – like onomatopoeia –
they might struggle to hear.
Words can be blurred.
Words can be slurred.
Words can be misheard
and listeners deterred.
Words can fail you,
utterly.
Autumn Tour Q&A (cont’d)
You may have noticed that there isn’t much ‘news’ in this newsletter. That’s because I’m still on tour. My news consists mainly of train timetables and what flavour/flavor of crisps/chips I plumped for as part of my supermarket meal deal. To my surprise, however, questions are still coming in about my autumn tour.
Q. I saw you reading poems on stage from a book with butterflies on the cover. What’s it called – and can I get a copy?
A. It’s called my notebook. And no, you can’t have it.
Q. I am coming to see you in Liverpool on 28th November. How will I know it’s you on stage given there are so few photos of you in circulation?
A. Please be assured that all shows on this tour will be performed by an officially-approved Brian Bilston. There are currently twelve such Brian Bilstons operating on the poetry circuit in the UK. All have been trained to meet required performance standards and are compliant with recent changes to poetry legislation.
Q. Will you be doing any more UK dates on your ‘How to Lay an Egg with a Horse Inside Tour’ after December?
A. I’ll be having a break from touring for the first few months of next year as I need to crack on with some writing. But I will be announcing 15 new shows across April and May 2027 in my next newsletter.
Q. This is nothing to do with your tour as it belongs in the first section of your newsletter about words, but please can you include that poem with the lines which start with each letter of the alphabet?
A. Okay then.
An Attempt to Write an Abecedarian
Poem in Praise of the Dictionary
An unfaltering ability to
Bring clarity to the English language
Constitutes your
Defining quality.
Ever since the day we
First met and I
Giggled at the rude words
Hidden among your pages,
I adored you,
Jubilant in the
Knowledge that things were
Looking up. You offered me the
Meaning of life,
Not to mention the meaning of all those
Other words, too.
Perfect at settling Scrabble board
Quarrels, your judgement
Reigns supreme. I
Sift you daily, panning for words in
The hope of penning the
Ultimate – the greatest poem this
Vast world has ever seen, but
Whoa, here comes the
X, and oh, alphabet, how could you, I knew
You’d get the better of me
Zooner or later.
Q. Will this newsletter contain a list of all the shows you’ll be doing over the next couple of months?
A. Fantastic question. Yes, it will.
November
4th: WORTHING: Pavilion Tickets
6th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT
7th: BELLAGHY: Seamus Heaney HomePlace SOLD OUT
11th: LEEDS: City Varieties Last Few Tickets
12th: SUNDERLAND: The Fire Station Tickets
13th: HELMSLEY: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
14th: POCKLINGTON: Arts Centre SOLD OUT
15th: SHEFFIELD: Memorial Hall Tickets
18th: OXFORD: The North Wall SOLD OUT
19th: STROUD: Sub Rooms Last Few Tickets
20th: BRIDPORT: Electric Palace Tickets
21st: EXETER: Corn Exchange Last Few Tickets
22nd: BUDE: The Parkhouse Centre Tickets
25th: NEWARK: Palace Theatre Last Few Tickets
26th: BAKEWELL: Town Hall SOLD OUT
27th: CHORLEY: Chorley Theatre SOLD OUT
28th: LIVERPOOL: Tung Auditorium Last Few Tickets
30th: BRISTOL: St George’s Last Few Tickets
December
1st: CARDIFF: Glee Club Tickets
4th: LONDON: Union Chapel Last Few Tickets
And finally …
Don’t worry, that’s probably enough words for one month. It seems only fitting, however, to finish with this:
The Zebra is not the only Creature
whose Name begins with a Z
“Zyzzyva!” he shouted.
The slam of the front door was heard.
What a weevil, she thought –
he always had to have the last word.*
Until next month,
Brian
*Not only is ‘zyzzyva’ a type of South American weevil, found mainly on palm trees, it is also the last word in the dictionary. Unless you’ve falling off to sleep reading this newsletter: zzzzzzzzzz
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