Do you know?

“What a mouthful! And how observant of him,” I thought to myself. Yes, it is true, I do not concentrate on correcting other people’s mistakes as much as I did in the past.

Can you guess why? There may be a variety of reasons for that. Let me provide you with a number of hypothetical ones, and you choose the one/s that you think it is most likely to be.

1. I am not as interested in English Language as I used to be. (“WHA-AT?” as Anil would say. “Not my old teacher! She is English Language personified, even if I don’t agree with everything one of her relatives has to say. Steups!” Yes, I didn’t hear that particular one myself, but I heard about it, Anil.)

2. I am dissatisfied about a number of things. (What things could they be?)

3. Every good teacher (and I have always considered myself as one) feels that she has not taught if her intended pupils have not learnt, and that is damaging to her self-image. (That sounds plausible.)

4. I consider it a pure waste of time. The people who would derive the most benefit from it because they are the ones who damage their own public image every time they open their mouths do not seem to read the column again — not for the past seven years at least. (Put that in your pipe and smoke it.)

5. . . .

Why continue? I have made the statement before, and I reiterate it now (incidentally, that word is correctly pronounced: “re - it - erate,” not “re - I - terate”): “Every column of mine is an English Language lesson.” The only trouble for you is that you must learn to recognise for yourselves the good points about it.

Some day, I shall analyse an article of mine for you, so that in future you will know what to look for in a good article. I shall even point out to you some features that you will find in mine that you may not find in everybody else’s. That represents my particular style.

Let me end by telling you of an interesting experience I had recently. I was awakened by the telephone, and the voice at the other end of the line said pleasantly, “Good-morning, Mrs Giuseppi, this is your old opponent, Benedict Anthony.”

My day was made from that start. Age has not affected my sense of humour.

“How are you, Benedict, you - old-so-and-so?” I greeted him heartily.

We both laughed. And then began the exchange of “Do you remember this?” and “Do you remember that?”

We both remembered everything. Benedict (not his real name, as he reminded me, but I had not forgotten) has evidently come a long way in acquiring knowledge since those early days.

“I do a lot more reading of good books now,” he informed me.

Welcome to the fold of true intellectuals, Benedict! You have what it takes to make “a real man.”