New word in the morning

Everybody talks about a new word in the morning.

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Well nearly.

My goodness this is 1970 vintage. My salad days, I think they call it. “My salad days, When I was green in judgement.” And that, by the way, was Cleopatra speaking. Oh yeah, you get it all here. Roger Whittaker and Shakespeare. Not often seen together in the same paragraph.

Anyway, on the subject of a new word in the morning, Caroline is upping her game, intellectually speaking.

Be gone Mills & Boon…

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(I have to admit, I have never, ever in the neverever, read anything published by Mills & Boon).

With a view to becoming a student again – an MA in Creative and Critical Writing at the University of Sussex, application in, waiting to hear if I’ve been successful – I’ve started studying again.

First foray into the heady heights (or desperate depths) of long dormant grey matter, The Uncanny by Professor Nicholas Royle – he who would be teaching me were I to succeed. He who exchanged a signed copy of aforementioned book with a copy of my Of Night and Light after our meeting, which seemed hardly fair on him, but was his suggestion. Gulp.

I have taken to The Uncanny with alacrity. It’s fascinating. But boy do I have to be firing on all cylinders…

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Sometimes, I may have to read the same paragraph several times.

Sometimes, I discover a new word.

Here is today’s, which gave me pause for thought.

Autobiothanatoheterographical.

Yes, a new word with no fewer than 29 letters.

What does it mean?

Answers on a postcard.

I’ll tell you when I’ve worked it out.

Don’t hold your breath.

Blame Jacques Derrida, if you will.

New word:

gil-head-explode-again

 

 

 

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