Yes, yes, I know – you don’t spell gingivitis with an 'er' in the middle! Such is the appalling standard of spelling in this country that I haven’t exactly been inundated with messages pointing out my ‘error’ in last Thursday’s entry.
To the one person who mentioned it – it was a bloody joke! Ginger Vitis, the World War Two ace fighter pilot? Mate of Algy? Barrack buddy of Biggles and Co? Yes? Got it!?
Anyway, I went back to the dentist yesterday, to check on my battle against the early stages of gingivitis. And after another wincing clean I was given the all-clear.
Yes, the all-clear, chaps. So put your feet up, Ginger. Have a rest and an ounce of shag, Algy. Lie down and … leave that new recruit alone, Biggles. He’s far too young for you. Organise a spelling bee, instead.
Sadly, I might not win it. For most of my adult life (in pre-spellcheck days, children) I was a professional speller, among other things. Now that I am semi-retired and my talents are veering towards other matters, suddenly my spelling is beginning to falter.
The other day, for instance, I spelled (or spelt) the name of the famous chapel ‘Cistine’ instead of Sistine. I checked the envelope and realised I’d address it to the Pupe.
Ah well, he probably doesn’t want it emulsioning anyway …
P.S. The credit crunch. No knee-jerk reaction from me this morning to Alistair Darling's 'rescue the nation' statement – but only because I have to dash out.
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