Open Writing

Older readers might remember Pet Rocks. Instead of having a messy cat or dog as a pet, you could adopt a nice clean rock.

There was this fellow who decided that it was cruel to capture wild rocks. He adopted a tame one he found in his back garden. Just a small rock, seven centimetres long, about three inches in old money. He brought it indoors, washed it, and kept it in a little box. It had some small sheets and blankets to keep in warm on cold nights, too.

The neighbours’ kids were intrigued. They came round to visit the rock from time to time. Probably the most impressive thing about it was its obedience. Yes, it understood verbal commands such as ‘Sit’, ‘Stay’, ‘Lie down’, ‘Wait’, and even ‘Play dead’ but that wasn’t a very nice thing to say to an innocent little rock.

The kids’ parents, of course, thought this fellow was somewhat eccentric. That was confirmed when he had to go away on business for two weeks. He took the rock, in its comfy little box, to the neighbours and asked if they could look after it while he was away. The kids thought this was great fun. The parents exchanged worried looks. He’s definitely off his rocker.

OK, I confess. I was that chap. Well, what’s wrong with bringing a bit of daftness into our grey lives?

Another bit of daftness appeared in a magazine not long ago. Someone wrote that we can help to improve our environment by dropping unnecessary letters from words. Readers were encouraged by: ‘...the more you do yourself to prevent greenhouse gases and pollution, then u hav done a bit to reduce climat change that makes the hot wether even hotter’.

Having cared so lovingly for my pet rock, years ago, I was immediately worried about that poor wether. We must indeed consider whether the weather is too hot for our wethers. Especially in Australia, where we have a lot of wethers and a lot of weather. But I’m not at all sure that I want to help the decline in literacy by using phrases like ‘u hav’. There’s enough of that in teenagers’ e-mail messages, I reckon. That isn’t daftness. That’s semi-literacy.

More semi-literacy arrived in my e-mail box the other day: ‘Cheapest medications based licensed online phartmacy’, I made a note of that before I deleted it. I like rocks, and I value wethers, but I don’t want spam unless it comes out of a tin and you can put it into a sandwich, thank you. The other sort is double-deleted immediately.

We could ponder the exact nature of a phartmacy and what it sells and how you use it. But not now. This isn’t the time or place to discuss flatulence.

Have you watched a weather report on a commercial television station recently? (If you have, I forgive you.) Apart from being unable to speak clearly or manipulate their technology, the reporters tell us some remarkable things. One night, you will hear that the forecast is 35 degrees. That’s Celsius, used in advanced countries, not Fahrenheit. Someone else will tell you that it’s going to be a hot 35. Ye gods! Surely we all know that 35 is hot and doesn’t need explaining?

At times, the forecast might be something like 35 and stormy, or 35 and humid. That’s reasonable. But last week I heard ‘Hot and 35 tomorrow’. Now that takes ‘a hot 35’ to new heights — ‘hot and 35’ gives us two forms of heat measurement, a coupling hitherto unknown to Science. It wasn’t a slip of the tongue: the presenter was reading from the teleprompt machine thingy.

If the weather, or even the wether, can be hot and 35, then I maintain that something can be a rock and a pet. I shall hunt round my back garden for another one. But not today, because we have wet rain. It would be daft to go rock-hunting in this weather.

© Copyright 2006 Brian Barratt