Git and prat are not the same
thing. They’re spelt differently for a start. They do not, as many assume, mean
idiot. Git refers to the joint on a type of sixteenth century ploughing harness
which is prone to breaking once the leather wears, whereas prat has its origins
in a mindless squabble of words that has each involved none the wiser.
Although these definitions may come as some surprise to many, they didn’t to
Thomas, who’s been called git and prat so often over the course of his life that
at one stage he wondered they were, in fact, his name—especially since his
mother referred to him as both up until Social Services stepped in and forced
her to give him a proper one. Further clues that neither of these words were
his name was apparent in the large quantities of phlegm people doused him in
after calling him either. Initially, Thomas thought this might be something to
do with their accent in the same way that ordering certain alcoholic beverages
in southern Mediterranean countries requires borderline hoiking. It became
evident this wasn’t the case, however, when he was doused in phlegm after
asking. He even wondered whether the words were compliments of sorts, with the
phlegm being, perhaps, a badly blown kiss. This wasn’t the case either, he
discovered, when an attempt to repay the compliment resulted in him being admitted
to hospital with a nasty case of rapid door insertion.
Armed with this mass of
confusion, an umbrella and an assortment of flannels, Thomas was determined to
get to the bottom of the words’ definitions. After learning Latin he became a
Professor of Languages at the Faculty of Modern and Medieval Languages at the
University of Cambridge, where he delved into the sort of books that hadn’t
been opened until shortly after their initial print run at the turn of the
previous millennia. Within them he discovered the aforementioned definitions of
git and prat, which was a bitter-sweet triumph in that they weren’t compliments
after all. Furthermore, because their true definitions had been lost in
antiquity, those accusing him of being both inadvertently proved themselves as
idiots themselves, the irony of which left him comfortable to leave it at that.
“I don’t mind being called a
git,” Thomas said, after we found him flailing about in a gutter. “Nor do I
mind being called a prat, for that matter. Frankly, I’m grateful anyone can be
bothered considering me long enough to form an opinion on the matter. I do,
however, think it unfair to accuse me of being an idiot, as most people who
hoik phlegm at me don’t know anything about the real Thomas Corfield at all;
whether I enjoy being doused in phlegm, for example.”
We highlighted the ample
evidence of him being an idiot in both his dreadful books and because he was lying
a gutter.
The denial that followed
bordered on commendable.
“Yes, but that’s only to make
it easier to drain their phlegm,” Thomas said, while trying to wipe some off. “Being
called a git or a prat is one thing, but to be doused in phlegm is quite
another. Some days I’m so phlegmy that when I try to sit down I slip off and
slide miles away from where I’d attempted to place my bottom.” He tried
pointing at a nearby café, but slipped. “I was in there last week, trying to
explain to its customers and staff the difference between git and prat. But
after yelling at me, they doused me in masses of phlegm, which had me stagger
backwards, slip on large quantities of it and end up in this gutter where I’ve
been flailing ever since. I’ve asked several people to help me up, obviously,
but most either contribute to my phlegminness or urinate on me. Someone wanted
to kick me in the head yesterday, though refrained because of concerns for their
shoes.”
No comments:
Post a Comment