Lovely and fantastic: a rant.

Good grief, I'd only phoned to book a table.

Prue? Could you spell that for me?

For you? Well, it seems a little early in our acquaintance for you to start asking favours, but, yes, I can certainly spell it.

That's lovely.

Prue? Lovely? No it's not. Prue is weird and unlikely. Bethany Honeyblossom is lovely; Estella Bunnynose is lovely. Sally Prue sounds like a cheap Country and Western singer.

Now, can you just confirm your address for me?

No, I can't, because I haven't told you it in the first place. But I can tell you it.

Fantastic.

Fantastic? My address? So, is it 36 Unicorn Avenue? 16 Goldilocks and the Three Bears Drive? 173 Blue Beard's Coming To Get You Mwa-ha-ha Crescent?  Nope. Nothing like that at all.

Oh, but this woman is so nice. She's cooing at me like a love-stricken dove who's just got back from the advanced customer satisfaction course. So do I point out all the frankly ridiculous things she keeps saying to me? Or do I answer her questions politely and leave her to drive all her other customers to distraction?

Well, why do think I'm still fuming?

I was fantastic and lovely, of course.

Word To Use Today: fantastic. This word started off in English in the 1300s as fantastik. It came from the Greek phantastikos, capable of imagining, from phantazein, to make visible.