Euphemisms

I’m just going for a Euphemism.

Euphemisms were invented to hide unpleasant truths or socially unacceptable vocabulary. By shrouding the telling in a gentle cloak, we disguise that which we feel we must utter but would rather ignore. They also can be useful when trying to hide vulgarity or sexual references, especially for the closet prude or when in mixed company. My favourite is “He told me to have sex and travel.”
One concept which has probably as many euphemisms as sex and bodily functions is death:

Gone for a Burton’s

Hello, How’s whatsisname? Malcolm was it, or Michael, yes, Mike?

Didn’t you know? He bought it.

Oh, that house on Woodhead Road with the wobbly car-port and the damp understory.

No. He’s gone. Gone West.

Liverpool eh? Bought a house in Liverpool. Well I never. He always was a Beatles fan. He did a fair rendition of ‘Yesterday’ when he’d had a few. Didn’t think he’d go that far.

No, Not Liverpool; he’s gone for a Burton; he’s sleeping.

Burton eh? That would be Burton-on Trent? That’s South not West. Make good beer there. Oh I see. Not gone there but had some beer. Now that I understand. I always fall asleep after a few pints.

No. Asleep, as in, ‘gone to a better place’.

There aren’t many better places than Liverpool now are there? Burton-on-Trent is ok. Both are a fair distance, just for a sleep. So where has he actually gone? Which pub sells Burton ales round here?

Oh dear. How shall I put it? He’s gone to the Grim Reaper; kicked the bucket.

I know the Grim Reaper. Do a lovely ploughman’s lunch. The Bucket? Just remind me. Where is it? I thought I knew all the pubs round here. Ah: a bucket of ale. Surely you mean that figuratively. No wonder he’s gone to sleep. Didn’t know the Reaper sold Burton’s.

Poor Mike has gone to his final resting place. Now do you understand?

That is amazing. After a skin full I usually fall asleep where I’m sitting. Good old Mike eh? Took himself straight to bed.

You don’t get it. He’s let go. Cashed in his cheque. Shuffled off etc…

It’s the drink you know. Let himself go. Straight out of the post office with his giro and straight to the pub. Spent it all on drink. Shuffles now does he? I always thought he was in control of himself; always walked tall did good old Mike. Shuffles eh? Plays havoc with the heels of your shoes. Wouldn’t like his shoe repair bill.

You make this very difficult. He……..he…… he died.

I’m not surprised after all that Burton’s Ale. Alcoholic poisoning eh? At least he died happy; and in his own bed.

© GEWilkinson 8/07