Contempt that bred familiarity

Clichés and I, we exist together peaceably these days.

In fact the friendship, I am not displeased to report, has far exceeded this mild temper. Clichés and I have become Fast Friends.

Of late, I find we’ve been rescuing each other from many daunting situations.

Often these days when I falter in thought and speech [it is Age, I’m convinced. Wily bastard has been preying upon my faculties]… pronto, a cliché presents itself without consideration for its well being or reputation.

And I, on my part, renowned enemy of the cliché in my more agile days, am now but a mellow creature, who welcomes, nay defends the cliché with the magnanimity of a lactating cow. There is, undeniably, certain joy of the spirit in representing those less fortunate than oneself, and I am pleased to share my late [but Ever Timely] discovery that though the cliché can assault the finer sensibilities of those who fancy themselves a part of that remote league of linguistic militia that pit their wits against what they arrogantly refer to as the corruption of the Word [I was once one of them], there is an inextinguishable truth burning fierce and pure at the core of each of these much misunderstood foot soldiers of language.

After all, what has a cliché done, but repeat an incorruptible truth relentlessly over the ages, across language, caste, creed and sex, without fatigue, or thanks or even an honourable mention?

No more shall I indulge in this vile act of arrogance and ignorance! In fact, solemnly have I pledged that at every crossroad whence a cliché is challenged, I shall rise, without fear to wreak vengeance upon those who try to shame it with Scathing Retort and Quick Repartee. And clichés, gentle generous angels, in turn pour themselves forth with heartening abandon into every sentence I construct. They apply their sturdy time-tested selves with loving attention to every thought that I think, and together with a camaraderie befitting twins, we endeavour to erect linguistic monuments of engaging proportion.

Of course not everyone appreciates such fond memories that clichés and I are creating for posterity.

Certain dark forces are streaming forth their untrammelled maliciousness in the garb of “concern over my sudden lack of creativity” and other such thinly masked pretences at sympathy from the inner circles of Those Who I Work For, and Those Who Used To Like Reading What I Wrote in a deplorable and dastardly attempt to Put a Spanner in the Works.

If only I could tell them: Live and Let Live. But to their insensate ears, this is just another cliché. Ah irony! Such is the nifty wisdom of a handy cliché. Who but they stand by me in this Dark Hour? Is it not true that A Friend in Need is a Friend indeed? Oh clichés! Upon My Soul, you are the truest of the True Blue.

And now, gentlefolk of BlogWorld, I extend my plea to all of you who empathise with this cause – please pause a moment to sign this petition*:

Save the cliché.
Because, Without Them We Are Nothing But Shells of Ourselves.

If you forward this to ten people, a Click in Time Will Save Nine.
If you forward this to twenty people, you will Make Hay While the Sun Shines.

If you don't, Go Die in a Ditch, B… Witch.

*Disclaimer: We, at Shout, cannot promise that anything will come of this petition despite our Best Intentions, as There is Many a Slip Between the Cup and The Lip.