There. I’ve said it.
Not quietly. Not humbly. And certainly not monosyllabically.
I am — at times — grandiloquent.
Which, for those who missed Word of the Day while scrolling doom-laden headlines, means inclined to use language that is lofty, extravagant, overblown, and perhaps a touch self-important. Think fewer “aye, fair enough”s and more “allow me to expound”.
And yes, before you say it:
this is coming from the same man who recently cheerfully admitted to being sesquipedalian — a lover of long words, elaborate constructions, and verbal flourishes that could probably have been split into three shorter sentences and a shrug.
So let’s not pretend this is a sudden revelation.
Why admit it now?
Because it’s December.
And December, apparently, is when we’re meant to pause, reflect, and make well-intentioned promises to our future selves — knowing full well that at least half of them will be quietly renegotiated by mid-January.
Also because The Third Half is, among other things, about self-awareness.
And nothing says self-awareness quite like acknowledging that you sometimes sound like a Victorian pamphleteer who’s had one espresso too many.
Grandiloquent vs Sesquipedalian
(A very brief linguistic VAR check)
• Sesquipedalian is about word length. Long words. Big words. Words that look like they should come with planning permission.
• Grandiloquent is about tone. The flourish. The trumpet fanfare. The rhetorical hand gesture you can’t quite see, but know is there.
You can be sesquipedalian without being grandiloquent (technically precise, just… verbose).
You can be grandiloquent without being sesquipedalian (big tone, small words, maximum drama).
I, alas, occasionally manage both at once.
But here’s the thing…
In a world of:
• soundbites,
• rage-bait,
• false certainty,
• and “thought leadership” that thinks six bullet points equals wisdom,
there is still room for:
• colour,
• voice,
• cadence,
• and yes, the occasional indulgent paragraph that refuses to get to the point quite as quickly as LinkedIn might prefer.
The Third Half has never been about shouting the loudest or simplifying the complex into meaninglessness. It’s about people, planet, progress — and the messy, human language we use to make sense of all three.
Sometimes that language is plain and blunt.
Sometimes it wanders.
Sometimes it clears its throat, straightens its tie, and becomes a little… grand.
A New Year’s Resolution (of sorts)
So here it is.
In the year ahead, I resolve to:
• try not to be grandiloquent for the sake of it,
• value clarity over cleverness,
• and never use a long word when a short one will do —
unless, of course, the long word is more fun, more precise, or simply refuses to be ignored.
I won’t promise to abandon flourishes entirely.
Nor will I apologise for enjoying language.
For stretching a sentence.
For occasionally letting the prose take the scenic route.
After all, this is The Third Half — not the post-match interview.
So tell me: in an age of spin, soundbites and smoke-and-mirrors leadership, how much of what we read, hear and share is genuine substance — and how much is simply linguistic prestidigitation?