The sad death of tabloid English
From our UK edition
Before we routinely bored our friends to death with our hyper-optimised workflows, Strava personal bests, and alcohol-free lager, British people didn’t take themselves quite so seriously. Not so long ago, you couldn’t step five paces without a tabloid newspaper bunching around your ankles. The Sun and the Daily Mirror, their frontpages splashed in frantic red ink, served up a daily diet of love rats and busty babes often embroiled in something called ‘coke shame hell’. With them vanished a magnificent dialect: Tabloid English—a compressed, bawdy, semi-literate poetry understood by barristers and bricklayers alike.