At this time there’s nothing at all to like about ‘like’, eh?

"EH", long regarded as an oddity of New Zealand English, came to mind when I saw a recent ad for a Dunedin seaside restaurant which went something like, "Good food with an ocean view, Ay?" 

Of course, "ay" exists as a form of "aye" but what the chef probably meant was "Eh?" 

The ad was not alone in spelling as "aye" and "ey" are sometimes seen dangling at the end of sentences as writers attempt some Kiwiness in their dialogue. In fact, some scholars see a link between "eh" and the end-of-sentence use of "ne" by speakers of Māori.

But whatever spelling you use, we can’t claim any uniqueness for the way we use it.

Ever chatted with Canadians? You’ll have enjoyed the sound of their softer version of North American English, less strident that the United States version which can often sound like a slightly blunt chainsaw grinding its way through a teak log.

You’ll have noticed, too, how often Canadians use "eh" at the end of a sentence. It is considered in Canada to be a marker of Canadian speech, so much so that renowned Canadian linguist Walter Avis was unable to find examples of "eh" in literature from any other country besides Canada and suggested this use of "eh" is peculiar to his country.

He flourished at a time when New Zealand writers may not have taken the bold step of including "eh" in dialogue but, if Avis were alive today, he’d turn in his grave, eh?

We are now left with a Canada/New Zealand rivalry over "eh", eclipsed only by the great New Zealand/Australia pavlova row.

Apart from Māori words, there may be very little that is unique about New Zealand English. Most of our slang we share with Australia, a country which has much to be proud of when it comes to adding colour to language.

Their great cultural icon, Sir Les Patterson, even invented "traditional" Australian slang expressions which are now widely accepted as the real thing. 

"Full as a Catholic school" may be offensive but it gets the message across, although some of Sir Les’s bon mots require some inside knowledge. 

When he described a colleague as "Adrian" the meaning was "inebriated", but to get it you needed to know of Adrian Quist, a great Australian tennis player of the old days. 

A pretty tortuous link, but that’s how Sir Les worked, and he got plenty of laughs.

There’s a possibly unique New Zealandism which has appealed to me for a long time. It was around in my boyhood and found a wider audience when John Clarke used it in his 1970s sketch, The Phone Call.

The caller asks, "How’s things?" We don’t hear the reply, but assume it’s something like, "Great".

Clarke’s response, "Story," is, of course, short for, "That’s the story."

I still hear the word used that way by some of the characters I mix with, and I love it.

Let’s try another word, eh?

I had hoped to see the last of "like" as a result of an impassioned denouncement in this column a while ago, but it’s back, uglier than ever. So much for the power of the pen, eh?

I’ve been outsmarted by Megan C Reynolds of New York who has just released a book called Like: A History of the World’s Most Hated (And Misunderstood) Word in which she proclaims "saying ‘like’ a lot is not the thing you should be upset at yourself for". 

Megan is no slouch, just look at her CV. 

"Editor at Dwell magazine and previously worked at the now defunct Jezebel and The Billfold. She’s written for Buzzfeed, the New York Times, Elle, Gawker, Bustle, Vulture, and other outlets. Megan was also the co-host of the short-lived, celebrity-gossip focused podcast Dirtcast.

Makes "a Patearoa writer" who’s never had one word published in Vulture look pretty mundane, eh?

Ms Reynolds excuses a well-known broadcaster who uses "like" more than purists would like, by praising her for "using ‘like’ as a steppingstone within sentences, on which she presses her weight, pivots, and tucks into her point". Really?

Ms Reynolds belongs to the "language evolves so just accept it" school and suggests that whatever we were taught in school there are actually no language laws. She claims, "the only language police are self-appointed."

Thus, a language police constable like me is wasting his time. Depressing, eh?

Does this mean we should stop decrying the use of "reaching out", "at this point in time" and "touching base"?

Certainly not. Let’s be encouraged by a paraphrasing of Welsh poet Dylan Thomas who never reached out, except to grab another bottle.

"Let us not go gentle into that dark night of jargon.

Rage, rage against the dying of good English."

— Jim Sullivan is a Patearoa writer who has never been published in Vulture.