‘Punctuation inspires passion. People have been driven into paroxysms of rage by the simple misuse of an apostrophe’

Ignored at first (by those advertising “Diamond’s are Forever”), Mr Richards gradually gathered a global fan base for his valiant attempts to explain that people should use apostrophes in the correct way: as possessive pronoun — “the boy’s hat”; or contraction of “it is” — “it’s a Long Way to Tipperary”); and not sprinkle them all over the place just to look fancy.

He had one especially zealous follower in America, who was such an enthusiast for the boating term “fo’c’s’les”, with its treble apostrophes, that he suggested starting an American branch “The American Protectin’ Society”, to demonstrate that the apostrophe can signal contraction or omission.

Apostrophes are used for all sorts of linguistic abridgements (“I’d’ve gone if I could’ve”), and it can get quite complicated, surely. Yet, pedantry about punctuation can be very funny, as Lynne Truss demonstrated, when she wrote her bestseller classic, Eats, Shoots & Leaves. The panda is a species which eats shoots and leaves. But punctuate that differently and you have the image of a panda entering a cafeteria, eating, shooting from a gun, and exiting.

Lynne Truss is as concerned about the placing of the comma as of the correct use of the apostrophe, though she’s definitely on the militant wing of the Apostrophe Protection Society too, and is driven bonkers by such excesses as “XMA’S trees”, “Ladie’s hairdresser” and a letter addressed to “Dear Mr Steven’s”.

And what mishaps can occur if an apostrophe is wrongly placed! A sign saying “Giant Kid’s Playground” attracted few youngsters, as it seemed to indicate the presence of a “giant kid”. “Giant-sized kids’ playground” might have drawn more attendees.

Personally, I think apostrophe misunderstandings arise because people are accustomed to seeing signs like “McDonald’s” — without the clarification that this is a restaurant owned by (possessive case) Ronald McDonald. On a serious punctuation note, Lynne explains how Sir Roger Casement was “hung on a comma”, when the Treason Act of 1351 gave rise to a legal dispute over whether Casement’s activities had been “in the [king’s] realm or elsewhere” and a fatal comma might have altered the definition.

She also clarifies the Oxford comma, which can cause raging arguments: it’s the second comma in “ham, eggs, and chips”. And Sir Kingsley Amis’s example illuminates how commas change meanings: “Those things over there are my husband’s.” “Those things over there are my husbands.” One of John Richards’ Australian correspondents alerted him to a sign in an Aussie pub asking clients to refrain from putting, among other things, “babies, nappies down the toilet”.

Renowned writers have often had their own eccentricities. George Orwell thought the semi-colon should be abolished, while Virginia Woolf scattered colons and semi-colons everywhere. Gertrude Stein called the comma “servile”. Byron was a master of the dramatic dash, as demonstrated in a couplet which might now raise hackles: “A little still she strove, and much repented,/And whispering ‘I will ne’er consent’ — consented.”

James Joyce introduced written speech without quotation marks — admittedly, he was a stylistic law unto himself. But contemporary young Irish writers like Sally Rooney continue to write dialogue indicated by a dash. That doesn’t bother me, but I’m afraid I do have difficulty with another stylistic quirk: writing an entire book in lower case, as gillies macbain (sic) did with his acclaimed memoir the last footman (sic), about Irish life among a fading 1960s aristocracy.

Many people obsess over some linguistic quirk that drives them potty. Lynne Truss sees red when someone write “enormity” for “magnitude” — I’m sure I’ve made that error. What annoys me is “disinterested” for “uninterested” — “disinterested” should mean “fair-minded”. I recently heard one of the younger royals — I think it was Prince William — say, “I was sat there,” which is of recent coinage, replacing the perfectly correct, “I was sitting there.” Really!

But it isn’t “the King’s English” any more. Bill Bryson, the American author of Mother Tongue, says that English is a global language and it will evolve however people want to use it. Bryson has no sentimental feelings for the apostrophe — it’s only a couple of centuries old. If the Brysonites win this linguistic point, John Richards’ endeavours will have been in vain. But, still, fun to explore!