CHARLES Dickens was arguably the greatest English wordsmith of all time and we shall soon be celebrating his 200th anniversary.

This distinguished and prolific gentleman must be writhing torturously in his grave as he surveys a mangled encryption of the language he loved so much and applied to perfection.

He recognised the beauty of the English tongue lies within its subtle nuances and hidden complexities as opposed to purely literal interpretation, which provokes disagreement.

This being said, I’m no fan of the overpaid Alan Hansen and his weekly guttural repetitions of defensive deficiencies on Match of the Day, but I did feel distinctly sorry for him being taken so severely to task for his unintentional and perhaps naïve recent comments by a few sensitive and, some might say, sadly tiresome disciples of political correctness.

His unfortunate error, which could be deemed understandable from someone of his generation, was to refer to black people as “coloureds”. In today’s climate of strident zero tolerance this was unwise but hardly worthy of a public flogging and a demanded grovelling apology from the taciturn Scot.