ken writes: When I whinge, it is, as I would like to put it, the thought that counts. I mean, I don’t just whinge for the sake of it. It matters what I am whinging about. The content of the whinging, the complaint, is part of the point. It is the whole point.
Or so I thought. Hugh whinges. For example, I have noticed that when he is put to bed, he cries for a bit, of course, but then he stops crying and vocalises. He babbles in a distinctly whinging tone of voice, as if to say, ‘nobody listens to what I want…’ But what can he be whinging about? What can his complaint be? What is left of ‘nobody listens to what I want…’ if you subtract ‘nobody’ and ‘listens’ and ‘to’ etc.?
The only explanation that seems right to me is that it isn’t the thought that counts, but that whinging vocalising is a bodily expression of complaint just as crying is a bodily expression of discomfort and unhappiness. This is very strange.