John Harris: Meet the cool, wicked, phat naked chef

I have just received a promotional copy of Cookin', a compilation CD put together by the irrepressible Jamie Oliver.

I have just received a promotional copy of Cookin', a compilation CD put together by the irrepressible Jamie Oliver.

The idea, apparently, is that it forms the perfect soundtrack to food-based entertaining. Or, as Jamie puts it, "A good blast of these tunes, a nice bit of tukka and some good company is the recipe for a nice time". You can gain additional inspiration by buying the accompanying video, Pukka tukka.

Now, I have met Jamie Oliver. He seemed to be a charming, self-deprecating soul - some distance from the hyperactive, slightly clueless figure who stars in his latest media onslaught.

I suspect that Jamie is the victim of very bad advice - because what with his CD, video and stomach-churning Sainsbury's ads, he is about to become irredeemably passé. Worse still, he will take an entire mode of expression with him.

Jamie has written sleeve-notes for the CD. Using his hallmarked knot of barrow- boy cockney and Ali G-style patois, they contain phrases such as "massive respect", "the dog's bollocks", "he's the Don" and "sweet tune". On occasions, he truly excels himself. Of Finley Quaye's "Even After All", he writes: "Sweet tune, wicked to chill to and a nice phat bass line - a great feelgood vibe."

When it comes to his recollections of the Stone Roses' 1990 concert at a Cheshire nature reserve, we get this: "What can I say? Spike Island, the nuts, choice." That's right, Jamie.

The appearance of Cookin' proves one thing beyond doubt: that the kind of youthspeak that has been around for the last five years has now passed from vogue. Jamie's omnipresence, his endless references to "me old mates" and things being "wicked", point up the fact that the whole argot is effectively dead.

Across the south of England, in the next few weeks, people in clubs will be scratching their heads and wondering what to do now. They need a new word for "excellent". "Vibe" will have to go. Songs, for so long termed "tunes", will have to revert to the original and more accurate term.

And thank god, I say. I am from Up North, where Oliverese has never passed muster (also, I once had a colleague who would end most of his phone conversations by saying "wicked, wicked, wicked", which kind of put me off).

True, Mancunian friends would say things were "top", and "sorted" and call people "man". There were other quirks, such as the word "nish" - Mancunian for "nothing". Thankfully, we lacked a representative TV cook to go on to The Des O'Connor Show and render us ludicrous, so our vernacular lasted a good few years. Even now, "top" occasionally tumbles from my lips. When not in polite company, I will end sentences with "man", something my southern friends have long got used to.

Still, I cannot help but feel sorry for the under-30s of the South. Their most pressing problem is the need for a new set of superlatives. It would perhaps be helpful if, as happens with the development of the French or Welsh languages, they could appoint a body to do the job quickly - perhaps a couple of DJs, one or two style-mag hacks and a handful of pop stars might get together at the Ministry Of Sound and peel through the thesaurus. You can picture the scene:

"What about a slightly ironic use of 'super'? You know, with a roaring quality and a cockney accent, like 'Seeeewpaaar!' "

"People wouldn't get it, me old mate. I'm still backing the revival of 'magic'."

The interregnum might be painful - people who were once trailblazers will utter a fatal "phat" or "nuts", and find themselves in the sin-bin with Jamie. But, just as Britain's youth once successfully found replacements for "brill", "ace" and "skill", so the trendsetters of the Home Counties will surmount their current verbal difficulty. Trust me - it will all be... er... sweet.

johnrhysharris@hotmail.com