Some words slip almost unnoticed into our everyday vocabulary and embed themselves so completely that, even if their relevance or usefulness becomes exhausted, they refuse to budge. They hang on like limpets, colonising every conversation, until you begin to dread the very sound of them.
"Basically" is such a word.
In recent years, someone in the English-speaking world must have decided that a liberal sprinkling of "basically" would significantly enhance whatever point it was they were trying to make.
And it must have done the trick, for soon we were all at it.
Since then we have gorged on the word, shamelessly abused it and, oblivious of whether its usage was appropriate or not, have flavoured every sentiment with it, until eventually we drained it of what little meaning it ever had.
"Basically" is now an empty husk of a word: reduced to the status of a phonetic tic. As meaningless, and annoying, as someone clearing their throat before, during and after virtually every sentence. But still it hangs on, hoping against hope that one day we might appreciate its true value again.
"Culture" is another linguistic limpet, but of an altogether different and more insidious variety. In Northern Ireland, while overuse was busily reducing "basically" to a redundant irritant, "culture" was positively revelling in the attention it was getting.
As "basically" was being sucked dry, "culture", like the parasite it can be if allowed to go unchecked, was expanding beyond its wildest dreams. It has progressed to the point where it is now our most dangerous word, happily lending spurious justification to every form of blind prejudice and merrily underpinning many of our worst excesses.
Culture defies specificity, making it perfectly suited for the destructive role it plays. If you describe something as being a vital part of your cultural heritage, who can possibly argue? Who, in this non-judgmental age, would dare to try?
Hence, Northern Irish culture finds expression in everything from the tattered remnants of flags fluttering in the breeze to threatening and offensive graffiti painted on walls. From litter-strewn street corners masquerading as bonfire sites to monuments and murals commemorating the ultimate sacrifice of various shades of cannon fodder.
And all the while we huddle together in little island communities where only a singular idea of what constitutes cultural orthodoxy is allowed to exist.
Highly dubious claims on ethnic purity or origins and imaginary or invented language are all grist to our cultural mill. Whether the wearer intends it or not, a football shirt - Celtic or Rangers, Northern Ireland or the Republic - is taken to denote cultural affiliation far more than sporting allegiance.
And if only that were all. If it isn't to wither and die, this idea of culture must continually present itself as under threat. An enemy must always be at the gate, waiting to rob it of its very essence. Continuous defence and aggressive assertion are the order of the day.
In extreme cases people are abused on the street, beaten to a pulp or shot dead as different notions of cultural legitimacy clash. And no longer is this violence only directed towards a traditional adversary.
In increasing numbers members of our ethnic communities are being driven from their homes for fear they might somehow pollute the cultural purity of the district they have chosen to live in. (An undiminished appetite for Chinese and Indian fast food tells us that, mercifully, some things at least remain exempt from the self-appointed cultural watchdogs.)
Cultural expression in Northern Ireland, more often than not, means deliberately going out of one's way to cause insult and injury to those outside the fold. The more contentious the circumstances of a particular disagreement or dispute, the more certain you can be that "culture" will lie at the root of it.
For those of us of a certain age and from a certain economic background, culture used to mean opera, the arts and classical music. It spoke of a world closed to us, frequented only by people far above our station who dressed in black-tie-and-tails and fur coats.
Culture always belonged to someone else, and that was wrong. Nowadays it belongs to us all and describes every aspect of our lives. But that has brought with it its own problems. It has become so all-encompassing that it somehow manages to mean both everything and nothing at the same time.
I suppose in that respect at least its fate hasn't been much different from that of "basically". For continual misuse and abuse has left "culture" bereft of any real meaning as well.
Perhaps it, too, will continue to hang around, waiting patiently for the day when we begin to appreciate its true value again and restore it to its rightful place, somewhere beneath the opera buffs, but well above the bigots.
Waiting patiently for the day when we once again start to call things by their proper name and stop allowing culture to be used as a respectable-sounding cloak for religious, political and racial intolerance.