Around this time of year, there’s always at least one article grumbling about the latest additions to the Oxford Dictionaries. The complaints are usually couched in terms of fear that we are seeing the demise of the English language as we know it.

I used to skim read it with an air of indifference and conclude that the writer really should just get over it. The world changes, gramps, move with the times. New words are good. New words prove that language is alive.

This year, I’m the one who’s changed. I’ve turned into that grumbling pedant. Hand me my crocheted rug, my narrow, unchangeable views and a platform on which to lay them all out. This year’s new offerings convince me of one thing only: that the Oxford office has completely lost the plot.

That, or its entire editorial staff has been mysteriously replaced by 12-year-old girls. They’re the only people in the world I can imagine using some of the words seemingly cherry-picked from our collective mutterings. Some of the recent additions aren’t even real words. They exist, yes, but no one uses them to mean what they are supposed to mean on paper.

Let’s start with chillax. Who says this straight-faced? It should only ever come from the mouth of a fictional guy wearing short, fluorescent, scoop running shorts with built in mesh jocks. The kind of guy who will stand with one leg up on the chair while talking to you and be the first to offer you a neck massage the minute you complain of tightness in the shoulders, then give you a Tony Abbot style sleazy wink. In other words, people chillaxing don’t really exist. They are a figment of our collective comedic imagination.

As for amazeballs, I’ll accept that this one did do the rounds for a bit, but only ever used ironically. Meant for realz, it was the domain of nine-year-olds and 30-something ladies describing some sort of glitter cupcake. That’s it. Already it’s a word that’s got the whiff of old socks about it. I give it two months, max and then we’ll never hear of it again.

Next up is the listicle, a word that describes a style of numbered list article favoured by clickbait websites, and the odd global newsbrand. Cough. No one in the history of the world, ever, has said listicle out loud, and if they did, they’d have the sort of voice that finishes sentences with an upward inflection. Dare to utter this word at a place where they write real words, and you’d be promptly marched out of the building.

If Oxford are adding words to poke fun at the people we imagine might say them, then why on earth don’t we add all those excellent terms from our childhood that had no meaning beyond their moment in time? Like rack off or pash? Pop those in your dictionary pipe and smoke them, why dontchya, Oxford? And add dontchya while you’re at it.

Most infuriating of all: now these words have been absorbed into the wider lexicon, the autocorrect on my phone happily lets me chillax, but still insists on autocorrecting my favourite curse word when you, me and the ducking lamppost knows exactly what I’m trying to write. I give up. Sigh. Whatevs bitchez. I can’t even.