Sometimes, when describing someone’s character, only an acronym will do | Paul Daley

I’ve not always, apparently, been the best judge of character.

Fortunately, I have a cabal of group-chat referees I can consult when in need of a character reference for new acquaintances.

I’ll get to it. But first a small digression back into the pages of one of my favourite novels, Any Human Heart, by William Boyd. I’ve read it repeatedly – and listened to the audiobook – since buying it in London in 2002. The fictional life of protagonist Logan Mountstuart (Oxford student, writer, art dealer, spy, pauper) never fails to entertain, intrigue and make me laugh.

From a young age, Mountstuart and his mates apply a handy acronym – Cauc – to those they dislike or who cross them. Mountstuart persists in using it throughout his very long life.

Related: The kindness of strangers isn’t always obvious but it can be delightfully disarming | Paul Daley

So, we get offhand descriptions of other transitory – and sometimes more crucial – characters. Like this:

“He really is a grade one Cauc.’’

“He really is an objectionable old Cauc.’’

Cauc? Complete. And. Utter …

A complete and utter what? You don’t need to ask what the C abbreviates. And I’m not going to spell it out here except to say that the confused should think of rhyming slang with the smallest of the litter or a boat on the rivers Cherwell or Cam.

(I’m not shy of the word. I use it a lot. Everyone I know does. Not least those who worked in the news business in the 1980s and 90s. But were I to spell it out in this instance I’d have to write it perhaps another 20 times in this column – which might seem gratuitous to some.)

Cauc is pretty handy. It came to mind vis-a-vis my poor character judgment when I caught up with a writer mate in a bar the other day.

He had been out plugging his latest book – speaking on the festival circuit and talking to a range of journalists about it. He reckoned only about half of them had actually read his book.

He asked me if I knew one particular journalist who’d interviewed him. Yes, I replied, we had mutual friends and we’d even socialised together a little.

“What do you think of him?’’ writer mate asked.

“He’s not a bad bloke,’’ I responded.

My mate shook his head and looked forlornly into his glass. A significant silence ensued. He took a long draw on his beer and said that he believed this person to be a (each of Cauc words).

“Why?’’

“He spoke over me. Repeatedly. Corrected me. Told me – rather than asked me – what my book was about.’’

I said that while it was good that this person had at least actually bothered read the book, I had to concur that this sounded pretty Cauc-ish.

I told my friend that when it came to clarifications on character I usually consulted a particular chat group that I’m a member of. It’s a bunch of people I’ve known for a very long time. They are trusted friends. Most of them writers of one sort or another, all valuable for their insights into life, society and the universe.

Some are extremely harsh and unforgiving judges of character. Others are more generous.

My rule of thumb has been, when asking for a reference, to average their responses in order to arrive at my own assessment. Which seems only fair.

Recently one of the chat group sought a reference on a man he was soon to cross professional paths with.

The responses were swift and harsh.

The chat group instantly lit up like the David Jones Christmas windows, our phones pinging like a pinball parlour.

Cauc .

Fucking Cauc.

Complete And Utter Cauc .

Geez, it doesn’t get worse than that.

There followed a litany of grievances against – and alleged wrongdoings committed by – this man.

They’re a handy mob to have at hand at a time when it sometimes seems like the world has entered a new era of Cauc-ery.

• Paul Daley is a Guardian Australia columnist