It’s not often that a new addition to the dictionary makes my heart sink.

I’ve spent decades on the side of evolution, greeting every new word as a mini snapshot of the times we live in. But there has been one word bubbling under for some time now that always gives me a pang of regret, and for entirely personal reasons.

It is “neek”, the latest kid on a block that already houses “swot”, “nerd”, and “geek”, and which combines those last two words to describe a dull or unlikeable person, particularly one with an extreme interest in one subject. Linguistically it’s predictable: a portmanteau or mash-up that is the most popular form of word-coining these days. But the very existence of “neek” has taken me right back to one of the clouds of my childhood, when I found out the hard way that a love of books was not the yellow brick road I imagined it to be.

Before I asked around, I’d hoped that a “neek” might sometimes be cool, riding on the coat-tails of the geek who is now the target of admiration not fun. Geek culture is thriving: it involves most entrepreneurs, gamers, and tech giants, and where it goes success usually follows. There is a quote often attributed to Bill Gates: “Be nice to nerds. If you are not one, chances are you will end up working for one”.

But the “neek” feels different, a regression taking us right back to where “geek” began, in the unpopular corner. Everyone knows a geek; no one wants to be a “neek”.

The label of choice for me as a teenager was “swot”. A variation on “sweat”, it was never going to be a good thing. I definitely earned it: homework was my oasis, a space I could control and was comfortable in. More than that, I enjoyed it. Dictionaries (French and German, to begin with) were my best friends, ones who would share the back of the car with me and my sister on long family trips, where I would pretend to play along with I-Spy while longing to return to the French word for “dragonfly”.

So far, so abnormal. My parents were happy enough to indulge me, save for the occasional nag to leave my homework behind and actually have some fun. The thing was, I was having fun already, one that was far more constant than the carousel of friendship group fallouts. I knew where I was with a book, and that sense of joy between the covers of the paper kind has never really left me.

The judgement of that swottiness by others wasn’t so smooth, of course. Unlike many, I was lucky enough not to be bullied – in fact I don’t think anyone said anything directly nasty to me. But it was an inner shame that undid me at times. The school assemblies where the new sports teams would be announced, when my heart would pick up in anticipation of making the cut. I wasn’t a bad sports player – sprinting was my thing – but clearly the teachers thought my bookish skills superior. I can still remember the emotions of walking up to receive my Chief Librarian badge, shoulders slumped and the sting of disappointment in my stomach. And so I retreated to my books even more, safe within their non-judgmental pages.

Decades later I can see how unnecessary that shame was, how the label of swottiness would eventually lose its stickiness and fall away. I have watched with huge satisfaction the trajectory of “geek”, one of the most dramatic shifts in meaning in my lifetime. From a 19th-century fool who performed extreme acts at freak shows (including biting the heads off live animals), it has come to promise a classy font of extra-curricular knowledge.

Even nerdery has a touch of enviability these days. Unfashionable a nerd may be, but they sit on a bank of learning most of us would welcome an iota of.

Perhaps “neek” will come around too in the end. The Marvel franchise is certainly giving alpha-brainiacs a full glow-up, from Iron Man to Black Widow, and Stranger Things has done wonders for Dungeons and Dragons adventurers. For now, though, not only is a “neek” unpopular – a “wasteman” as slang puts it just as unkindly – but their interests are considered so uncool they count as somehow socially deviant. Whatever spins we might be putting on the word, none of them are positive.

For now, with my boxes of battered vocabulary books safely tucked away, I hope any child subjected to accusations of neekery will hold on to the courage to be different. And to the knowledge that one day those too cool to dive into a subject and stay there will be looking up to those who did. Words will always change, but sometimes we shouldn’t have to.

This week I have been:

Learning… however many schools I visit to chat about reading, vocabulary, and – of course – Countdown, I’m always the one who ends up learning something. I recently spent a brilliant morning at a junior school where even the youngest children were fizzing with excitement about vocabulary. At one point I noticed a small boy of around five who seemed very reticent, clearly nervous about raising his hand. When the session was over I asked him as gently as I could for his favourite word. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t “inconspicuous”.

I’ve also just visited a secondary school in London whose teenagers I expected to be a tougher crowd. In the event they taught me as many new words as I could carry home. The lesson every time is to never assume, because you will always get it wrong.

Visiting… Paws on the Wharf, a wonderful art trail along Canary Wharf featuring 25 larger than life guide dog sculptures, including some made by artists with sight loss. It’s step-free and one of the most accessible art trails I’ve been to, with sensory tours on some days. I’m a huge supporter of Guide Dogs and the work they do. This was a special afternoon for me.

Listening… to the writer Ali Smith receive the Bodley Medal in Oxford, given to those who have made extraordinary contributions to the world of books. She spoke beautifully about the power of the story, and of language. And she talked of those writers who have shaped her, including Muriel Spark, from whom Smith took the phrase “memento mori”, a sentence that according to legend was whispered to all Roman emperors to remind them of their mortality: “Remember you must die”. Smith turns it on its head so that it becomes instead “Remember you must live”. As she urged all of us in the audience to hold on to those four words, I think we all got goosebumps. Remember we must live.

Susie Dent is a lexicographer and etymologist. She has appeared in Dictionary Corner on Countdown since 1992, and co-hosts with Gyles Brandreth the podcast Something Rhymes with Purple