Swearing

I’m afraid that like Simon Bates before the film on an old rented VHS cassette, I must issue a warning about the following blog.

It contains rude words.

If you are easily offended, are the ghost of Mary Whitehouse or are a Victorian lady who has left her smelling salts at home then go because you are not going to be able to handle the flipping plops that I am about to lay down.

OK. I don’t ever offer guidance in this blog. I am the very last person to give anyone any advice. I am an idiot, a klutz, a shemozzle and a bozo. If you ever find yourself in a position where you think you might need some counsel from yours truly then find a priest or a shrink because your life will have gone way off beam. However, as you asked here is a nugget from my brain.

Be careful about what you say around a four year old because they start repeating things.

Last week my son was playing a game and was losing. Without any drama or fuss he gave a long sigh then said the word ‘bollocks’.

Now, it’s not the worst word in the world but I’m afraid I reacted quite badly. All I seemed able to do was to say, ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ over and over again. Every time I asked him he sighed again and repeated the aforementioned ‘b’ word. I think he said it five or six times before I was led away, eye twitching like Herbert Lom in a Pink Panther movie. It is, or course, what I say absentmindedly if I get cut up in the car, or my team miss a penalty, or I can’t get the lid off a jar. I had to tell him that it wasn’t a very nice word and that daddy was naughty for saying it. So far he hasn’t said it again.

Now though he is drawing people that look like enormous phalluses (see above).

Great.