I can’t swear when…
…there are children within earshot. It’s not the done thing is it?
I did once. While in Cambridge with my son. We were sitting on a bench and my son got up and off the bench just as a cyclist whizzed by at great speed. The cyclist didn’t hit him, which is fortunate as if they had, more than a very great deal of swearing would’ve occurred. A very great deal of bloodshed would’ve taken place.
As we were on the pavement, and so was this cyclist, I held my son and checked he was okay. He was shocked but fine. I shouted something like GET OFF THE PAVEMENT! ‘IS THE ROAD BROKEN, YOU FUCKING CRETIN?’
My son, who was 3, shouted, ‘GET OFF THE PAVEMENT YOU FUCKING CRETIN’
Dad of the Year Award that year went to Peter Andre, I think.
As such, I don’t swear around children. Mainly because I don’t want them to use the words back at me. What goes around comes around right?
‘How was dinner?’
‘It was shit dad, but you did your best’
Is not what you want to hear when the vicar comes to tea.
Actually there was that other time I swore within children’s earshot. A child lobbed a sock full of wet sand at my girlfriend’s head, and, thankfully, I caught it like a slip fielder, thus preventing about two pounds of wet sand from crashing into her face. I marched up to the child in question, who was about 11, and screamed something like ‘DON’T BE SO FUCKING STUPID! HOW WOULD YOU LIKE IT IF I THREW THIS IN YOUR FACE’ which was a very real possibility at that point such was my anger.
The entire playground fell quiet as the boy offered a high-pitched apology and legged it, with his one remaining sock, while I deposited the sock full of sand missile into a dog litter bin.
Perhaps my reaction was a little extreme, but someone could’ve been seriously injured, and I’m fiercely protective of my loved ones. A ‘Please don’t do that again. Here’s your two-pound bag of wet sand. Now run along then young fellamilad’ wouldn’t have cut it. Your honour.
Saturday I was trying to fix the flush in the loo. It’s a simple thing but each time I take the lid off the cistern, squeeze my hand into a tiny opening and unscrew this connection to reseat the seal, it doesn’t want to work. It hates me. I spend time taking it off and putting it on again, cutting my hands on the pointy and sticky out bits as I unscrew it, cutting my hands again on the pointy and sticky out bits as I screw it tight again, only for the slow drip to continue.
You’ve got to have pity on those in this house as there are two slow drips in the bathroom. One in the cistern and one trying to fix the thing.
As an aside, I have no idea how plumbers don’t just wet themselves laughing at some of the stuff they have to use. I went to a well-known hardware shop to buy some shizzle to fix this thing with, and came across pipe stiffeners, flanges, MANY flanges, some nipples and a snap-on cockhole cover. I guess plumbers must be immune to the hilarity of these terms, but it certainly explains why so many were cast as dramatis personae in 70’s porn movies, but I digress. Back to my plumbing.
Back from B&Q and upstairs to fix this thing for good, but I’m afraid to say frustration got the better of me on Saturday evening and I exploded in a rage. I was angry as I saw this as a failure of my role as a human man. I should be The Fixer of Things That Break and this had gone on for days, and was now mocking my very masculinity. Conscious of my previous moments of annoyance, and the swearing that could came from my potty mouth, I tempered my words and shouted ‘CRIKEY BOTTOMS’ at the top of my voice while the cistern spismed water over me.
There was a moment of silence downstairs, and then I heard laughing. Lots of laughing.
I have therefore stumbled upon a new form of swearing, a new foul-mouthed lexicon which is not foul in any way, but can still adequately relieve the anger and frustration one experiences in modern life.
If a driver cuts in front of you on the M1 without indicating, forcing you to brake sharply, a ‘YOU MIFFING POTSACKER’ will suffice.
The food delivery order has arrived, but as you pack the items away playing fridge Tetris you notice the hummus has an expiry date of today. ‘YOU BUNCH OF HAIRY PING-PONG SNIFFERS’ will make you feel better about Tesco ripping you off royally. You’re welcome.
You’re sawing something, and you cut off your hand or finger, and here’s where autocorrect has taught me something, a ‘AAAAAAGH! FOR DUCKS SAKE, CAN SOMEONE CALL THE DUCKING AMBULANCE. I’VE JUST CUT MY DUCKING HAND OFF’ is just as good as any sweary utterances, as consciousness leaves you and you black out on the bathroom floor.
So there I have it. I now have a new form of swearing that isn’t swearing it all but fufills the role adequately.
Shame I don’t have a fucking cistern that doesn’t fucking leak though.
Thanks for reading.