DING A LING. Well who could that me, before 10am of a morning? It was herself. A call before noon can only mean one thing: either someone’s died or she’s raging. It was the latter. “Now, I haven’t had time to vet what you’re putting out there, because I don’t have hours to while away on social media, but I think it’s a disgrace.” “What’s appalled you now?” I enquire, knowing rightly. “But I just went on this morning, to see what you were up to, and I was shocked, quite frankly. And after you chatting to Frank, and him so nice, but I’m telling you, he’ll not be having you back on the air if he reads the like of that.” “I used the word ‘shite’ mum, I’ve heard you use worse when you can’t get parked ‘in front of your own house’.” “I’m quite sure you’re mistaken, but that’s beside the point. No, the point I am at pains to establish, is that there is just no need for such profanity. I couldn’t even let your father see it, he’d be most distressed.” Oh God, make it stop. “I mean look at Julian. Julian combines wit and humour and all at 7.30 before Coronation Street. I’ll never forget the Christmas Eve special about the reindeer. And he doesn’t run around using bad language.” I actually would love a glass of wine with Julian. It’s on my wish list. Julian, Carolyn Stewart and SWB, sharing a pitcher in the Perch. It would be a riot.
So readers, I put it to you. Does my language truly offend? Should I go off swearing for Lent? I actually don’t think I’m that bad, I hear plenty worse. Right, back to the house I go, to get stuck in. Now if that won’t make me swear, what will?
