Swearing
I believe swearing has a place in conversation (even polite conversation), although I will admit that the more devastating, and often hilarious, effects can be wasted and diluted by over use.
I am reliably informed by Mrs B that I swear a lot and she is probably right.
In justification that is probably a result of working for weeks at a time in a male only environment where inventing combinations of swear words (that would have a lexicographer agog in silent awe) whilst complaining about the companies we work for, is almost a rite of passage.
Swearing, when performed with imagination, thought, and used as a last resort where no other word will do, can be hilarious, inspiring and often the correct thing to do, but I do think swearing is wasted on youth.
I don’t mean wasted as in swearing at them, that’s fine and there are circumstances when it can be used to perfection, but I do mean when the young find their sweary stride and pepper every sentence with as many swear words as possible in the attempt to gain some street cred among their peers.
For some reason this squandering of swear words always sounds worse from young females.
The problem lies with the over kill and the lack of suitable vocabulary to back it up.
If you know someone who swears all the time, hearing them swear is mundane, however, if someone who never swears lets rip then it has a much more profound effect.
Here are two incidences of swearing, one profligate and one unexpected and joyous.
The first happened on the way to Bridport after I had caught a bus and was happily sat minding my own business watching the wonderful scenery go by.
Four schoolgirls embarked and sat in the two seats in front of me and began gabbling away at each other.
To get the full scope of how it sounded you have to speak this out loud and adopt a fairly high pitched, high volume, and high speed voice that only 14 years old girls can manage.
It must also be laced with as much of the “whatttevvva” attitude as you can muster and to make it totally authentic it needs to be done in a west country accent. (although you can insert any regional UK one and it will still work)
“Ear, right, like, I was down fucking Top Shop right. And like the fucking bitch that works on the fucking changing rooms gives me a fucking hard time right”
What that fucking blond bitch?
“Yeah like fucking right”
“What a fucking slag”
“Well yeah, right, so like, I say to her like, can I try these four fucking tops on like, and do you know what the fucking slaggy bitch says like?”
“What, like?”
“She says you can only take like three items in at a time,”
“No! What a fucking slag
“Yeah!!! fucking bitch slag”
“Well yeah, like, I am like, what the fuck, like. It's only one fucking extra fucking top and it’s not like I am gonna fucking nick sumfing is it, wot wiv the fucking slag fucking knowing like”
And she looks at me like all fucking snobby like and says,
“Sorry but its the same rule for everyone, 3 items at a time”
“No!!”
“Fucking bitch”
“Yeah what a fucking slag”
And I was like Duuuuhhh its only 4 items Duuuuhh you fucking stupid slag
And on and on and on for 10 minutes.
In the end I disembarked a stop early in case my brain melted and started seeping out of my cranial orifices due to the sheer unending repetition and banality of it.
Perhaps to 14 year old girl these things are important but in my opinion it is a waste of swearing.
Later the same week I had popped over to see if my mother in law needed any help as she was recovering from a hip replacement and was having trouble with her gas fired Aga (the two, hip and aga, being coincidental).
I wanted to check she was ok for any lifting of dog food bags and chicken feed etc and some logs for the front room log burner.
She is a well spoken woman in her late 70’s who apart from a “Bloody hell” once in blue moon never swears.
It was a cold rainy grey day and when I arrived in her kitchen and said
“Aye Aye, How are you today”
She relied with perfectly modulated English.
“I am fucking fucked off with all the bollocking fuckery of it all Bentley”
Seeing the amused surprise on my face she said
“Oh I can swear you know and so I should because those fuckering shit bastards at the gas company wont come out for another week and what am I going to do”.
Now that swearing was a joy to my ears because it was such a rare thing and wonderfully executed.
The use of “bollocking fuckery” and “fuckering shit bastards was an inspirational collaboration of words to a seasoned swearer like myself.
The only downside was that I felt like a dedicated twitcher must, when alone in the hide he spots a bird that only visits our shore once every 50 years, but he has no camera with him and no-one there to share or authenticate the moment with. I knew that when I shared the story with my wife she would think that either I was elaborating or that I had taught her mother to say it as some sort of practical jke hopoingh she would pop a "fuckering shit bastards" into casual; conversation the monthly bible group.
As a parent I understand that you try to teach your children not to swear and to look for the alternative words, of which I admit there are a plethora, particularly if it is just gratuitous swearing, however I found it impossible to scold my daughter the first time I heard her swear.
She was about about five and the whole family were heading home after a summers day trip to the beach with the roof down in our 2CV called Johnny Onion.
I had decided to take the overgrown green lane that ran for a couple of miles from the back road to just opposite our house. The kids, as ever when clear of the main roads were stood up on the back seat heads out of the roof.
The lane was deeply rutted but mainly down hill and Johnny Onion was coping well.
On one tight and steep bit I had to go up the bank a bit and we bumped and bounced over a coupe of really deep ruts with the kids having on gamely in the back when suddenly she shouts out very seriously
“For fucks sake daddy”
A perfect, out of the blue, well timed piece of swearing that was deserving of the laugh it received.
One way of swearing at someone, without using the words yourself, presented itself to my wife a few years ago.
The housing association house we were renting had a massive lawn surrounding us on three sides, so during the summer months we asked her mums gardener if he would be up for some extra work and mow our lawns once a fortnight.
(The gardener, his wife who he calls Fatso, and his son who he calls, stupid bastard, and how they ended up being the mother in laws gardened is the subject of future article but you can take it from me they are very real.)
There were the four of us (the kids aged 12 and 10) and 3 cats and Jack Russell and we lived in a small three bed roomed ex council house (with large garden) on the outskirts (aren’t they always) of a very picturesque west Dorset village.
I was at 8 weeks on and off and Mrs B was at college finishing her advanced counselling course and teaching the basic course.
The neighbour was on long term sick benefit, grotesquely obese, married with 6 kids ages 16 to 7 in the house next door.
He would be almost aggressive and bullying towards Mrs B when I was at sea and all sweetness and light when I was home.
One summers day the gardener knocked on the door to tell Mrs B he was going to do the lawns.
She cringed as she heard him shouting at Fatso to “Help me get the fucking mower out, you fat idle bitch and you just had well stay in the fucking van on your gert big fat ass cos it will only take 20 minutes and I can leave the cuttings on her compost heap.”
While the gardener was cutting the grass the neighbour returned from wherever only to find the gardeners van in his space.
Being the sort of cowardly bully he was he saw a woman on her own so he waddled over to tell her to get the van shifted.
She looked up from the passenger seat and said “Fuck off you fat cunt”
Somewhat taken aback he puffed up his already bloated frame and with some indignation he said
“What did you say to me?”
She was out of the van in flash then right into his face and screamed
“I said fuck off, you fat cunt” which he promptly did, at high speed.
(I received that eye witness account from the neighbour 20 yards down the road where we parked.)
Later in the day, when he must have deemed it safe to return, he knocked on our door, no doubt now trying to intimidate MrsB and blustered “You gardener’s wife called me a fat cunt”
Mrs B looked him shrugged her shoulders and said
“And?”
then gently closed the door.
Oh how I love that woman.
The English (all of the UK) are without doubt the best and most inventive swearers in the world and we have a rich diverse and plentiful pool of words that can be used and bastardised to create some magnificent swearing.
One often unsung benefits of swearing, and something the UK has donated to the world, is that wherever I have traveled in the world over the last 35 years and been on the receiving end of unwanted hassling attention I have found that a direct, loud, clearly spoken and honest “Fuck Off” works wonders regardless of the country you are in or the country you are from. People just know what a "Fuck Off" is.
Swearing is a bit like taking drugs (wet or dry) in that if you do it all the time you wont feel the benefit of it when you really need it.
I would be sorry to see profound, serious, funny or well placed swearing eliminated from the language but I wouldn’t be sorry to see wasteful, lazy and pointless swearing go.
Love and Peace
Bentley
