Warning: Explicit Language (yay!)

It has been raining here in Norn Iron nearly everyday. It's like one old man said to another "That's a c**t of a day for nothin'"
I want to dedicate this post to swearing. Not that it's big and not that it's clever but oh, how satisfying it can be. My dear sweet mum has a terribly foul mouth. As youngsters our ears were constantly bleeding. We were well reared enough to know that even though mum was allowed to swear like a trooper, we weren't. My sister Katkins found it hard to hold her tongue, however, and she would often slip up.

When we moved to the country side we were excited about all the wildlife we would see. Apart from the odd rabbit (mostly dead ones that the cat brought home) we rarely saw anything exciting. Then, one day, we were looking out the window and we say a ginger beast skulking along the edge of the field. Katkins shouted out "A fox, a fox! A fucking fox!" Turned out just to be a cat though. She also told mum to "F**k up" once and the look of horror on her face when she realised what she had said was priceless. And then there was the time that we sat down to our Christmas dinner and mum, sarcastically, suggested we say grace to which Katkins bellowed out "F**k Me Dead".

One summer's afternoon when I was about six or seven and my eldest sister was 14 or 15 I announced my boredom. Z suggested I compile a list of all the bad words I knew. Which was most of them. I thought this was great fun, especially when Z taught me a few new ones. That was the day I learned the word C**t.

Many year's ago when we had our dog Danny mum decided to write his diary. He had a very busy life which revolved mostly around his love of chocolate and hen and his hatred for what he called the hoor-cats. Mum went to S.Africa for a holiday for three weeks and Z and I kept up Dan's Diary for her. Danny, amongst other things, was a very foul mouthed dog. And, boy, did he hate them hoor-cats.