It was when my son was aged three that it started. “Bugger, bugger, bugger,” he would say when he was at nursery, at church and out and about on the bus.  “I can’t think where he learnt it from,” I remember saying with exaggerated puzzlement when I regaled a friend with this tale.  “It must be from his father.” Continue reading “Holy Sh*t: I understand swearing – at last” →