Keir Royale

School is a wonderful thing.

Not only does it occupy many hours of the children’s time, it also means I can stop worrying so much about swearing in front of them.

They know it all now, and most of it not from me.

In fact - from gazing in open-mouthed horror when our first-born toddler uttered the word -

“Fock-in-hell” in a voice as clear as cut glass (well what would you expect from the spawn of two broadcasters) - we can now sit back and curse, safe in the knowledge that their school friends would laugh out loud if they heard the mild-mannered expletives which occasionally spill from our mouths.

I left the bath running for too long tonight, and when I dashed in to find water dribbling down the overflow, lapping just an inch from the rim, I heard a loud -

“Shit!” spill from my lips before I had time to button it.

“Mummy stop swearing,” rebuked by nearly nine year old son, valiantly trying to get to sleep in his room, inconveniently situated next to the bathroom.

“Sorry, but I nearly flooded the kitchen,” I replied, contrite but also amused.

Give it ten years and I can slowly work back up to my full selection of curses - and maybe nick a few of their up-to-date teenaged ones too.

Perhaps there are some compensations for the increasingly mind-melding and nit-picking arguments we have to suffer as they grow older and more articulate.

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