As an aside before I start this post I should mention that I did have the epidural anti-inflammatory injection, a 2 foot needle was inserted into my actual spine for approximately 17 hours. OK, thats an exaggeration but it was one of the least pleasant medical procedures I have ever experienced, not helped by the fact that I had to listen to the elderly gentleman in the next bed have his before me. (It comes a close second to the electrical nerve testing, which basically amounts to being electrocuted over and over again.) I heard his every groan, every yelp, every cry of discomfort. All good solid preparation for my turn. So far, after a week, I can report no discernible change to my own physical situation which does make me feel a little cheated after such a long wait and such an unpleasant experience. I had acupuncture again, and again no change. As far as I am concerned, medical professionals just feel the need to stick needles in me at the moment (speaking of which, flu jab this week, joy!) and no-one seems to be able to fix the problem. Maybe one day one of the needles will actually make a difference...
So, vulgarity. Not other people's vulgarity, my own. There are certain people with whom I am able to speak frankly and use whatever language I feel is necessary, if not always wholly appropriate. My problem is remembering which friends are which, which friends would not take kindly to me discussing certain topics or using certain words at the dinner table.
A few weeks ago myself, A & M went for dinner in a very exclusive "the place to be right now" type restaurant. It was beautiful, it was tastefully decorated and subtly lit; the waiting staff were attentive yet conversational and the food was mmmmmm yummity yum yum. We began with cocktails, then a nice cold bottle of dry white wine; we delved into the menu and chose several delightfully delicious sounding plates to share in a 'modern south-east Asian tapas style'. I mentally prepared the perfectly worded opening sentence of my restaurant review and politely enjoyed the first few plates and the first few glasses of wine. I do not know at which point it became appropriate for us to start discussing the relative hotness of our waitress, which foods were most arousing or for me to turn my laundered linen napkin into a crude interpretation of a penis. I truly hope that the couple on the next table who ordered the tempura vegetable dish that we had originally scorned (vegetables on sticks? who wants those?) didnt hear us when we bemoaned how good they looked and said something along the lines of "why didn't we order that shiz? For fucks sake those veg look fucking amazing. Bastards". Needless to say I didn't ever write the eloquent, descriptive restaurant review that I had planned; it was all over after the first bottle went upside down into the ice bucket.
Then, the evening descended into what can only be called a wine-fuelled furore. We went to a wine tasting... except we weren't really tasting. We were nodding and smiling as the wine purveyors earnestly described the grape variety and taste of the wine; and helping ourselves to as much as possible whilst literally tearing lumps of cheese from the cheese table. We visited the Venerable Association of Bordeaux Wine Fanatics (not their real name) table, had a few tastes and then I asked the Lord High Venerable Wine Taster for his wine afficionado medal, wore it, posed for a photo in it, told him it was the shit and I wanted a medal. I am so surprised they didn't ask us to leave.
I spoke French to the only Frenchman there, and told him I wanted to 'degouter' his wine. Degouter = to disgust, Degustation = tasting. I then had an argument with the cheese man about whether his cheese was ewes milk or cows milk; good god surely he would know?
All in all, it was one of the best nights out I have had in a really long time, with people who I can be as vulgar and debauched as I wish without feeling like they are judging me. The trouble is toning it down when with other people, who may not appreciate my line of humour or constant swearing, like at work for example. When something goes wrong it seems only natural to exclaim 'oh cock' or complain quietly about a rude colleague as being a bit of a 'cunty bastard'. A friend of mine works in an office with her mother, which can only be a swearer's kind of torture: not only may the words be inappropriate but to say one of them accidentally infront of one's mother must be horrific.
So I apologise in advance if my language ever offends you, it is never meant to be intentionally offensive or hurtful (unless I am looking directly at you and trying to insult you, in which case I am probably drunk so just ignore me until I go away). I just like to use our wonderful language in all its colourful beauty, and sometimes those words are a little bit more colourful than might be your preference. But remember, if a word can be used by Chaucer, then it can be used by me (and I have one, which he didn't).
K x
