My son started talking at a really early age. Which was cool, it made him even more fun to be with, but he picked up everything anybody said. At the time we had an American drummer called Patrick staying with us, he had lost his flat and been at the point of homelessness, so what else could you do but take him in? It was easier than having to audition for another one.
However his language was… Let’s say ‘choice’… ‘colourful’… Alright, it was downright vulgar and crude most of the time.
So I was in my parents house one Sunday afternoon and my son’s nappy needed changing. Hey, I’m a modern guy, I have no problem with it. Though, this was a particularly bad one. I took the old one off and said ‘Wow, that is one stinky nappy.’ To which my tiny baby son replied ‘Fucking amazing!’
My Mam was the only other person in the room. My Mam who would never even say ‘fart’ because she thought it too rude. I looked at her. She looked at her grandson. And we both pretended that it had not happened. I think we talked about the weather.
