This is probably not for the faint-hearted but here we go. The scary thing is, I can't remember the incident when I learned the word "fuck", so I could clearly empty the room by opening my mouth before my concious memory kicked in. However, I did always know when it was and wasn't suitable to use bad words. According to my mother, I was on a bus with her at the age of about three, and noticed some graffiti. I could read well enough, so asked her what it meant. My mother's not what you'd call a prude by any standards, but she said to me in a very hushed tone: "It's a very rude word and you must never say it." Well, any mother who says that to their three-year-old deserves everything they get. Of course, I went off like a verbal firecracker right there and then, reciting, almost singing, "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!", much to the delight of some passengers and mortification of others. My dad always taped the late, lamented Spitting Image off late night television for me (about 10pm - which might as well have been 4am at that age) from about the same time, which filled in all the other gaps in my vocabulary. I have a lot to thank vandals of public transport for.