&*%^@

Sad news about James Gandolfini. Being a man of a certain age, I watched the Sopranos from the pilot. The cast was perfect, the script faultless – which is pretty astonishing given that there was a rolling team of writers rather than a constant stream from the same person or partnership. If you are unfamiliar with it, get the box set, start at the beginning and you’ll soon be making excuses not to go out in the evening so you can watch it. And don’t be put off by the mob thing: like all the best drama, it’s about people, love, hope, death, family, weakness and all that.

As someone pointed out on Twitter, to make a murderous, cruel, adulterer relatable and even loveable was some achievement. And what a rare thing that we knew so much about the make up of Tony Soprano and so little about James Gandolfini.

It was a series full of majestic swears, that changed tv and the reality it could show. If you’re in the mood for a swearfest, here is a very small selection.

I love a good swear. Years ago, working as a kitchen porter, mornings would be broken once a week by the arrival of the foulmouthed man collecting the food waste. He went by the name of Sid Swill. Looking into his glasses was like having one of those seaside tourist telescopes on each eye. He could eff and jeff as well as anyone I’ve heard. ‘Get that lazy c*&ting shithouse out of the bastard kitchen to give you a hand with this filthy bollocks will you…what’s the matter with him, too busy with his hand found that tiny c*&k of his to give you a hand is he? Idle c&@t’, was a not-atypical rejoiner of a summer’s morn.

He was outdone only once at that place of work, by the lone visit of a repairman, come to fix the boiler. “I knows what’s c*#ting up with it”, he announced, after a few silent hours with his head hidden underneath the broken thing…”the f*#kin, f*?kers f*#ked”. The manager of the place, a man not entirely unfamiliar with the coarser side of life, pulled quite possibly the only James Finlayson face he ever pulled, before finding a short “Thanks, I guess that means we’d better buy a f+#king new one then…”.

16 tons of compost arrived last week, driven by a very chirpy chap, more than happy to back the enormity of his lorry in through a narrow field entrance and then at an angle, downhill, to unload the cargo in the perfect spot for me. Just before he pressed the button that lifted the front of the lorry’s back to decant that vast pile of compost he leaned over and said ‘bastard cold this morning innum’ ‘yes, jolly er bastard cold it is too’, I replied. I realise now that his ‘bastard’ was a water-tester: I swore back, effectively giving permission for more. His ‘bastard’ was swearing as politeness, to see if swearing was acceptable. He was giving me the metaphorical glad eye before going in for a snog. Released from his verbal shackles, he followed up with “says 16 tons on the order but c&@t that I am I f&@king loaded 16.2 on dint oi…must’ve been too busy thinking about fanny eh. Still, call me a c*#k but I wont about to unload the f&@king c*&t was I”.

Quite.

So now I have the pleasure of moving 16.2 f&@king tons of compost from this huge pile onto the veg patch, some raised beds, into the garden and into the forest garden, which I expect to be bastard knackering.

I shall console myself with a piece of lavender and walnut fudge, the recipe for which seems to have too much cream in it, judging by its gentle tilt. I shall retest and post it at some point. It is a very fine combination…and I’m someone who comes over all ‘pot pourri face’ at things like lavender in their food.

  • Hmmm… Someone told me the “f@cking, F@cker’s, f@cked” story about 30 years ago although at that time it was that he had stopped on a motorway to help someone (as was done in those days) and on asking the guy peering under the broken down car’s bonnet he stuck his head up and said “the f@cking, F@cker’s, f@cked”. I always thought it might be apocryphal although on the other hand it is a useful and apposite phrase in so many circumstances.

  • Fan-f***ing-tastic piece of writing, you really are a talented tw*t.

    Dan the Man and I once went to buy a piece of glass in Winchester and were greeted by the chap behind the counter with the amazing line “Mornin’, what can I do for you couple of c**t’s then?”. Maybe you could try that approach with the Otter Farm shop?

    • Something about the middle class comfortableness of Winchester than brings out the latent swearer in many of us. And you can be sure I’ll be trying that one out at the next opportunity

  • My line manager is prone to an enormous amount of effing and jeffing – came in one morning exclaiming at the top of his voice ‘My f**king son’s a f**king f**ker’ (You’ll have to imagine the broad Lincolnshire accent)

  • James Finlayson….eh.
    I wonder if he would ever have been that $$€*ing expressive without his moustache.

    Mind you, Margaret Dumont managed with nothing more than a sturdy bosom.

    • Its the same with your hat…you are one of the dullest people Ive ever met without it, but with it on you’re only in the lower reaches of the top 10

  • To continue my theme of boring anecdotes to your posts. Here’s the next one:
    I have a work colleague who shares the same birthday as me. (Although is 5 years older). Although he is now in his 40s he swears in the strangest way. When he gets to the swear word in a sentance his voice goes quiet and takes on an odd top of mouth pronunciation. Almost exactly like Les Dawson used to do when he and Roy Baraclough dressed as the old women. I think he might be incapable of swearing properly.

    P.S In a group of 30 people, the odds of there being 2 people sharing the same birthday is greater than 50%

    • I have an aunt who does that when she says ‘lesbians’ or ‘Muslims’. And that is an impressive stat…and I have a weakness for impressive stats…it sounds highly improbable…is there some explanantion?

      • Having long since forgotten the maths I have just googled (other more tax paying search engines are available)it and found out that it is in fact over 23 when it gets to above 50% chance. The explanation is:

        Start with one person in a room. Add a second person and the probability that he has a different birthday is 364/365. Add a third and the probability that he has a different birthday to the first two is 363/365. The probability that there are now no duplicate birthdays is (364/365)*(363/365). Add a fourth and the probability that he has a different birthday to the first three is 362/365. The probability that there are now no duplicate birthdays is (364/365)*(363/365)*(362/365). etc. The probability that there are no duplicate birthdays falls below 50% when the 23rd person arrives.

        • This is very interesting….I like probability…although isn’t it made complicated depending on whether you know the previous outcome? eg the probability that a second person has a different birthday to the first is 364/365….and the probability that the third person has a different birthday is 363/365 BUT ONLY if we know the first two haven’t had a birthday on the same day, otherwise its 364/365. If my addled brain isn’t wrong…

  • I always recall the late Sid bemoaning the paper work and fees required by the local authority to collect food waste …

    Nonetheless he was proud of his “Licence To Swill”.

    Great man RIP.

  • I was of course referring to flowers in fudge. Can’t f*$king abide the sh*%e myself.

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