#MakeFuckGreatAgain! In defence of the F word.
Abheek Talukdar

Through the mid 1970’s, all through the 1980’s, and in the early 1990’s I worked in the betting industry, i.e. I ran a betting shop in the UK as a manger. The fuck word was used every day, all day, every day and even directed at me when somebody’s horse lost and the customer lost money. I am pretty hardened about the fuck word, I even had one punter threaten me when I banned him from the shop for causing a disturbance saying “I will make your face look like a fucking butchers shop”, nice. I knew it as a verb, a noun, an adverb, adjective, pronoun, you name it I know every variation of the fuck word. In the late 1980’s I was working in a shop, my counter assistant rang in sick and the only help our area manager ( a man called Michael) could find me was a man in his 70’s who had worked on the racecourses of the UK in the1930’s and 1940’s by the name of Geofrey. Geofrey was typical of his type bearing a felt trilby and a blue Crombie overcoat, his eyes bulged, the whites heavily veined, his cheeks were heavily veined also, from exposure to hard weather and hard drinking, his nose red and heavily wide pored for the same reason. I was introduced to him and his response to my ‘how do you do, Geofry’ was all right you little fucking c**t, where are the fucking pisstones (latrine)around this fucking little shit hole. I thought hmm this will be an interesting day. Michael showed him to the rear of the shop, to the back door where the ‘pisstones’ were located outside, in a flagged back yard surrounded by a brick wall. The shop I worked at had next door a small bakery, and it was not unkown for our shop to benefit from overnight visitors, cockroaches! Whilst Geofrey was busy at the piss stone, Michael suggested that the lunch that Geofrey had brought with him, namely some cheese sandwiches, might benefit from the addition of a little meat, so Michael said “quick Granville can you find me a ‘cocky’, which I did with alacrity and the said ‘cocky’ was introduced to Geofrey’s repast. Geofrey returned from his toilet break, sat down and picked up his sandwiches. Michael said to him “I’ve warned you about the shop and it’s pest problem, better check those before you eat them.” This was met by a barrage of FFFF’s, however Geofrey checked. On finding the little critter lying on it’s back between the cheese slices, kicking it’s little legs in the air, Geofrey’s eyes bulged larger than anybody would have thought possible, his cheeks puffed, expanded, the red braces covering his white shirt (for he had taken off his Crombie coat) nearly snapped and he launched into the most prosaic session of swearing and profanity I have ever heard, never before, never since, for five whole minutes. Michael had a pronounced limp from having had polio as a child, he was also Jewish, he also had long hair, which in Geofrey’s world was not considered ‘manish’ (remember which era we are talking about), all these were factors which came under the barrage of abuse. We had about twenty customers in the shop, all of them capable of swearing and one thing I will never forget is the look of admiration, awe and respect they paid Geofrey when he had completed his soliloquy. Had the EU (which the UK is about to leave, aledgely) had a grant at that time on how to use the fuck word then Geofrey would have got thousands. What a fucking legend, what a fucker, I wish the fuck that we had fucking social fucking media in those days.

And do I like the fuck word? Bet you’re fucking life I fucking do you set of little fuckers. I’ve been trained by the world’s fucking best.😘

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