So here is the last blog post of the holiday season. Turn away now if you cannot cope with the f-word.
What follows is a verbatim rendering of a conversation that took place last week in the car, driving down to the Isle of Wight. Me driving. Wife in the front. Three kids, 11, 9, 7, in the back.
9 year-old boy: ‘What does fuck mean?’
Wife: ‘It’s very rude and you must never say it.’
9 year-old boy: ‘I know that. But what does it mean?’
Me: ‘You’ll find out in Year 6 sex education.’
9 year-old boy: ‘But I don’t want to wait for Year 6. Tell me what it means now.’
Wife: ‘Look, I’ll talk to you about it later. We can’t do it now — daddy is driving and I have to do the directions.’
9 year-old boy: ‘Why can’t you just tell me what it means?’
Worldly-wise 11 year-old sister, feeling very pleased with herself: ‘Look, It’s like a hug.’
9 year-old boy, turning to 11 year-old sister: ‘Can I fuck you?’
7 year-old girl, turning to 11-year old sister: ‘I want to fuck you too.’
Here is a funny video I saw this summer, on how to assess the marriageability of women. It is funnier for me because my wife is called Tiffany. It is probably funnier for anyone when you have had a couple of drinks.
Here is a funny song about learning Chinese (in Chinese, so skip it if you don’t speak any). In case you are wondering, it was done in Taipei. Can’t imagine something like this being done on the mainland.
Just now in the car…
9 year-old boy: ‘I know what fuck means.’
Me: ‘Oh yes?’
9 year-old boy: ‘It means sex.’
Wife: ‘How do you know that?’
9 year-old boy: ‘X and Y [friends at school] told me.’
9 year-old boy: ‘But why can’t you say: “What fuck are you?”.’