Have I been away too long? Has there been some renewed auntification of the BBC in my absence? Stand by for a sad little tale of censorship.
A quarter of a century or so ago, a woman called Geneviève wrote two books, Merde! and Merde Encore!, to help acquaint Anglo-Saxons with "the real French you were never taught at school".
Our heroine was described in the blurb as "a lady who swears with exquisite grammatical accuracy" in both French and English.
The "Merde family" of words and phrases took pride of place in the opening chapter of the first book, entitled The Musts.
Having defined merde as "literally and figuratively meaning shit", she wrote this simple summary:
It is known in polite circles as "les cinq lettres" (as we would say "a four-letter word"). But then there are few such circles, and the word is vital for communication with the natives. It does not have the shock value of its English equivalent, so sprinkle liberally.
Geneviève had reckoned without the prim souls at the Beeb, for whom the shock value is intact.
Regulars here will recall that when she caught my end of a telephone conversation in which I was offered a new job in Abu Dhabi, Mme Salut! misheard and thought to herself: "Merde! He's not thinking of taking me to Derby, is he?"
I repeated this harmless line when BBC Wear asked me to write about my new life overseas for its website.
And this is how it appeared: "He's not taking me to Derby, is he?"
Spot the difference. I am tempted to add that if you live in the BBC Wear catchment area, you should not on any account speak the missing word out loud, for fear of frightening the horses. On the other hand, I could swear - sorry, I am quite sure - I can remember hearing the English version on people's lips on Wearside. Just the once or twice.
I trust my friends at the Beeb up north will forgive me for ribbing them a little. But as Geneviève would surely say: Quelle connerie!
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