I SWEAR A LITTLE BAD LANGUAGE GOES A LONG WAY

"BUDDY hell, Janey, watch your step," the comedy promoter Bill said last week when I tripped over in the theatre. I swore out loud and rubbed my knee.

I looked at him intently and wondered if he had a speech impediment.

I know he meant to say the word "bloody" but that seemed too filthy a phrase for him.

This made me genuinely ponder why he organised a comedy festival if he really was so easily offended at strong language.

How bad is the word "bloody" in this day and age?

Comics often use swearing in their acts. Many audience members don't seem to mind if a man swears, but if a woman curses, people baulk and shudder at the thought.

I only swear in my act if the word is in context, I don't swear gratuitously.

When I told a cab driver in Canada I was a stand-up comic, the first thing he asked was: "Do you swear? Do you talk dirty?" He continued: "Because I hate women who swear and get filthy. It's not funny, you know. My wife hates it as well and would never pay to hear that."

"Billy Connolly swears and talks dirty sometimes," I quipped.

"Yes, but he's a man and that's OK," he smugly replied. I almost gagged and strangled him from behind. Then I calmly explained that I do swear sometimes but I wouldn't if the room was full of religious fundamentalists - and they don't usually attend live comedy clubs.

Religious fervour and stand-up comedy don't usually go hand in hand, in much the same way that crack addiction and cross-country running don't really coalesce.

He gave me a dirty look and shook his head, much in the same way a disappointed parent does when they see their only child eat sand.

I swear and talk with people who curse back and I don't find it odious.

I don't use bad language in front of people who would be offended, like my step-mum and the bank manager (who really does deserve a few bad words), but I enjoy a good effing and blinding when the time calls.

What really irritates me are the people who mean to swear but use a fake word to cover up their disingenuous language.

Recently in Bristol I met up with an uncle I hadn't seen in years and I silently giggled when I heard him say the word "futting" in the middle of a diatribe about football.

I forgot he had this unusual self- bastardised lingo. (I love the word "bastardised" - legal swearing, that is.)

Surely, if he really meant to swear, he should just say it. After all, the intention is there.

My uncle is religious and would never swear out loud; he feels it would shame the Lord to curse.

But, if swearing is an affront to the Lord, then surely even God is clever enough to know that the words buddy, flipping and futting are just swear words that have been camouflaged sufficiently to sound socially acceptable.

At the Fringe in Edinburgh this year, I had my baby niece Abi over for a few days and I forgot she was in the room when I was swearing out loud in the middle of a story about a mad spitting cat that had jumped out of a bush at me. My husband shouted: "Janey, mind your language - Abi is here."

I stopped mid-sentence and felt so ashamed when I saw her pop her wee head round the sofa to look at me. I threw my hand up to my mouth in shame, but Abi stood up and shouted: "It's OK. Aunty Janey isn't swearing - she is just being artistic."

I had once explained to her when she heard me say the F word on the phone that I say bad words in an artistic manner, not in a bad way. I really do hate to hear kids swear, and I made Abi promise never to use such awful words.

When my own daughter and I performed the sketch show Square Street last year at the Fringe, I would visibly shudder when she shouted out the F word on stage. It horrified me to hear her say that word, though it was funny in the sketch.

Swearing is only acceptable in certain circumstances. It can truly offend and outrage people, so it should be used sparingly and only when the verbal menu requires a smidgeon.

Much like a flourish of carefully-sliced rare white truffle. Whatever you do, just don't fake it.

Use the real thing and embrace the experience.

SUPERMARKETS MUST THINK WE'RE ALL CHRISTMAS CRACKERS

THERE is surely nothing more annoying than being pressured into organising your Christmas menu from the panic-inducing adverts in every supermarket.

You would think prawn rings, turkey joints and mince pies were in seriously short supply.

I am bored to death of adverts telling us we must dress in a posh frock, panic needlessly and provide expensive Cava to guests who arrive at our holly-bedecked hall for their long-awaited seven-course menu.

Who actually throws these parties? We are roasting a lamb's back leg and will be chomping down my daughter's home-made panna cotta.

Last year's leftover crackers will be used and we will sing God Save The Queen - Sex Pistols style - as is our time-honoured tradition.

I will go to the local shop on Christmas Day and buy jelly beans, chewy cola bottles and cheap mince pies. We don't dress up. We wear pyjamas the whole day. That's Christmas Godley style.

BOWLED OVER BY SOUPER PAIN RELIEF

I HAD a sore ear on Saturday. My daughter, Ashley, told me she had a cure. She came through with a long, pink sock that was bulging.

It was like a giant pink snake. She heated it in the microwave and held it to my ear.

"The old wives' cure is you put salt in a silk stocking," she said. "Well, mine is pulses and beans in a sock and you heat it up. It's a young daughter's cure." And, true enough, the pain eased.

She then showed me how her homemade sock is extendable to go around your waist if you have back pain. The heat stays for three hours.

The downside is that it smells of lentil soup.

I mentioned this to Ashley and she replied: "Yes, but that's the good thing. Homemade soup is a comforting smell, so the benefits are two-fold."

Soup-smelling pain relief... I know what I am giving as Christmas gifts!

VIRTUAL WORLD HAS GONE MAD

VIRTUAL theft is the latest online crime. There are websites where real cash is used in transactions to buy equipment and goods to use in your virtual world. Teenagers in the Netherlands have been charged with theft after stealing "virtual furniture" from a website where people redecorate online apartments. Is it just me that finds this absolutely mental? I have neither the time nor inclination to buy real furniture for my actual home, never mind pixelated pillows for a pretend house that lives inside my laptop.

Society is reflected by the crimes it suffers, and if kids are stealing from fake homes, then it's time to rethink our hobbies.

Remember when we thought stamp-collecting and train-spotting were creepy? Well, there are millions of people out there spending hard cash on wallpaper and parquet flooring that doesn't even exist - and others finding ways to steal it.