The first time I attempted to use a naughty word at school, aged seven, has become family folklore. I was aching to try out a grownup term that I’d heard an older girl utter in the playground, so when my friend was standing at the classroom sink, washing her poster paint-covered brushes, I took my chance.
“Hey, move your bom,” I loudly declared, my cheeks turning bright red as I realised the whole thing had come out wrong. I scuttled away as fast as I could, shocked by the power a single word could hold – and how shaming it could feel if not deployed just right.
