Swored

“Well, really. I didn’t think you were like that.”

I lay in the bath, listening to the sound of my daughter downstairs, admonishing someone.

“You swored. It’s not nice to swore. I thought you were better than that.”

I smiled to myself, wondering which imaginary friend was getting the telling-off. Was it Freya? If so, an invisible, silent girl developing a hitherto previously-unexpressed Anglo-Saxon vocabulary was an interesting development.

“You’re being resp..resp..resp...dis-respect-ful, Jessie J. I’m disappointed in you.” 

So it was a pop star who was in trouble. I realised what had happened, and shouted downstairs to my husband to check exactly what our daughter was looking up on YouTube, while I clambered out from my bubble-filled tub.

She’d been trying to watch a video for one of the songs from her Pop Princess compilation CD, but had stumbled across a demo version with fruity language.

“It had the F word, Mum. She doesn’t say that on my CD. It’s rude.”

I agreed. We had a brief chat about looking for “(clean version)” in the title of videos, and avoiding “(explicit lyrics)”, to prevent any further unpleasantness.

“I still want her book, 'Jessie J: Nice To Meet You - My Story', for Christmas, Mum. She doesn’t swore in that.”

I know all about the book. My daughter's been reading a library copy of it OUT LOUD continuously for the past few days. 

If Santa brings it, it won't be Jessie who'll be doing the sworing around here.

Video is Calexico - Gypsy's Curse (You didn't really think it was going to be Jessie J, did you?)

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