Four-letter fanfares

Wasn’t Radio Four cuntacular yesterday?

First Naughtie, then Marr, the morning turned into a positive relay race of cunts. And everyone became terribly excited. Or not.

There might or might not be some sort of reciprocal hoopla. And if so, it’s worth bearing in mind a few contextual facts.

Firstly, we’ve been living with and among cunts for nearly 900 years. Around 1230 (the year; not the lunch-hour), there was a street in London called Gropecuntelane.

There’s a cunt in Chaucer:

What ails you that you grumble thus and groan?
Is it because you’d have my cunt alone?

And there’s famously a cunt in Ulysses:

The grey sunken cunt of the world.

Not to mention cunts in Horace Walpole, Rochester, Henry Miller and Beckett.

There have been cunts on the radio before, even. Nicky Campbell‘s done it twice and Jeremey Vine‘s let one slip as well.

There’s even been Prime Minesterial cunt (in disguise). Former Australian PM of the 1970s Gough Whitlam:

Sir Winton Turnbull, a member of the cavalleria rusticana, was raving and ranting on the adjournment and shouted: “I am a Country member”. I interjected “I remember”. He could not understand why, for the first time in all the years he had been speaking in the House, there was instant and loud applause from both sides.

Shakespeare and Steven Fry have cracked the same joke.

There are even fifteen cunts (or variants of cunts) in this blog post. Which is one cunt every sixteen words. Fifteen cunts before breakfast, and not a single joke about a cabinet meeting.

Until that one.

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~ by David Thorley on December 7, 2010.

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