A very friendly, quite drunk, extravagantly chubby man, about 50, wearing a luminous cycling shirt and unflatteringly tight trousers, was kind enough to give me a light outside the Indian takeaway recently. We were chatting about the smoking ban and the country going to the dogs and that. Very angry with the elite, he was. "The bankers are crooks," he said. "The MPs are on the fiddle. I tell you what, never mind them - thank God for the rest of us. At least Britain's got f***ing talent!" He apologised for his language afterwards, but it was only a formality.
Because, apart from babies, vicars and telephone helpline operators, you can say f*** in front of pretty much anyone these day and feel fairly confident