I am the new Johnny Rottens.
I was talking about men being given Botox injections for Christmas on the Andrew Collings show and accidentally let out a small expletive. It was the expletive "shit" and I only said it quietly as I was acting out the disappointment on Christmas morning, but nonetheless the forbidden word was spoken on daytime radio - Sunday radio at that. God must have been hopping mad.
It is, I think, the first time in my long career that I have made such an error and Andrew himself was surprised, "Ooooh, you've never done that before!" he teased. Luckily, unlike Bill Grundy in the famed Sex Pistols interview he didn't get all po-faced and attempt to get me to repeat what I'd said and then goad me into saying something worse. Which is a shame as I would like to have called him "a dirty rotter" (which in 1977 was the rudest thing you could say on TV).
I will have to check the papers in the morning, but I doubt that they will be filled with outrage at my slip up. I would be surprised if anyone even rings the station to complain (I did apologise twice and was genuinely reticent. There is no need for such language). The only thing anyone has complained about so far during my longish stint on the programme is when I implied I would be celebrating the death of Lady Thatcher and would dance on her grave. Given that on the show we were discussing the fact that Ian Brady has been secretly eating Cadbury's Creme Eggs during his six year hunger strike (and the fact that it's gone on for six years might have been a clue that he was cheating), one might argue that just saying a small and not particularly rude swear word would not be a big deal. But I still felt quite naughty and worried that I might get a call in the week saying that I wouldn't be required for the next show. Or any other show. Ever.
Shit!
