Even in a foreign language:
End of season rugby match in Italy. The club had done well in the previous months and, if all went well, and we won this match, the team would be promoted.
As a club grown-up, I had to sit on the touch-line with the other grown-ups, medic, subs, etc, so handed off my 4 year-old daughter, who had been at the local nursery school just a couple of terms, to the girlfriend of one of our players and they went off to sit in the stands.
With two minutes to go, the scores were level. Then one of our wingers got the ball, on the opposition 22, and had nobody in front of him.
Off he set at speed and, just as he arrived at the line, he dropped the ball - right in the path of the incoming full-back who pounced on this game-saving chance.
On the bench we all leaped up with suitable language working its way to its FUP just behind the lips when, from high in the stand, came what the Italians call a ' white voice' (voce bianca), in perfect local dialect: " O, ragga, ma che ca**o stai a fa?"
(roughly translated: "Hey lad, what the f**k do you think you're doing?")
I felt grown-up eyes boring into me from all angles and was forced to deny all knowledge of whoever might have been responsible for this pithy utterance.
But there was no denying my young daughter had beaten us all to it with the appropriate phrase, at the right moment.
The foremost example of 'perfect swearing'? I give you Ray Illingworth, former Yorkshire, England and one time Wisden's cricketer of the year. Ray's later career was plagued by a back injury and when, after another painful training session in the nets he was asked by a journo how his back was? His reply was a thing of beauty:
Sat in the Junior Ranks Club at CPO BAOR in Munchinstrapback among a mixed crowd of shiny-arrsed RAPC pay clerks and WRACs. One of the lads said something (I forget what) that would be tame in here but was just over the edge for mixed company. One of the WRACs stood up and pointed at him and said, "Stop fucking swearing in front of women."
Might have been funny in itself but I stood up and pointed at him and said, "Aye, don't swear in front of kernt." (It rhymes well when spoken with a Pitmatic accent.)
They were all laughing until I got the last word out. Tumbleweeds rolled by. I smiled innocently and went back to me beer. They laughed eventually, after they'd collectively caught their breath.
Malcolm Tucker [to Phil Smith]: I will rain down on you so fucking hard you will have to be reassembled by aircrash investigators.
[Smith tries to speak, Tucker puts his hand on his chest]
Tucker: Do not fucking interrupt me, son, ever. Now get this into the noggin, right? You breathe a word of this to anyone, you mincing fucking CUNT!!!!!!, I will tear your fucking skin off, I will wear you to your mum's birthday party, and I'll rub your nuts against her leg whilst whistling Bohemian fucking Rapsody. Do you understand what I've said.
[a terrified Smith nods]
Tucker: Good. Now Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Sight.
Hysterical swearing is also fun, like watching a tramp like bloke tipping the sawdust from the empty tobacco pouch onto a single rizla only for the probably only gust of wind that entire summers day to flip it over tipping the tobacco dust into the air. He was firing damnation at the sky with a series of 'fuks' 'ya bassa' shaking his hands, my pal gave him a cig for the comedy factor then refused him a light, jock angryness at its finest!
Mrs BM tells of the time an toff type ran for the bus as it pulled away, jumped for it, caught the the pole (this is in the days of the old routemaster London buses), swung round in a full circle, ended up in a heap on the road shouting in a plummy voice: "Shower of Shit!"
There are also occasions when you need to perfect your swearing.
Older brother of the 4 year-old rugby supporter (see above) had been at an Italian primary school for just two years and while my Italian had improved from zero, I worked in an environment where even the security guards refused to use 'parolaccie' in my presence to prevent me learning bad Italian.
Chatting to friends of ours, over pizza and vino one evening, we learned that their daughter, who was in the same class as our son, had the day before received a major bollocking from a teacher for using bad language in class. In mitigation before hearing the teacher's sentence, the daughter had pleaded "... But even Trackpen Junior swears ..." (Trackpen Junior being the only Brit, indeed foreigner of any description in the class.)
We all laughed, but our friends had a serious point.
The following day, therefore, saw Trackpen forming up in front of son' s three female teachers at kicking out time.
"What can we do for you? Problems?"
My request caused them all to roll around the floor laughing: "Could you please write me out a list of Italian swear words. I understand my son has been using bad language, as all children do, but if I don' t know what they are, how can I give him a rifting for it if he uses them at home?"
They, too, agreed this was a good point and a couple of days later presented me with several close-typed, recto-verso, A4 sheets of Italian - English 'parolaccie'.
Through one of the teachers, I was then introduced to the local rugby club: the list then became almost constant reading material - for a few months, anyway, and the guards at work were relieved that they could finally say what they really wanted to say!
And just to add, on the theme of use of bad language by youngsters, I don' t know how it works in the UK but, in Italy use of bad language on the rugby pitch by youngsters of school age is sanctioned by the ref: Warning, then yellow for a repeat offence, followed by red for further persistence.
In 1975, we were having dinner in a resturant in Chom Pang, Singapore with a few friends including a RN Lt Cdr and his wife and kids. The kids finished early and then started to play inside and outside the resturant. The eldest daughter, who was about 10 or 11, I think, came running in and said in a very loud voice with a "proper" accent: "Daddy, there's a native boy outside who says he will look after our car if we pay him $5!" The whole restaurant now tuned into this conversation.
Daddy: "Really, dear, and what did you say to him?"
A few weeks ago I was walking past a shop with a group of about 6-7 youths outside of it. No older than 11.
As I approached the shop one of the older looking ones came up to me and said. "Ere mate get us some fags?" I didn't even have time to say no before the rude fucker said "10 Mayfair super king, keep the change init" I was in shock. But I kept my head and said "no, how old are you?" Which I thought would make him shy away in embarresment.
Alas. It didn't. Instead I got heckled with a mass of strange words. My favourite was. "Fuck off batty boy, go get bummed" while his mates giggled an spat on the floor every 2 seconds
He did however step away when I started laughin hysterically at the words he'd just blotted out his mouth. Then a swift "fuck off you horrible little cunt" and the group were on their merry little way to burn a pile of news papers or kick over a wheelie bin.