We were only in London for a couple of days, and yet Luca somehow managed to pick up the accent as well as some words that were totally inappropriate for one so young.
At first I was taken aback (OK, after initially being slightly amused) but as it continued for a few days it became more than a little disturbing.
“This is facked!”
I corrected him on every occasion.
“No Luca, that’s broken”
“No, you say this isn’t working”
“For the love of God Luca, you’re not f*cked, you’re tired!”
I tried ignoring it, I apologised on his behalf in shops, I even extended the naughty step to include an annex for bad language; all to no avail.
I was at my wits end and very close to requesting a prospectus from Borstal.
Then, to make matters worse, it turned out he’d not picked this up in London, he’d actually learnt it in nursery. Apparently his teacher said it all the time?
There was only one thing for it, a strongly worded letter of complaint.
“Which teacher says f*cked Luca?”
“Claire. She said if something isn’t a fib then it’s fact.”
Fact. FACT! His name is Luca, and that is a FACT!
Now I feel really guilty. I’ve had to give him a grovelling apology for confusing his facts from his fiction, and I’ll not pretend my showering him in treats is anything other than a blatant attempt to buy his forgiveness …. and silence.
In these litigious times I can only hope he doesn’t instruct his lawyers to sue me for wrongful arrest, or for the time spent on naughty step remand for a crime he didn’t commit.