Dottir Mouths

I am at Maid Of Orleans on a Sunday morning. Eusebio has run a fever so it’s me and Ian. Oh, and ten,  positively smiley, Icelandic female rappers. Somehow Ian seems to have developed a specialism in this kind of gig.

The ladies are strewn around the studio floor in a circle. Except for the heavily pregnant one who is sitting in a chair. The gibberish conversation bounces around the group, a scatter gun barrage of guttural husky singsong voices. I rig microphones around them. Before too long they break their flow to ask.

Exkewz Mi! Can we swear in Icelandic?

No.

What can’t we say?

You can’t say anything sexually explicit or defamatory or which denigrates people based on their race, religion, sexuality or gender.

Can we say *%?!

Definitely not.

But it’s biologically accurate.

Yes, but we’re English. We use pet names.

Can we say £!@+!

No sorry.

Can we say “breasts”

Yes, I suppose so.

^#>=?

I don’t think so. There are children listening. Let me check with Roger Andrews.

There follows a pretty surreal telephone conversation whereby I rattle off a list of expletives at Roger Andrews. He confirms our position and returns to his Sunday worshipful practice.

Then it continues.

How about “freaking”?

That’s fine.

“Slut”?

It depends on the context. You’re all feminists, it’s probably ok.

What about “s***ing” instead of “f***ing”?

No. Just leave a gap. Sorry. This is The Corporation.

It’s okay. We get this problem in TV too. It’s not really fair. Male rappers will then come on after us and say %*€$.

Yes, but I doubt they ever-so-politely check everyone involved is ok with their potty-mouth language beforehand.