The glorious nuances of the English sense of place.

Bell ends ahoy
Bell ends ahoy

There’s no joy quite like the mirth that bubbles up when driving my five year old home through the small Northamptonshire town of Wollaston tonight, and out of nowhere, in a serious, quiet, voice she simply says:

‘Bell end.’

Me: (aghast) “Pardon Rose? What was that you said?”

Rose: “Bell end.”

(the laugh is coming, I can feel it. Dont laugh. Don’t laugh)

Rose: “Bell end. Bellend. Bell. End.”

(Do. Not. Laugh. DO. NOT. LAUGH. You will have to explain yourself and that will be worse. Way worse.)

Rose: (thoughtfully) “Bell end.” Then,  “Why are you laughing mummy?”

What I hope is that I passed it off as uncontrollable admiration for her newly developed reading skills, but what I suspect is that I’ve just taught my daugher how much fun it is to swear. Who names a street ‘Bell End’ anyway? This country is going to the dogs…

Bell ends ahoy
Bell ends ahoy

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