Turning the air blue? I swear I'll stop it now

I know a former hack who, when she left the newsroom for a normal job in the public sector, was told that she swears far too much and should substitute each profanity for the word 'rainbows'.

As you can imagine, that went down like a sack of rainbows.

But they had a point: swearing is a grubby habit.

There's nowt more depressing than hearing a mum effing and jeffing at her kids in the supermarket, or a gang of teens on the bus punctuating every other word with an f-bomb, or some red-faced bloke losing it at the traffic lights because you didn't zip through on the very last slither of amber.

But it's not just when people are at the end of their tether or showing off for their mates: these days, swearing is all day, every day.

I watched Magic Mike t'other day. For those not in the know, it's a cheerful comedy about male strippers, one of whom almost dies from a drug overdose. Wholesome family fun, I think we can all agree on that.

And while I had no problem whatsoever with Channing Tatum's jiggling buns (is there anyone in the world who does?), the constant swearing in even the most mundane of sentences was mind-numbing.

Put your effing hat on.

Do you want some effing lunch?

What's the effing time?

Oh, Channing, just grease your effing chest up and get back to work.

But I'm no better. Despite growing up in a non-swearing house (even 'cow' wasn't allowed, which is a hurdle when you have a little sister incapable of putting your Friends DVDs back in the right cases), I am now a fully-fledged swearer.

I blame a career in the newsroom (and a life as a Wolves fan).

Star Towers is an absolute palace of profanity. Here, in the belly of the beast, a delightful mix of deadlines, egos and emotion means you're never too far away from an f-word. Maybe even an airborne newspaper if you're really lucky.

Years locked up in this mad place, fuelled by a diet of black coffee and Steak Bakes, is the reason why I now rival Frankie Boyle in the swear stakes.

I can hear myself doing it, peppering each sentence with a bit of blue, and it really clangs. Yet I can't seem to stop.

I sound like an idiot. I sound like an oaf. It stops now.

No more four letter words.

Apparently, pretending your grandma's always in earshot helps, or wearing an elastic band around your wrist that you can snap each time you slip.

I'm also taking the lead from my pal's new employers.

From now on, you'll find me over the rainbow.