How are you supposed to know that a word isn't acceptable? If your dad stroked the hair gently around your mother's face, and cooed "gargle my balls in Listerine, you grotesque slag", you'd grow up thinking that it was a loving and romantic thing to say.

So when my grandfather called our battery powered stereo with Dolby and auto-stop cassette functionality a "wogbox", with no hatred or racism in his voice, we didn't bat an eyelid. "Slap some Paul Young on the wogbox," we'd yell out the windows. "Turn up the wogbox, I'm trying to dance over here."

Wogbox. To this day, it's a word that's frequently leaps into my mouth. I'm painfully politically correct by nature, and I hate that I'm not supposed to say it. It's such a great word. "I'm not racist, but wogbox Wogbox WOGBOX. Wogbox." Thank you.