The foreman Harold was strict, but nonetheless one of the kindest men you could meet... and the most foulmouthed.
Eight of us huddled in the hut for tea breaks were on the receiving end of Harold’s wisdom on the state of the nation, politics, religion etc. His language was as legendary as my teamaking. The F and C-words punctuated his diatribes, the former adjectivally, the latter describing various noteworthy people.
One tea break I counted 121 such words from Harold, often splitting words to fit them in, occasionally twice!
The best such was “susfuckingtifafuckingcate”, describing his expiring MOT certificate.