I’m not a puritan when it comes to language. I know there’s the argument that if you can’t make your point without using a swear word then it proves you have both limited intelligence and vocabulary (my grandmother is fond of that one), but sometimes there’s nothing that gets your point across, or vents your frustration, as effectively as a good cursing.

It’s all about context. And sure, you have to judge your audience, but a well-placed swear word is almost like a secret handshake; it lets all parties know that they’re equals, there’s no standing on ceremony, and they’re comfortable with each other.

Which is why I was surprised to read today that complaints were made about the use of a certain word that refers to a part of the female anatomy on the TV show Outrageous Fortune (http://www.nzherald.co.nz/entertainment/news/article.cfm?c_id=1501119&objectid=10680627)

For those not from New Zealand, Outrageous Fortune is about a family of white-trash petty criminals whose mother decides they’re going straight after dad is banged up. It’s a comedy-drama that’s realistically full of sex and bad language. It’s also historically been on at 9.30pm on Tuesday nights, though this season (its last) for some reason is on an hour earlier.

Admittedly, it’s mostly the right-wing ‘protect the fabric of society’ groups who are gnashing their teeth over this. The thing is, it seems a pointless complaint. The show is in its final few weeks now, and they’ve had six years to complain about it. I don’t even think it’s a valid argument to say that the offending word was said too early, at 8.42, because by now everyone knows how Outrageous Fortune rolls, and if parents are dumb enough to consider it suitable viewing for their kids because of the time it’s on, the kids hearing a few dirty words are probably the least of their worries.

Because I see words as just being forms of expression, rather than entities of their own, it takes a lot to horrify me when it comes to their use. I’ve heard some beautifully creative combinations of swear words, and rather than make me gasp and clutch my pearls, it sometimes inspires me to come up with my own. I’m not above using naughty words myself on occasion, but only among friends, and there are certain ones I would never, ever use because of how offensive they are to others. And those are also the ones that aren’t that much fun to use anyway.

End note: I managed to write 440 words about swear words without actually using one. My grandmother would be proud.

Environment Waikato, the council responsible for environmental issues in my region, are working on a great project that’s making me very happy.

The Hamilton Halo project has been working hard to bring back native New Zealand birds, such as the tui and bellbird, into Hamilton’s suburbs. Apparently these birds, tui especially, used to be common in this city but predators and loss of habitat caused them to vanish.

When I first moved to Wellington in 2006, I lived in an old house atop a hill in Brooklyn that had a kowhai tree outside my bedroom window. Every morning I’d wake up to the distinctive call* of the tui, and it was amazing, as I’d only ever seen them in free-flight aviaries in zoos.

Now though, back in Hamilton, I’m regularly hearing them, and the other day was lucky enough to see a pair in a tree at my house. It gives me a real sense of being ‘home’ to have these unique New Zealand birds around the place, and hearing them never fails to make me smile.

So good on you Hamilton Halo. What a gift you’re giving Hamilton.

*Call from Environment Waikato site, provided by the Department of Conservation.

The writing world, whatever the industry, is a strange place. You’ll always find certain types of people: those who are there but who really shouldn’t be; those who are fabulous at what they do and everyone knows it; those who see themselves as ar-teests (like the ‘ack-tors’ you see in amateur theatre groups); and those who like it fine, but who are happy to muddle along as long as they’re keeping food on the table, and don’t have aspirations of being the next [insert big-name author here].

Passion in one’s work is something I’ve thought about a lot in recent years. Do you have to have it to do a good job? I don’t think so. When I was younger and trying to choose a career path, it was stressful because I didn’t know what I was really passionate about, but felt under pressure not to spend a working life doing something I didn’t leap out of bed each morning with a fire, a joyful desperation, to get on with. With each birthday, that idealism has sapped away and been replaced with a more realistic view.

It is important that you at least like what you do. I like writing a lot. I like editing better (geeky as it is, nothing quite compares to the little rush I get from fixing a misplaced apostrophe, or correcting a clunky sentence). But I’m very happy to be doing writing, and I think that shows in my work. I’ve had office jobs that I really didn’t care about, and that also showed. You can’t love everything you write about, but as long as you at least like the process, that’s plenty. When I can combine something that I am passionate about (dog behaviour, animal welfare) with writing, that rocks, and I smile.

There will be people who think that without that elusive great passion, you have no business to be writing. I disagree. It’s cool if you’re one of those people who can make a career out of their passion, but it’s also good to be someone who can stop when they’re finished, step away from the computer, and go and do something else they love, without making their work the feature of their life. After all, if you want your house painted, you don’t hire Picasso.