My family day out was ruined by hundreds of swearing hikers

As my family climbed Snowdon at the weekend, there were certain things I expected to see and hear…

Serious hikers with poles and calves like marble; charity walkers wearing T-shirts saying ‘for Nan’; even a few demoralising runners doing literal loops around us as they completed the Snowdon Skyrace.

What I hadn’t predicted though, is that the breathtaking views and our sense of achievement would be set to a soundtrack of expletives echoing through the mist.

By my count, in the six hours it took us to summit and descend the mountain we heard: 50-plus ‘f**k’s’, around a dozen ‘s**t’s’ and even one ‘motherf**ker’.

Now, I’m no prude, of course I swear: I run my own business, have two kids, and a husband who gives me a daily TED Talk on dishwasher loading technique.

I’m also Scottish, meaning I love when the C-bomb is used as a term of affection or, even, when your friends gets it engraved on a gold necklace for you. 

But unless it’s traffic-related (and I’ve only let two solid ‘f**ks’ slip in front of the kids – both involving roundabouts and white Audis), most of my swearing is done under my breath, because I don’t want my kids swearing.

I’ve always firmly believed that there is a time and place to swear because, let’s face it, language matters. 

Even in my twenties, especially if there were kids nearby, I’d keep it clean. I had a filter. A volume dial. A vague sense of shame born out of a strong desire to be part of a society that doesn’t want kids swearing. 

It’s why we’ve been an ‘oh my gosh’ family up to now, definitely more ‘sugar’ than ‘sh*t’, and why I’ve heard my husband say, completely unironically, ‘drat’ and ‘crikey’ – though even I draw the line at that level of Victorian butler energy. 

And while I know I can’t shield my 10 and 12-year-old from swear words forever, I certainly didn’t appreciate them being exposed to such profanity while completing a UNESCO-listed climb.

At first, each curse was met with a raised eyebrow and an audible gasp of ‘another F-bomb!’ as my husband and I tried to make light of the situation.

Somewhere around the halfway point though we gave up making jokes about the language and, by the time we reached the summit, it was like we’d played a seemingly never ending game of blasphemy bingo with no winners.

The walkers seemed oblivious to the kids, and even as an adult, it was all just a bit much.

The kids certainly noticed. Sure, they already know the words (the joys of the playground) but seeing adults, even 50-year-old women, effing and blinding every five seconds was a rude-awakening. Literally.

My issue isn’t that people swear – I write wedding speeches and formerly TV scripts, so I know that one perfectly timed F-bomb can turn polite titters into full-on snorts – it’s that they do so without care.

There’s no filter, no pause, no thought behind it. Just shouting obscenities into the wind while your 10-year-old tries to spot a summit marker. 

It’s gone from taboo to tonal, with expletives no longer being used for emphasis but rather as lazy vocal fillers.

Statistically speaking I shouldn’t be surprised as the average Brit swears 10.5 times a day. Young adults (those aged between 16 and 24) clock in at around 14 swears a day while over-55s only rack up a dainty seven.

But I miss the days when the public bar was where you could swear, and the lounge bar was where you buttoned up your language. Same pub, different vibe. Not censorship, just reading the room. 

In some countries, of course, swearing in public isn’t just frowned upon – it’s illegal.

Australia treats public profanity as a criminal offence in many states, with fines under ‘offensive language’ laws. In Canada, swearing in public parks can lead to charges for causing a disturbance. And Russia goes even further, with fines or even short jail time for public swearing. 

Even the UK used to be stricter: We had laws dating back to 1694 and 1745 that fined people for profane oaths, which were only scrapped in 1967. 

And while Thanet District Council tried to introduce a Public Spaces Protection Order (PSPO) last year to ban ‘language or behaviour causing or likely to cause harassment, alarm or distress’, the order was rescinded following a complaint from The Free Speech Union.

The council plans to redraft the PSCO and initiate a public consultation, but reaction to the original order was mixed to say the least. 

Now, I’m not suggesting we add to the prison population and I certainly don’t want to live in a country where swearing at the self-checkout is a criminal offence, but what I am saying is a bit of awareness wouldn’t hurt.

For instance, when you’re on a mountain with families with school-age kids, perhaps someone shouting ‘Where the f**k is Lauren?!’ for the eighth time, isn’t really necessary.

Because when swearing becomes constant, loud, and impossible to ignore around kids, it stops being background noise. Instead, it starts to feel like an ambient act of rudeness. Not edgy, not funny, just inconsiderate. 

So, maybe we need a new kind of social etiquette. Something like: No litter. No speakers. No shouting ‘shagged it’ within earshot of toddlers. 

Or, maybe we should all just try to remember that just because we can swear, it doesn’t mean we have to.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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