My daughter is a linguistic genius. A lyrical gangster. A master wordsmith in the making. Fact.
How do I know?
It was just another Saturday, we - my husband, Sophia, Dexter and me - had just finished our lunch. Sophia was messing about with her dad in the kitchen while Dexter ran off at great speed to greet his toys once more in the living room. As for me, I had grabbed a cloth to clean away all the inevitable crumbs and slithers of leftover food that had fallen onto the table, chairs and floor.
"What's with all this mess?" I shrieked in mock outrage, knowing full well that the majority of it had been caused by yours truly.
"Oh Mum," giggled Sophia softly.
"Who's been making so much mess?" I carried on, beginning to enjoy my little role...perhaps a little too much. Turning on my best Victor Meldrew impression I continued, "I don't believe it!"
Sophia, oblivious to my obvious and amazing vocal talents, bellowed with laughter.
"You've gone goggins!" She shouted gleefully.
"I've gone what?" I asked, wondering what on earth I'd just been called.
"Goggins," she screamed again. "You've. Gone. Goggins!" Cue more laughter...from all of us.
So there you have it. 'Goggins'. Watch out for it in the next edition of the Oxford dictionary and remember you heard it here first.
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