OUR national motto used to be “after you.” Now, although the second word remains the same, the first is something altogether less polite.

Ironic, isn’t it, that last night’s Panorama was an enquiry into swearing on TV, presented by Frank Skinner, not long since a notorious potty mouth himself?

I saw Skinner at Bournemouth Pavilion the last time he was in town, and, as far as I can recall, his language was indeed fairly restrained. His material, on the other hand, was full on – and not always funny.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been known to utter the odd profanity myself. I’m sure there have been times when I’ve sworn unnecessarily, or in front of the wrong people. So call me a hypocrite, but… Is it just me, or is there something dispiriting about the torrent of effluent spilling out of the mouths, not just of media figures, but an increasing number of the public too?

Not only does it suggest a limited vocabulary, it also shows a lack of respect.

I put my foot in it a while back when I wrote in this column about the foul abuse heard on a regular basis at a football stadium not a million miles away.

It’s all about passion, said my critics, and, of course, they’re entitled to their opinion.

Why, even the apparently reformed Skinner speaks admiringly of a fellow West Bromwich Albion supporter who goes to games and regales anyone within earshot with a XXX-rated commentary.

Skinner has argued that this terrace terror works hard all week and has every right to let off steam at the weekend. I’d counter that the people that have to put up with his vile invective also work hard, and similarly have the right to enjoy their football in a civilised environment.

But it’s not just the not-so-beautiful game that’s to blame.

Chat show king Jonathan Ross, as the whole world and his wife now knows, is a tad, shall we say, earthier than dear old Parky ever was.

Celebrity chefs Gordon Ramsay and Jamie Oliver pepper their cous-cous with curses, and “Parental Advisory” stickers festoon CDs. As a result, it’s impossible to go anywhere now without hearing the sort of language once previously confined to barrack-rooms, building sites and factory floors.

You’ll hear it in the queue at the check-out; in the changing room at the gym; on the bus. You might be with your children, or your gran – it won’t make any difference.

There are people that see nothing wrong in punctuating their conversations with the F-word.

But it’s not so much the word that so many of us find objectionable – it’s the attitude that goes with it.

It says, “I can say what I like, I can do what I like. I don’t care about you. It’s all about me.

“And, if you don’t like it, well, you can just… ” Thanks, I think we can guess the rest.