I’m still at close proximity to Mum. Which means I just can’t help interacting with her …
Someone’s on TV massaging a piece of pork with the sort of sensuality I am yet to express to another human, and telling us to buy it …
Me: They never advertise organic vegetables …
Mum: They shouldn’t need to.
Me: No. But they do …
Mum: The world is over populated, let them poison themselves. Carry on I say!
Mum is talking about the recent presidential visit ….
“Did you see Obama get off the plane? God, he just looked so cool. And then you had our leader, looking like a puffy twat.”
Mum’s come round and we’re going through the papers. We’ve reached the horoscopes …
Mum: Oh your stars are good, they’re saying you’re entering a new period in your life.
Me: Thank god. The last 15 years were shit.
Mum is being organised and writing a list, or a note … something. She’s wearing glasses, she has a pen, she’s told me to shut up; it’s important.
Mum: What’s the date?
Me: 29th
Mum: Of what?
Me: …. Really?
We drive past two men in black suits walking down one of the rougher, deserted back streets in town …
Mum: Debt collectors
Me: The Matrix
Mum is up to date with American politics and she is angry about it. I have just been lamenting Bernie Sanders (WHY!!! A BIRD LANDED ON HIS PODIUM WHILE HE WAS TALKING ABOUT BIRDS, PEOPLE.) mum’s moved on to Trump …
“The trailer trash masses of America will vote trump, and there’s a lot of them. They breed like rabbits and have no more intelligence.”
I’m learning to drive and I want to treat it like riding a robot horse. Currently I’m about to do a pretty-much vertical hill start as one of the L plates had flown off.
Me: I want to do some rally driving after I pass my test …
Mum: Well, there we go …
A second later …
Mum: Let’s not run before we can walk. Let’s just get up this hill please.
Donovan is in the papers. Mum loves Donavan so much. But neither of us can avoid the fact he looks a bit like a Buddhist Edith Piaf. Or as mum puts it …
“It looks like he’s transing.”
Mum is reminding me I must watch Hollow Crown again, or that’s what she’s trying to tell me.
Mum: You must watch Game of Thrones.
Me: Game of Thrones?
Mum: No, Hollow Crown. Same thing.
Me: It’s really not. You haven’t seen Game of Thrones.
Mum: Have you?
Me: One episode.
Mum: Everyone keeps banging on about it, I might see what all the fuss is about.
Me: I really wouldn’t bother. Honestly. It’s just a bit boring more than anything else.
Mum: Ok I won’t bother then. I never liked the Hobbit anyway.
Me: This isn’t The Hobbit either, The Hobbit is good! Well, Lord of the Rings is.
Mum: Yeah … all those Tolkien stories.
Me: They’re tales of moral fortitude!
Mum: Tales of moral turpitude by the sounds of it …
I’ve just returned form London, mum’s come to pick me up from the train station like a delightful “taxi service”. The radio’s on, mum’s obviously feeling classy as it’s classical.
Mum: Do you know what this piece of music is?
It’s like University Challenge all over again …
Me: Gnossienne no.1 by Eric Satie.
Mum: Very good
Me: I can play this shit.
Mum: Hm.
I’ve never delved deep into the world of psychedelics, but I’m fascinated by it. It’s also pricked mum’s ears …
Mum: They’re doing medical studies with LCD for depression.
Me: Yeah I know ..
Mum: You heard the programme?
Me: No, I read Timothy Leary ..
Mum: Ah right. Yes, well, they’re testing psychedelics on anxiety …
Me: I’m going on the trial.
Mum: I want to too.
Me: Well let’s get in the trial then!
(We forgot and failed miserably at getting on the trial.)
We’re trying to change channels but for some reason nothing’s happening. Some car programme with celebrities on it (not Top Gear) is on …
Mum: I’ve always liked Johnny Vegas …
Me: Me too but that’s Louis Walsh.
I am in Spain. I have just posted an article about Tracey Emin marrying a stone. My mum follows the website and, according to this text, clearly forgets I write the content …
Mum: TRACY EMIN HAS MARRIED A STONE ! XX
Me: I know mumma I wrote that article xxx
We have successfully arranged the day ahead and we’re feeling good about it. Mum’s feeling really good …
“I am the mistress of logistics. If Napoleon had had me, he’d have won.”
Mum’s come round. I’ve spent days, nay, weeks alone and am starting to resemble the hermit farmer on the Fast Show, who comes out of his shed once a week and says, “This week, I have mostly been eating old pie.”
Mum: Oh there’s that pillow I was looking for! What’s it doing here?
Me: I slept on the sofa last night.
Mum: Why?
Me: It was Friday night and that was the most reckless thing I could do.
I don’t know what I’ve done. But it’s obviously good, as on the drive home mum comes out with …
Mum: You’ve turned into a very nice young woman.
Me: Oh, good.
Mum: I was bit worried about you for a few years there …
Me: Ok …
Mum: But you’ve pulled through nicely. I’m very proud of you.
Me: That’s a relief …
We’re going to someone’s birthday …
Mum: I’m relying on you to be the glamour end.
Me: Oh …
Mum: Just … brush your hair or something …
Gossip straight of the press …
Mum: Did you hear about Mariah Carey’s husband giving her 10,000 roses for Valentine’s?
Me: No … How did she get through the door?
Mum: I don’t know! It must’ve looked like a funeral parlour in there …
I’ve discovered there is a place of great literary interest very near by …
Me: We must go to Porlock soon. Shelley was there, he had a dream and was interrupted while writing into a poem ….
Mum: No he didn’t. It was Coleridge.
Me: It was Shelley!
Mum: I bet you it’s Coleridge.
Me: Ok, I wouldn’t put money on it.
Mum: No. But it’s a bet.
Me: I have to wait until I get 3G.
Mum: When do you get 3G?
Me: In a bit …
Mum: What is 3G?
(It was Coleridge. And the poem if you’re interested, was Kublah Khan.)
Halloween 1999-Style