Last week I went down to see mother, it had been a tough fashion week and I needed to feel looked after. I’m twenty seven, sorry mum …
I have had a Norse Myths and Legends CD stuck in my computer for quite sometime now, it means it makes a whirring, crunching sound every time I turn it on … Mum looks at me quite alarmed and says ….
“Is it making cheese?!”
Mum wants to watch Breaking Bad on my Netflix account, I find it remarkable that she knows what either of these things are, and that she is now light years ahead of me in tv series. I tell her she can use my Netflix account ..
Mum: But hang on ….. won’t they get suspicious?
Me: Who mum? The C.I.A?
Mum: Well, yes, with your track record …
Me: Yeah, I can see the headlines now … ‘DAUGHTER LETS MOTHER USE NETFLIX ACCOUNT.’ It’ll be the ruin of our family name.
Mum: Your family name, maybe …
I’m trying to help mum watch bloody Breaking Bad on my Netflix before I go for a swim, after many attempts at trying to mentor her through it, and watching her click on the wrong thing over and over again, she finally bursts out …
“Oh for God’s sake! I wish I was a bloody tree.”
Mum is talking about her nightly audiobook routine of listening to Jeremy Irons reading Brideshead Revisited …
“He’s just brilliant, half a page and I’m fast asleep, I do worry though, if I ever met Jeremy irons I would just slip in to a coma.”
We are reminiscing about the building of the house we lost, we get on to the subject of ‘Builders Tea’ …
Mum: I remember when I gave Morley Airs his first cup of tea with us, he spat it straight back out and said “Whats that maid?!” “It’s Earl grey, Morley.” “It may be, but I don’t like it.”
Me: Good story.
Mum: Oh Fuck off.
Mum has been informed there’s a sex worker in South Molton, she has also been informed you can find her online, mum finds this fascinating …
Mum: Harriet says there’s a prostitute in South Molton, I’m going to google it.
Me: I look forward to you having that on your search history.
I go back to watching University Challenge …. minutes later …
Mum: P. r. o. s … prostitutes South Molton …. google search “south Molton escorts …” obviously they’ve interpreted ‘prostitutes’ in the broadest sense …. ah here we go … South Molton prossies …
Me: You’re going on it?
Mum: Yeah …
She starts reading out the names and descriptions …
Mum: Curvy and sensual … OH MY GOD! Sweet Jesus …..
I’m now laughing …
Mum: “Fuck my arse” ….. OH charming!! Get it off! Turn it off!
I’m now in hysterics …
Mum: Oh how horrible. South Molton used to have a lovely old prossie next to the chip shop, where if you have thruppence, you could go upstairs.
Me: Ah, the good old days, when you could get a little extra with your potatoes …
My old school has decided to put Latin back on the GCSE syllabus, I am jolly pissed off about this as I am currently trying to teach myself …
Mum: Anything sounds clever in Latin
Me: Why do you think I’m learning it.
Mum: Ut is ‘in order to’ … I’m going to get the car keys “ut” go to Tescos.
Me: Wow, that sounded really smart ….
A poem I’ve written is doing rather well, mum reads it …
Mum: It really is very good, completely strange, though very, very good … but then you are at a slightly oblique angle to reality all the time ..
Me: I’ll take that as a compliment, I’ve decided to take everything as a compliment. It’s doing wonders for my self esteem.
Mum: Good for you darling.
It’s the Barnstaple fair, we drive through late in the afternoon as they’re finishing setting everything up with lots of barriers and metal fences, though there’s no one there yet ….
“Oh yes, hold back that crowd! It’ll be an evening of riotous activity, they’ll be staggering about without their shoes on before 11pm.”
Mum’s trying to lure me in to watching Montalbano …
Me: No mum. No way. It such a waste of my brain.
Mum: But it’s young Montalbano, young Montalbano’s very tasty.
Me: No. Still no. Just because he’s not fat and bald doesn’t mean he wont give me brain rot.
Mum: Quite right, bare that in mind in real life too, darling.
Mum is making supper …
Mum: Getting very creative here …
Me: Please don’t get too creative.
There’s an advert for Viking cruises on television …
Mum: That’s what I should be doing with some grey miserable bastard. Circling the planet catching e-coli.
Me: I think that sounds fabulous.
Mum: It’s a plague ship, darling.
The fireworks are going off for Barnstaple fair …
“Hezbollah are closing in on North Devon Leisure Centre …”
I’m flicking through the tv channels, I get very excited at the amount of history programmes on ….
Me: Fire of London then The Battle of Trafalgar …That’s our saturday night!
Mum: Sounds good, though no Montalbano?
Me: No, not even the young one.
It’s Sunday and we’re parking the car, I’m reading whether we have to pay ….
Me: Monday to Sunday … that’s everyday!
Mum: Every minute of your bloody life. Cooking meth is definitely the way forward.
It’s a bit later and we’re cooking supper, I am watching an announcement from UN Secretary General Ban ki-Moon to my old school as I hear …
“Oh fuck! It’s the cinnamon not Tumeric!!”
A few minutes later ….
Mum: Here we have vegan cinnamon and mushroom ratatouille …
Me: Mmmm…yum.
We are on the subject of life skills, I am trying to persuade mum to do something creative with her life, this was her response …
Mum: One day I see myself becoming a drug dealer … Working with little kiddies …
Me: Jesus Christ mum, it’s like living with Frankie Boyle.
AI had a phone call with mum a couple of months ago, for the few days prior to it I noticed mum was sending me fewer and fewer kisses in her texts, I had been wracking my brains trying to figure out what I could have done wrong (without actually asking), then ….
Mum: You’ll have to call me back darling I haven’t got much credit … That’s why I haven’t been sending many kisses.
Me: What? Mum, you don’t pay per kiss.
Mum: Oh!
Dear Mother, the cinnamon and mushroom ratatouille was delicious, I don’t know how you made it work, but you did. x x x
