For this piece for The Fence I asked my dad to cast his mind back 40-odd years to one of the many weird and chaotic occurrences of his special effects career that spanned the 1970s-2010s and was extremely (and almost exclusively) weird and chaotic. This is how he poisoned himself while making the prototypes for the original Spitting Image… CLICK HERE.
Illustration by Viz cartoonist Davie Jones.
Seen a lot of manifestos being published recently? Manifestos are in the zeitgeist again, but his time it’s different. For Literary Review I wrote about what commercialisation means for manifestos and their movements. How radical can something mass market be? Read online here.
Or in print here:
Very happy to make a return to short stories with a short published by the great people at The Common Breath. ‘Suze Drives Fast’ is about two women existing in the aftershock. About what life is like after you might think it’s all over. Read it here: http://thecommonbreath.com/blogfiction.html
I wrote for British Vogue about why I wore my mother’s wedding dress after my parents divorced. About sentiment, superstition, heirlooms and searching for a sense of permanence this year. Wishing you all a happier new one. Read Here.
It’s that time of year again (my birthday), and to my mother’s delight (I’m sure), I imposed myself on her in Devon for a whole week. And we’ve actually even been speaking on the phone before then, which has led to many miscommunications …
I am in the last phase of my Master’s — it turns out it’s a lot of work, who knew? But now it is dissertation season …
Mum: Have you finished your dissertation?
Me: No, I haven’t even started it.
I’m on the phone to mum before her imminent London arrival ..
Me: We bought a nice organic chicken.
Mum: Oh yes, how is she?
(Apparently mum thought I’d said something about one of my friends. I’m not convinced though..)
Mum has now graced London with her presence and is tired of the whole thing by day two.
Me: It’s not just you, London is exhausting.
Mum: No but it’s different. For me it’s that your body is exhausted. You think you’re going somewhere and then another part of you drops off.
Mum’s been staying at my godfather’s in London, who has a very sophisticated TV set up by the sounds of it.
Mum: I pressed a button and then it started asking me hundreds of questions: how many hertz did I want, which of the 500 channels … I pressed some of the buttons and nothing seemed to happen, but I’ve probably launched a missile.
We’re on the leisurely 6 hour bus down from London to Devon together. We’re going through Chelsea, mum is giving me the guided tour of memory lane and is pointing at the roof garden of a flat my godfather rented …
Mum: The summer of Live Aid we were up there, listening to Cheech and Chong.
We’re sort of half-watching ‘Green Mile’ and our attention has drifted back to it momentarily ….
Prisoner (inexplicably) testing the electric chair for someone else and reciting his last wishes (?): Fried chicken dinner with gravy on the tatters and a shit in your hat and have Mae West sit on ma face cus I’m a horny mother fucker.
Police man: Hahahahaha
Tom Hanks: Ahahahaha
Other police man: Hahahaha
Mum: What an extraordinary sense of humour.
I‘ve had a very big job cancel last minute and need to conjure some financial magic. Mum has a suggestion ..
“If you want to raise money just pretend you’re a dog with a problem.”
We’ve been out for a charming day at a stately home like normal people, and even had a cream tea like normal people. Unfortunately we arrived when there were still a lot of other, truly normal, people there. However, we got lost on the guided walk and emerged 3hrs later through the undergrowth, having had to walk around a 10ft high ‘ha ha wall’ (not so funny) and my 73 year-old-mother climb over several fences, and by then everyone else had left …
Mum: That’s why it’s nice to come later in the day not all these people in brightly coloured kagools ruining the view.
We’re walking around the lovely stately home, it’s not too big, it’s not too small. Got a lovely garden, some fields, a stable, a pond, some chandeliers, a William Blake (on loan)…
Me [wistfully]: Yeah I could actually live somewhere like this I think.
Mum: Well, you’ll have to marry some chinless twat.
A Panty liner advert is on TV…
Advert: Women don’t have to be soft and bla bla …
Me: Oh god yes we know, you’re tough and a right old fucking bruiser. Good for you.
Mum: “Even on my period I’ll kill you.”
Advert: ….you can do anything, even if you are woman bla bla bla …
Mum: Oh god who writes this shit!
Mum’s friend has helped her locate a new car, a lovely little (10yr old) VW.
“He’s prouder of this than he his that Mossad wagon of his.”
Brexit news is on, we were never going to be able to avoid it entirely …
Mum: Ahhhh… Let’s see who killed who tonight.
It’s a couple of months ago. Mum has asked to read a poem of mine, I have duly sent it to her and have, after a week, received no feedback. I’m curious …
Me: Did you read my poem?
Mum: No … yes.
Me: Well you can’t have thought much of it if you forgot.
Mum: No, I think I noted its arrival but didn’t read it. I like everything you write.
Me: Ok.
Mum: Carol Anne Duffy’s coming to the end of her term.
Me: Yes, I think unfortunately I’m still a little obscure to become Poet Laureate
Mum: Obscure is so cool.
Mum is a firm believer in watching some good old fashioned mindless television, and then talking over all of it. ‘Bake Off’ is on..
Man making bread: I like a pert bun. *wink wink, nudge nudge*
Me: It always amazes me the amount of innuendo people manage to get into any sentence involving food
Mum: Oh yes it’s probably scripted innuendo now, sort of mandatory.
Mum hasn’t quite worked out how to work her touch screen phone with complete success.
Mum: When you call it says ‘sweep up’, so I sweep, and nothing happens!
Me: I think that’s swipe up mum, just touch it and move your finger up.
Mum: No, it’s sweep!
Me:….ok…..
There is such a thing as ‘Archers Anonymous’, and Mum’s on it …
“Let’s stir the buggers up! My daddy would have loved the internet.”
We’re watching a programme about 1992 as it’s the year mum started building our beloved house that is no longer ours. There’s a segment on ‘Wayne’s World’:
Mum: What’s this?
Me: Wayne’s World
Mum: Hmmm…not sure about this.
Me: No, I think this is right up your street — you liked ‘Dude Where’s My Car’.
Mum: … Yes I did.
The 1992 programme is now talking about Achy Breaky Heart (a song I’ve decided I very much like).
Someone with an angular haircut who thinks they’re very cool and probably into moaning at parties: Line dancing is the spawn of Satan.
Mum: There’s worse things than line dancing
Me: I’d do it.
Mum: I think I would too.
Someone else with angular haircut: It’s all hideous diamanté and frilled skirts.
Cutaway to exactly that.
Me: Looks great, I’m into it.
I leave the room momentarily, then return.
Mum: Oh no, it’s getting a little hitler youth now.
Me: Oh, shame.
All the houses down mum’s road seem to be being repainted (very slowly)…
Mum: I like the colours they’re painting these.
Me: Yes maybe they’ll eventually reach that penis.
Mum: What penis?
Me: The penis that’s been spray painted on someone’s doorway for about fifteen years.
Mum: Oh that penis! Yes, it’ll take a while to get rid of that.
Somehow — how exactly I do not know — mum has signed up to a cat website, she has no particular affection towards cats …
Mum: You’ve got to get me off this cat website.
Me: What cat website?
Mum [genuinely distressed]: I don’t know but they send me hundreds of cats a day, and I don’t know how to stop them!
I’m laughing.
Mum: They keep talking about their “babies”, “this baby”, “my baby”, “your baby” … it’s dangerous: it’s a cat.
Me: Ok. We’ll just unsubscribe you.
Mum, back-tracking: Well, one or two a day, that’s cool, I like animals ..
We’re watching the end of ‘Celebrity Masterchef’. I only recognise Zandra Rhodes, mum is helping me identify one of the other contenders …
Mum: He’s Joey Essex.
Me: Is he.
Mum: Yes he seems rather sweet actually, he just needs watering twice a week and that’s it.
We’re sitting down and ready to get competitive watching ‘University Challenge’….
Me: Jeremy Paxman hasn’t aged at all.
Mum: I was just thinking how much he had.
The students on ‘University Challenge’ are doing their “Hey, I’m James, you might remember me from …” intros and it’s making me cringe.
Mum: I do wish they wouldn’t do this “first name only” thing.
Me: It’s almost like they’re auditioning to be a presenter, it’s horrible.
Mum: It’s because it’s got to be caj. Everything’s got to be caj …. I’m surprised they’re even allowed to compete anymore.
A programme about WWII is on as I’m flicking through the channels…
Mum: Oh no! It’s handsome chaps doing serious stuff — amazing guys.
We have continued flicking, mum now has the remote and has hovered on the ‘Mash Report’…
Me: No.
Mum: Give it a chance, give it five minutes.
Me: No that’s far too long.
4 seconds later …
Mum: Yeup it is.
I’m on the phone to mum with a lovely paper bag full of ingredients for supper …
Me: I’m just walking back through the park from getting mushrooms.
Mum: Be careful foraging.
Me: I haven’t been foraging, I went to the shop!
I don’t know what mum is watching in the other room but I have a feeling it’s ‘Beverly Hills Housewives’ or some variation of because I hear her shouting at the television …
“Kick him to the curb honey!”
Two minutes later….
“He’s a twat get rid of him.”
I am a blessed angel and have cooked and washed up for the sixth night in row and just want to check it’s been recognised …
Me [impersonating mum]: Oh Jade, thank you so much for washing up again, you are a saint. When is your canonisation, please can I attend?
Mum: Yes I’m sure it will be very soon and I’ll be in the fiery pits of hell.
Me: Probably.
Mum: With all my mates.
It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve just returned to the room after wrapping mum’s presents. It seems mum is worried that I didn’t take long enough …
Mum: The thing is: to give and be giving
Me: Yes mum, don’t worry, I’m giving well this year.
As usual, mum has told me all about at least three of my presents within an hour of my arrival …
Mum: It will look great in the flat …
Me: Mum! Don’t tell me, it’s supposed to be a surprise – that’s half the point of presents!
Mum: I’ve been collecting this shit for months.
Apropos of nothing, and almost to herself, mum says ….
“Danny Dyer’s very funny.”
We’re watching University Challenge, there is a segment on Shakespeare quotes, which mum is usually very hot on …
Jeremy Paxman: “A calm and still conscience …”
Me: That’s unusual.
Mum: Exactly what I was thinking.
I am laughing and being young and happy, and evidently quite annoying because mum says …
“I think all young people should be made to wear fat suits so they understand what it’s like getting about when you’re old.”
There is a medieval style gold leaf painting of a monk-ish man on the table. I am observing his presence.
Me: Who is he?
Mum: St Nicholas … Do you like him?
Me: Yes he’s like that other dude over there (A miniature medieval-esque illumination of St Jude rests on the windowsill)
Mum: Yeah, I’ve got dudes everywhere.
It’s Christmas Eve and the sparkling drinks have begun ..
Me: I’m feeling quite flushed after that!
Mum: Lightweight.
Mum left a chocolate walnut for me to eat, I didn’t get round to eating it. It’s later in the evening and she is studying the jar of them now.
Mum: We should do something with the chocolate walnuts.
I’m reminded to turn around and eat mine.
Me: Oh … someone’s eaten mine.
Mum: Yes well, they look like dog poos just lying about.
‘Would I Lie To You’ comes on , mum is not best pleased …
“Oh no, it’s just a load of people showing off.”
‘Monopoly North Devon’ edition began on Christmas Eve. Mum, having been mightily bankrupted last year in a round of repairs to her many houses and hotels, is just playing the game to accrue as much cash as possible. There is a large, colourful pile of money on her side of the tablecloth.
“Millions! I’ve got millions! I’m the Philip Green of Barnstaple!”
I am being a normal girl, just walking around …
Mum: You look like Lizzie Borden.
Me: Who’s she?
Mum: A murderess.
Me: Thanks.
Mum is now complimenting me and wants due credit …
Mum: And me, for gestating this thing!
Me: Yes mum, thank you very much for giving birth to me.
Mum: You’re welcome.
We’re watching Guys and Dolls, or half-watching while lunch is being prepared saintily by me …
Me: I don’t get the Frank Sinatra thing
Mum: Big dick
Me: Jesus Christ, mother.
I quickly cross myself in the hope it will prevent mum from saying anything like that ever again.
Mum: He did! Ava Gardner said it very plainly. Also charm, musical talent and wealth, of course …
We’re watching King’s College choir, one boy has done a magnificently high-pitch solo number for a while, and now the rest of the choir is joining in …
Me: All the out-of-tuners can come in now
Mum (horrified): Out of tuners, tut tut.
Mum has bought a decent-sized chicken for us to eat, currently raw she suggests we …
“Instagram it to my followers.”
Mum’s first boyfriend is in a film on Christmas Day …
Mum: I gambled with him under the stage for many hours during Julius Caesar.
Me: Gambled what? … Playing what?
Mum: Gambled … it’s an expression.
I hear things, tinkling things and spoon stirring …
Me: Are you having a brandy coffee?
Mum: Yes.
Me: I knew it!
Mum: You can smell it from 50ft. I’m not trying to get anything past you. There’s a pause. Want one?
Me: Yes please.
We’re all tiring a little of Monopoly and a couple of brandies (sans coffee) have also been drunk. Mum is counting the spaces …
“Six, seven, eight, nine … I’ve got so bored I’ve forgotten what I was doing.”
Mum’s on a butt rant …
“These women! It’s just a succession of arses … ‘so and so “flaunts’ … And you think, “Jesus god, not another arse.” … Huge arses like moomins.”
Mum’s navigating slowly away from women with enormous arse implants towards sex robots, which seem to have inspired her imagination …
“The human race will die out … Soon they’ll sell sex robots in Argos.
Mum then attempts a teenage boy’s voice …
‘What would you like for Christmas dad? I got you a sex robot.’
Mum then attempts a robot voice …
“‘Would you like to masturbate?’ ”
The Monopoly game-saga continues. We’re listening to some neglected Bob Dylan on Spotify, an ad comes on …
Ad woman: Sky Cinema so you ..
Mum: Go away this woman!
Ad woman: With Sky Cinema …
Mum: NO!! ‘Blood on the Tracks’, man!
We have a couple of peaceful rounds and now a new advert is on, the voice overs sound similar ..
Ad woman: Google home hub …
Mum (now shouting): WHO IS THIS WOMAN?
Mum is insisting we watch Kevin and Perry Go Large …
Mum: How old were you when this came out?
Me: I don’t know, about fourteen.
Mum: That must be why it left such a marked impression on me.
Me (in defence): These guys are a bit older.
Mum: Yes, but there’s and age range of between 14 and 40.
Mum has been raving about a romantic sword scene in the old ‘Far From The Madding Crowd’ since we watched the new one. Now the old one is on and so is the sword scene … I watch as a soldier shows off to his love interest by slashing a sword half an inch from her face, proceeding to run around a hilly outcrop screaming and then charging at her with the lethal blade …
Me: I don’t know, for me that’s a warning sign.
Mum: Yes … It’s not quite how I remember it.
We’re … you guessed it, playing Monopoly, the same game, on Boxing Day, three days after we started it, and, you guessed it, mum is still cash rich and land poor …
Me, to myself: Advance to go collect £200…
Mum: Won’t do you any good. The country has been corrupted by speculators, now I’m seeing if it will work for me.
I spent an unfortunate amount of time on sex doll/bot forums, and somehow I didn’t lose my sense of humour entirely. Here’s the resulting piece I wrote for the New Statesman. CLICK HERE.
Dear little mice,
How are you? Is it sunny where you are? If not I hope you have felt its beams on your skin at least twice this year. (If you haven’t … where are you?? I’d love to hear from anyone living in a cave/centre of the earth.)
So, firstly: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for starting a blog and keeping it running for god knows how many years and gaining your trust and making you believe that there would always be mediocre content at least once a month and then all of a sudden … dropping off the face of the earth.
Secondly: I’m not sorry! Because I have some good things lined-up for all you excellent, strange creatures that follow this blog.
I’m still writing, and I’m writing a lot at the moment. The reason you haven’t seen any of this is because most of that writing is a book — a novel, a book-book. And it turns out writing a good book is actually very hard, even for very arrogant people like me. But I am very happy to tell you that earlier this year it was awarded an Arts Council ‘grant for the arts’. This not only provided some much needed money (for some much needed food), but has also given me confidence that I am hopefully dedicating a large portion of my life to something worthwhile.
Other than that, I am currently studying for my masters and have had the blessings of a couple of other writing contracts that have kept me busy, and quiet. But no longer!
As of Summer 2018, I can confirm more poetry is heading your way (yeah, let those fist bumps lose!), there will be a video with me talking about being a failure at poetry (at some point), there is an article about superstition and assigning meaning to nature in Breathe issue 12 for you to buy, and to the wonderful person who wrote in to tell me they’d dreamt I’d put up another Motherisms, you’ll be delighted to hear one of those is in the pipeline — as is a Fatherisms.
I’m also still wanting to do a collective Motherisms, so please write in with anything wonderful/hilarious or ridiculous your mother might have said and we can make something funny together. Isn’t that nice? ISN’T IT??
Pics: Alexandra Waespi
Happy Thursday everyone, it’s going to be beautiful (whether you like it or not). x x x
I interviewed with the incredibly inspiring Ming Ho about her career as a writer, caring for her mother, and her advice to anyone in a similar situation …
