Here are some things I think about when I think about my Mum. The reaction to my Mum’s Twitter handle is always the same. People half-laugh, half-‘awwww!’ then say something like “that’s so cute/hilarious/precious” and I roll my eyes, do a Joey-Potter-side-grin and in a silly voice reply, “yeah I know my Mum loves me”. In primary school I … Continue reading “Yo mamma”
A cramped working-class kitchen. Mary, 43, mother of the household, prepares breakfast at the hob; beans in a pan, bacon and sausages sizzling, eggs frying, bread toasting. Peter, 51, father of the household, sits at the kitchen table, but may as well not be for all the attention he’s giving the small telly on the side. We can hear the football commentary coming from it. Mary places some used utensils in the sink and fills it up with hot water and soap. Mary, back to the audience, gazes down into the sink while she waits for it to fill. Smoke rises from the toaster next to Peter. He glances at it.
About thirteen years ago I sat next to a boy wearing a leather jacket. He gave me a biro and a smile and I spent the following five years being utterly obsessed.