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Mother’s Day – an Annual Opportunity to settle a few scores


Firstly let me say I wish nothing but the happiest of Mother’s Day’s to those many, many – indeed the greater percentage/majority of mums – who deserve nothing other than that.

But – and let’s be brutally honest – some of us have had to endure other mums who are not worthy of the title other than as an acronym:
Malicious Unpleasant Monsters.

I  speak from the bitterest of personal experience.

Some children spend their childhood in the town, others in the country.
I spent mine  constantly in the shit.

I just knew she didn’t like me..for example:

she only started breast feeding me when she found out I was lactose intolerant. Even then, after a while, she got lazy and made me sit in the playpen  4 feet away with my mouth open trying to judge  “the likely flow”   with her squirting away whilst she watched television. Spookily enough other kids don’t like potential playmates that stink of rancid milk.

She took re-usable nappies to the max –  she would turn mine inside out and put them back on me WITHOUT emptying them.

My only “Toys” were an unexploded mine and a hammer.

It didn’t improve as I got older.

She would knit me Balaclavas with no face hole and she ALWAYS made sure I wore the latest party dress.

I remember her disappointment when she heard I hadn’t been abused as a choirboy.

When I was doing a sponsored walk she insisted I use the M6.

I found copies of letters she’d written to Hitler saying I was Jewish.

She  circumcised me using a pastry cutter.

If  I wanted to play outside I had to fly kites near electric pylons.

She lived in hope of finding another Krakatoa so she could send me there on a camping holiday.

I lost count of the number of times I was left behind at the supermarket for days on end. She would scuttle home with the groceries leaving me behind whilst she: “went home for her purse”....promising to return………ha!

We buried her a few years ago – just to give her a taste of her own medicine.

Big mistake ……she got her own back. She gave me tea laced with Rohypnol max strength and dumped me in a gay bar shouting as she left:

“He’s all yours boys”

 

Above:

(We were so poor our whole lives were spent in black and white)

This is an early photo of mum and I next to her favourite bomber.
As a pilot she flew more than  150 bombing missions over Germany – fair enough during the war….. but this was in 1965.
A formidable woman, her Navigator still talks fondly of the time she  ran back across the English Channel with the plane tucked under her arm after it was badly damaged by enemy anti-aircraft fire.
Note in this picture how she is edging me nearer the propeller  whilst dad (out of picture) is in the cockpit waiting to: “fire her up”.

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About they still let me vote

David Martin John, was created in an American lab by a scientist who - in a fit of pique following his exclusion from the team working on the Roswell (‘Alien Discovery’) project - grafted a baboon’s arse onto a butterfly. As a result David is extremely fond of bananas (he will happily stare at them for hours) but suffers from an irrational fear of getting trapped in net curtains. Abandoned by the elders of the tribe…David struggled in the wild but, at first glance, APPEARS to have integrated – to an admittedly limited degree – into society. Raised by badgers just outside an English Village that was twinned with Chernobyl…he soon withdrew into his own troubled mind only to be sexually abused by his imaginary friend. The one time he actually did manage to ‘make’ friends was when he went to Legoland. Twenty years may have passed, but he still remains bitter about what he considers the unreasonable rejection by Publishers of his first manuscript: “Noddy and the Daleks”. Determined to be at least a minor celebrity he suffered another setback when he underwent a lavish and expensive boob job before he had read BOTH questions on the “Page 3 Girl” Application Form. He counts Professor Brian Cox among his friends – which is ludicrous as he’s never met him - but this is apparently quite common with David’s Mental condition. David was invalided out of the Police Force in 1998 after – perhaps unwisely – asking a GBH suspect to show him:“…EXACTLY what happened…” When he lay stricken and in a coma in hospital (the greengrocers weren’t remotely interested) his parents rushed to his bedside. They visited daily – despite not knowing whether David could even hear – trying to encourage him with tape recordings of other people dying. Devastated to find that there was no “Pause” button on his Life Support machine they still came… just clinging to the hope they might finally hear those longed-for precious little words; “…time of death…” David survived their repeated attempts at poisoning and smothering, recovering enough to be able to testify in Court. His parents got off on a technicality – the Judge, in his summing up, said he would have done the same thing. Although there was overwhelming forensic evidence to the contrary, he also accepted that they COULD have been “simply plumping up the pillows” as claimed. In 2007 David took another turn for the worse when he took the Government’s dismissal of his idea for a “massive almost-globe-like structure to celebrate the new Millenia” very badly. 2009 also proved a dificult year when, during his resitting of a routine urine test, Doctors found no brain activity and remove several vital organs. Now banned for life by Tescos, since 2010, following an incident in the vegetable section that the family refuse to discuss, he now lives pretty much as a recluse – confined to the Ward – filling his days watching taped repeats of his relatives embarassing themselves on “You’ve Been Framed” … David is living proof (albeit in a “permanent vegatative state”) that medical treatment of the criminally insane has a long way to go……

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