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”
(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”.