Reading Festival

Me: Text me when you’re on the train home.

Daughter: Nope


Corfu 2018

Daughter: You get a text just before I fly, a text when I land and a text when I’m back in London. If you don’t hear from me it means I’ve killed someone and I’m on the run.


Miss You Already

I get emotional on the way to her school for the end of year A Level Art exhibition…

Me: It’s the end of an era.

A mother’s wistful sigh…

Me: Exams over…Corfu in July…Art College in September…then Uni…

Her eyebrows do a strange dance…

Me: A new chapter…

I look at my Amazonian 18-year-old and see her with measles…baby teeth…afro puffs…

Me: I’m trying to have a heart to heart with you…

Daughter: Can’t we do this in the hearse? I mean I assume as next of kin I’ll be travelling with the casket…You send me a sign, I respond, we have a conversation…




Wedding Ghost

Daughter: When or if you and whatshisface ever get married I won’t be going to the ceremony..

Me: What do you mean?

Daughter: Sorry, did I stutter?

Me: Of course you’re coming. You’re my only child.

Daughter: I wont be coming. The prospect of having to watch you engage in a public display of affection..oh no, no, no.. And then the so-called exchanging of vows…no, no, no..

Me: That’s what a wedding ceremony entails…the public celebration and declaration of love between two people…

Her utterly disinterested, glazed expression tells me I may as well be speaking Russian…with a little Urdu and Swahili thrown in for good measure…

Daughter: I won’t be coming

Me: You won’t be coming to my wedding ceremony?

Daughter: Why would I go to yours when I wouldn’t even go to mine. If I ever get married, the groom’s on his own. He’ll know where to find me.

She may as well be speaking Russian…

Daughter: I’ll be with the cake.



Beautiful Benjy


Daughter: Cat’s not right – looks like some grown man who should be paying a mortgage..

Me: He’s a cat

Daughter: Nah, he’s a psychopath..with a house and a mortgage..

Me: What?

Daughter: One morning you’ll wake up and he’ll be on two legs, standing over your bed with a knife, mumbling, no, meowing shit about how times are hard and how he can’t pay the mortgage and you’re to blame..

Me: Please stop.