I unroll my mat, bow down to the highest place in me, breath deeply into downward dog, ease into plank, inhale as I flow into upward dog, exhale as I round into cat… She (irreverent teen) leaps into the room as I (serious yogi) step forward into mountain pose ……her endless arms and legs suddenly everywhere, a sprawling beautiful mess, my very own brown octopus engaged in her inimitable version of ‘do whatever the hell you wanna do’ yoga, a carefree, wild and wonderful, manic explosion of boundless….youthful…energy….. I try to maintain the stillness inside but collapse with laughter… and keep right on laughing as my daughter makes an exit more camp than Louie Spence dancing Swan Lake in satin pink ra ra skirt and matching ballet pumps…

She’s in the living room, comfy in pyjamas, staring blissfully into space, humming a tune to herself as she runs a hair-dryer over her face and body….

ME: What are you doing?

Daughter looks at me as though I am disturbed…

DAUGHTER : What does it look like?

ME: It looks like you’re drying your skin and pyjamas with your hairdryer

DAUGHTER : Wrong.

ME: OK, please enlighten me…what in the name of Eastenders are you doing?

DAUGHTER : It’s obvious isn’t it?

ME: Well, no, actually..

DAUGHTER : You’re not very perceptive are you mum..

My daughter continues to stare blissfully into space and resumes humming. 10 minutes later…she’s still staring blissfully into space, humming a tune to herself as she runs her hair-dryer over her pyjamas and face…

Daughter looks at me and smiles..

DAUGHTER: I’m giving myself a sunny feeling mum…a happy sunny feeling…………

ME: I love you

Daughter turns off hairdryer and looks at me as though I am disturbed…

She helps herself to chocolate Brioche rolls, custard creams…jelly snakes…mango….then rubbish….more rubbish…and yet more rubbish…and still…..she’s a bean pole…

Me: I’m a little worried about your eating habits at the moment…

Daughter : What do you mean?

Me: You’re eating a lot of sugar…a lot of rubbish basically.

Daughter : What’s rubbish to you is salad to me.

Me: I’m serious. You’ve seen that picture of me when I was 15?… the one in the living room… ?

Daughter : Is that a rhetorical question….How could I not see you…you were HUGE…I mean SWOLLEN as in larger than life…as in MASSIVE

Me: Ok, point made and point taken

Daughter : You were on the fat side of FAT mum..

Me: That’s because I used to eat a lot rubbish, bars of chocolate and sweets and all sorts of nonsense.

Daughter : Like the photographer….

Me: What?

Daughter : Do you see the photographer in that picture of you, aunty Yinka, aunty Kemi and uncle Tunde?

Me: Of course not. He was behind the camera.

Daughter : No mum. You don’t see him because he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there….. because you ATE him…

Me: I ate the photographer?

Daughter : Yes mum, you ate the photographer. ..

School shoes/Kickers = £75, 2 pairs grey long leg trousers=£22, Reward for passing her first GCSE at 14 years = £35 + an endless hug , 6 pairs of cotton rich socks = £12, Following conversation with my daughter in M & S cafe during Oxford Circus shopping trip = priceless

ME: It’s so lovely to be spending time with you….

Daughter looks at me as though I am, well, disturbed..

ME: We should do this more often ..

Daughter looks at me as though I am critically disturbed..

ME: So lovely to share things with you…

Daughter looks at me as though …….

ME: Did I ever tell you about the time I was in New York and stayed with a wonderful indie film director who stole my last 20 dollars to feed his drug habit and his beloved obese cat ?

Daughter looks at me as though I am….

ME: Or the time I received a £50 prize for a political philosophy essay I wrote and spent it on a curly perm that went really really really really really really wrong..

Daughter looks at me as though..(still no words)

ME: Know what I’m gonna do ? Write it down….Yep, I’m gonna write the story of me before I had you….

Daughter looks at me as though I am (??????!!!!!!!!!)

ME: So you can read it..

Daughter : I’m dyslexic

ME: Since when?

Daughter : This very moment….

Daughter: A group of us are planning a trip to Brighton

Me: You won’t be going I’m afraid

Daughter : Why not? You let me go to Thorpe Park

Me: Yes, because it was well organised and you were accompanied by a responsible adult

Daughter : There will be a responsible adult ..

Me: And who pray tell might that be?

Daughter : Sabrina’s 150 year old grandmother…

Closed my eyes for just a second and she grew, no, ERUPTED into teen-hood…..navy blue blazer, long legged trousers, size 7 Kickers, indie rock and a need for solitude or chill out time after school in the squat she calls her bedroom….I knock on her door and wait for the scream….

ME : You know, if you’d like to do an activity during summer, just let me know…I’m happy to pay            for whatever you’d like to do..

Daughter : I’m guessing re-hab doesn’t count.. .

Daughter, resembling a teenage hunchback of Notre Dam, bent over in a perpetual shape of apathy, shoulders stooped, rucksack heavier than the world, stomps into living room en route to kitchen in search of, well, food….She flings an official looking letter onto my desk.

Daughter : It’s from school….Something about work experience.

Me           : That’s exciting. Anything in mind you’d like to do?

Daughter  : Do you have any friends in MI5

Me            : Afraid not

Daughter : The Masons?

Me           : No, afraid not

Daughter : Do you, like, actually have any?

Me           : Any?

Daughter : Friends.

Me           : Yes, cheeky.

Daughter : The voices in your head don’t count mum

Me           : You’re harsh. Listen, most of my friends work in the voluntary sector…

Daughter : Not quite as thrilling as a suitcase full off secret weapons..

Me           : Perhaps not, but helping others is considerably rewarding

Daughter looks at me as though I am….disturbed

Daughter : What about Forensic Science..any contacts there?

Me           : No but we could explore the possibilities. That would be great work experience.

Daughter : Yeah..all I would need are the rubber gloves, protective goggles, special powder to                              show finger-prints.   I’ll supply the cadavers….