If I ever won an Oscar (which I will do, one day, even though I have shown zero interest in acting since the age of thirteen, when I was cast in a production of Oliver Twist and forced to sing a brief but excruciating solo, consisting purely of the words “ripe, strawberries ripe” and my brothers and cousins came along and justifiably laughed at my performance. I mean, Brenda Blethyn didn’t start acting until she was about 50, right? There’s still time! I could be in a Mike Leigh kitchen sink drama, right? Right? I could do those Vera Drake-style scenes that consist entirely of crying). Well, in the unlikely even of my winning an Oscar, or an Emmy (what do you mean Mad Men has finished and I’ll never be Don’s third wife?) then my speech would go something like this:
“I would like to thank my mum, my brothers, my dad, God-rest-his-soul, my extended family, and my mum again. And especially my mum. Did I mention I would like to thank my mum?”
My mother is amazing. She literally is. They say that behind every great man is a great woman, but I say behind every great woman is a great mother. And I am a great woman, right?
Well, OK, I am someone with ambitions to be a great woman. OK, so I’m no Malala (no surname necessary, like Madonna). I could never be that brave, but perhaps I could be JK Rowling? Er, when I finally get around to writing that book. Or I could be Sheryl Sandberg. I mean, I have a Facebook account.
If it weren’t for my mother, I would be forking out £700 plus per month on childcare.
If it weren’t for my mother, I would have to leave work at 3pm every day to collect Piglet from said childcare, and hence would not be able to do my job.
If it weren’t for my mother, I would probably have had some sort of argh the room isn’t precisely eighteen degrees centigrade the baby is going to die argh, argh, argh, postnatal breakdown.
OK, so I would have managed, like I did for the year when I wasn’t living with my mother, but it would be a whole lot harder, so to the woman who thinks I don’t respect her because she wears purple tights and hates cooking THANK YOU MUM I DO LOVE YOU REALLY.
Hope that didn’t sound too soppy. I hate soppy stuff. Argh I am becoming soft in my old age.
*Please like my blog now Mum*