The Best of Mum's the Word

On local properties for sale:
"It has a lovely sweeping garden and at least four bedrooms. The man that used to live there died in the bath."

On her granddaughter:
"She does edge on the common side"

On the Greek relatives:
"They were all travelling down to Cheltenham this weekend as they thought your father was going to pass away. They'll be so disappointed when they find out that they have had a wasted journey."

To the woman librarian:
"Gosh, you've been working here for years and you seem to look younger and younger. Did you get divorced?"To the shop assistant in the cake shop:"Can you tell me how many prawns are in this one?"

On the couple walking on the other side of the road (at full volume):
"Oh look, there's Mr and Mrs Fotheringham. Hasn't she got a good bust? Don't you think?"

To her overweight goth neighbour:
"Oh hello. I've not seen you pass my window in ages. You're like a ship in full sail."

To her optician during a sight test:
"W....O.....J.....E...erm....they have got smaller. Can I ask my son what the letters are?"

On fragrance:
"I won’t bother putting on any spray. I can see you’re wearing enough perfume for both of us"

Sending me her early morning answer phone message:
"Just to say that I'm going into town on the early bus. I will come straight back as I'm not feeling too well. I may faint......... Just so you know..."

On the man she sees through her net curtains:
"Look at that man across the road with his bottom coming out of his trousers"

On thwarting past admirers:
"That widower took me to his car. When we were sat in, he put his hand on my leg and said - 'You do realize my dear that I have a great deal of money'. "

On getting her GP's diagnosis:
"I said to him ARTHRITIS! Don't be RIDICULOUS. Have you even read my notes?"

Hand-written sign on front door to Jehovah's Witnesses, Avon ladies and trade cold callers:
"If there is no answer, I'm dead."

To my dad when she is sat trying to chat to her visitors:
"Oh do shut up Michael. You're supposed to be dead anyway"

To an Asian nurse in the hospital ward:
"Oh hello, aren't you a pretty girl. How long have you been over here in England?"

To the lady in the local dry cleaners:
"Well I don't want them saying at my funeral that I had unstarched napkins"

On the woman next door with the loud voice:
"You'd think she'd get a job in Tesco working on the Tannoy"

On the answer phone:
"You said to only ring if it was an emergency. Well I won't bother you but it's just that I've run out of Youth Dew by Estee Lauder"

On that fit bloke:
"He had one of those ‘look at me’ T-shirts on"

On suffering:
"You go and enjoy yourselves. I’ve got my candle and a bit of cheese left. You have a nice time. Don’t worry about me being here all on my own, I’m used to it after all these years."

On the widow at No.57:
"So she buys ready done roast potatoes? She wants to have a think about doing real ones. Maybe if she spent less time in her garden and more in the kitchen her husband would still be around. Who am I to judge?"

On passenger seat navigation:
"You know me. I’m flexible either way. I would have done the town route but honestly it’s you’re choice. Who am I to say? You do what you think is best. Of course via the one way system is quicker but you know best."

On couture:
Neighbour: "The thing is I’ve never been that interested in clothes or interior design."Mum: "Well I can see that’s true."

On shopping for house wares:
"I suppose you like that one do you? I thought that one would appeal to you. It’s got that mass-market, trashy feel."

On counter-service banking:
" Only clean bank notes please"On her shampoo & set"Well my current hairdresser did my roots but kept leaving me to speak on one of those mobile telephones. I shan’t go again. I’ll make do with washing up liquid."

On how to make an appointment at the vets:
"So you say because Tabitha’s vet is still on holiday, she’ll have to see the other woman that is like a man? My Tabitha doesn’t want that thermometer up her bottom either. Well you wouldn’t like it, would you?"

On her TV digibox (relating on telephone):
"Well I can’t work out what it is on at the moment. I had it covered over with a throw but when my son comes to visit he normally finds out how to switch it on. It’s on one of those Sky box things that was brought here. Those men connected it last summer with dirty boots on my carpet. I don’t know if it’s a film or a play but there are elves jumping up and down in front of what seems to be the moon. Oh and now there’s that woman from that other thing loading up a washing machine. I much prefer the wireless to be honest. This colour television on a funny channel seems to be all adverts and American people. I can honestly say, the only thing I saw I liked since it was brought in was my granddaughters wedding on one of those VD things and I don’t know how we ever managed that."

A letter to my dad...

You know I can’t do grief on demand. When you finally went, I could breathe out again and think of all the fun and amusing things. Those two stifling years at the end were and still are unreal to me. I need to stick with thoughts of your prime, the others will have to do their whaling and tears. My mind won’t let me register your passing, it was only a bit of admin isn’t it? Let me pretend you’re still there in the way I knew you.

In that hospital I watched mum plump up your pillows. Your face shone in ecstasy as your princess was with you.Could you feel me squeezing your hand? We never easily expressed emotion with each other but did you go knowing how dearly I loved you? Mum verbalised her usual trivia yet she only spoke these filler words to break our silence so full of dread and late regrets. You looked at us with complete knowing, a wisdom that transcended time and your present weak physical being.

I was overcome with the new vision of you that I could not fathom. I fled to that day room and wept in front of a home makeover programme so you would not see my belly cry. As visiting time cruelly ticked on, I knew our reluctant performance would be ending soon. We were three cast members amongst a hateful script that we knew was written to lead your last show.

Mum walked you along the tubular corridor. A bleak walk, absurdly short so we’d have to summon up mental images of green lush scenery, a Cotswold breeze and hilltop views. We’d superimpose these coloured fantasies over the hospital notice boards, disinfectant smell and grimy windows overlooking the air conditioning pipes.

Remember when we all stood in front of the electric sliding door exit? You, the child, pleaded to come with us instead of turning back to grey suffocating walls of nothing. You wanted to come back and rest in Mum’s lavender duvet of dreams. The other side of the door had air and more life, I wanted to escape, you did too. In your mind you were well and would be planning a country excursion for my mum, a barbecue or perhaps a wedding celebration.

As mum walked you back to the ward, I sat on a plastic chair and stared along the long corridor tunnel. My eye vision at the back of you both, framed by the sharp tunnel perspective of the corridor to the horizon. I will not forget the corridor scene dad. It looked like a mum leading a little Greek boy in pyjamas back to his bed. You clung to her with your short, shrunken frame walking further and further away from my view. An inseparable romance, yet you, a frightened lost boy being guided back to bed by his Disney angel.

We all knew what was to come. Life as you wanted it had become impossible. The struggle needed to end. Two years on, I still can’t grasp that you’ve really gone. You are part of me every day and can’t be taken. Dad, I can’t keep going to that cemetery, as I just don’t feel you are there. We’ll be together when I head into your part of the town OK? I’ll feel you near me at the car boot sale, at any barbershop, down the Cotswold lanes and feeling the sun on your Greek Island. I want to forget visiting time and remember your character, your accent, your gestures, your phrases, your way.