I recently attended a Life writing/Memoir course tutored by the excellent Amanda Rackshaw at Cardiff University's Life-Long Learning Department.
1962. MOTHER & DAUGHTER. 82A
NEW KING’S ROAD, FULHAM. IN THE SMALL KITCHEN.
‘She’s got her hand in that biscuit time
again. It’s the same with the cheese. She can eat half a pound of Cheddar in
the time it takes me to walk across the road to the Co-op. Look at her-bleedin’
gannet, dive–bombing her way through the whole tin. Those are supposed to last
us a week. Some hope with her appetite. It’s not like she’s starving. She can’t
be hungry. She just had a cooked dinner and a pound of apples. I can’t afford
to keep on replacing the cheese and biscuits every few days. Times are hard
enough… and Look at her,head in a book. The lazy mare!
You need to get off your arse and do
something, young lady. Don’t look at me like that either, or you’ll see the
back of my hand. What? I’ve got more strength in my little finger than you’ve
got in your whole fat body.
Put the tin away NOW! You’re not the only one in the family, you
know. When I want a Garibaldi or your father wants a Fig Roll, they’ll be none
left. What did you say? Don’t answer me back. . . It’s always the same with
you, isn’t it? Eat,eat,eat! No boy will ever fancy you. Mark my words. No man
wants a fat wife. Your father did?
Well, times were different then. Anyway, enough of your cheek. Come on, give me
that biscuit tin. I said, GIVE IT
HERE! ( SHE PULLS
THE TIN AND ALL THE BISCUITS FALL OUT & SCATTER OVER THEM BOTH AND ALL OVER
THE FLOOR. SHE BECOMES ANGRY.GOES TO HIT DAUGHTER, WHO TRIES TO GET AWAY & CROUCHES
IN CORNER).
Gertcha! Now, see what you’ve done. I’ve
sweated hard on this place. Not that you’d notice now. I would have bought a bag of broken biscuits
if that’s what I’d wanted. It would have been cheaper too. Jesus Christ! You try my patience. Now, young
lady, clear up this mess. Pronto! Go on then! Leave home. Do us all a favour.
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