HOLLY MIRANDA SMALE

Writer, photographer, "rapper" and general technophobe takes on the internet in what could be a very, very messy fight. But it's alright: she's harder than she looks, and she's wearing every single ring she could get her hands on.







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Saturday, 29 May 2010

Violence threatened

I'm being threatened.

"I'm coming to Japan," my mum announced when she found out that I had pneumonia.
"No, you're not," I said.
"I am, I'm coming."
"Mum, you just had surgery. You are not allowed to fly."
This made mum even angrier. She thought about it for a few minutes.
"If it wasn't for this stupid hand," she said - gesticulating with it, in case I was wondering which one it was - "I would be on the first plane. My daughter needs me."
"She doesn't, mum," I told her, reverting to third person as well in case it helped. "She needs a cuddle but by the time you get here your daughter will be perfectly healthy again."
Mum looked even angrier, as if she couldn't believe I would have the audacity to get better without her.
"You had better count yourself lucky that I'm on doctor's orders, that's all I'm saying," she said menacingly. "Because I swear to God if you get any sicker - any sicker at all - then I am on the first plane out there and the doctors are just going to have to come and drag me off, kicking and screaming. Do you hear me? If my daughter is sick, then the doctors can take a flying leap if they think they're keeping me away from her." And then, looking violently maternal, she went to make a cup of tea while dad took over.
"Your mum's making all sorts of noises about flying out to Japan," he told me immediately, as if that hadn't already been made abundantly clear.
"She's not allowed. She's not allowed, is she dad?"
"No, she's not allowed. Thank God for surgery, eh?" And we both laughed. "Get better quick," dad said, "or she will fly out, and nobody wants that to happen, right?"
And we both laughed again. Mum's going to hit Japan with full force at some stage next year - along with the rest of my family - and it's going to take the twelve months between then and now to prepare her for Japan, and - more importantly - Japan for her.
"Just don't go and die on us, alright?" dad said casually, and then wandered off and left me to stare at an empty wall in Welwyn Garden City for three minutes while I listened to them arguing over who was going to do the washing up (mum only has one hand, so she won).

The truth is: nobody is as fierce as a mother with a sick daughter. And nobody in the world is more of a mother than mine is.