Pleasureland

Some people’ve said my Mum’s highly strung.  She’s got really deep wrinkles, she ayways looks in pain and her hair’s just loadsa straggly bits hangin on her face.  

If Mum wis in a Francis Coppola film he would say, “Fir fuck sake Jean, stop hidin behind yir friggin hair!”  Coz he’s an American he would say friggin instead o fuckin, “Grow some balls before yi next come on my set.  Time means friggin money Jean and you’re throwin my money doon the friggin drain.  That’s it I’m dockin yir wages.  Until you get a mair hard ball attitude yir on half pay and nae amount o wingin t’ the Guild of Italian American Actors is gonnae change that fact, on my set Jean, Unions mean jack shit.” Italian American actors can be in their own union if they want, I saw it on Wikipedia and Mum’s got Italian family so she would be in that ane.

Mum wis totally cryin when I moved oot o hers.  She wis cryin even though she knew she wis comin ower my flat the next day t’ help uz unpack.  She wis smilin and cryin at the same time so I thought she wis dead happy I wis leavin.  Some people cry when they’re happy.  She said any Mum’d do the same and that I wis a man now and it wis time fir me t’ stand on my ain twa feet.  I screamed in her face then got in the van wi this man wha wis rollin his eyes and winkin at my Mum, he wis laughin a bit too.  Then he said, “See yi Jean, dinnae worry, I’ll get him settled in.”

Mum smiled and wiped her eyes wi her sleeve and said, “Thanks Frank, thanks.”


You can read the full story in Gutter Magazine 05