Welcome to my ramblings.
I’ve always had a tendency to talk to myself but it kicked up a notch when I started having kids. I reckon it was lack of adult company after our first that triggered it. Days without adult company or conversation (talking to the telly doesn’t count) will do that to you. It started off slowly enough. I’d answer Ray D’Arcy on his morning radio show but he’d be well onto the next guest when yours truly was still having the same conversation with him about the first topic. I knew it was bad when I carried on in the bathroom one day. I used to say it kept the other voices in my head company. But I was also afraid that Screecher Creature No. 1 would be a late talker because he just couldn’t get a word in edgeways with me yammering on all the time. But who was I kidding? These days he asks who am I talking to when we’re in the car. It’s just me and the lads but I’m in full flow. I even use hand gestures to emphasise my points. I don’t care what fellow roads users think; as far as I’m concerned they’ll assume I’m on my hands free. Then l thought, why don’t I write some of these things down? There’s Myleene Klass, Brooke Shields, Jools Oliver. Tess Daly, Denise Van Outen. Our own Fiona Loony.
They’re all at it for Gawd sake. And one of my voices wanted to know who would be interested in the ramblings of an unknown. I shut her up with chocolate and had a little think. She did have a point though. I’m not particularly model like (more model unlike), have never recorded an album (unless a photo one counts), and to the best of my knowledge, my mug has never appeared on TV (am in possession of a radio face). Furthermore I’m not married to a celebrity (although I have great faith in Mister Husband). So I figured I’d better be funny. Or at least try to be. But then who’s laughing at 4am when they’re up with a crying, sick baby? Who finds it even remotely amusing when their toddler is throwing a major hissy fit in the home baking aisle in Tesco’s? So I said I’d settle for being honest when funny isn’t working, and see how I get on. Because I believe that when you become a parent you have one, maybe two things, in common with other mothers. You have to get this little day old baby you have been entrusted with, to late teens and beyond, by feeding, clothing, loving, nurturing, protecting and educating him. After that it’s a very, very individual and personal process. But we are all still part of a worldwide club and I believe there isn’t one of us who hasn’t experienced a high or a low alone. So what was I going to call these ramblings? There’s no way my nearest and dearest would allow me to call them The Yummy Mummy Diaries. I’d be laughed out of it for being vain! Between you, me and the wall, The Scummy Mummy Diaries would be more appropriate. Although for the record, I'm only ever slightly scummy every third or fourth day of the week! The Jammy Mammy Diaries was a firm favourite as I am indeed a very jammy mammy! I’ve got my lovely kids who make me laugh every day. They make me cry at times as well, mind you, but more about that later. Mister Husband puts up with my many mood swings and doesn’t give out too much when yet another plate of pancakes or oven chips and Donegal Catch is plonked in front of him.
Yeah, jammy mammy, that’s me!
So I’ve settled instead for The Wonderful Wagon.