How many Black Jacks can you get in your mouth, and how much chewing-gum is enough? 

 

 - We had to take it out to suck off the extra juice!

 

How cold was your bathroom?

 

 - In winter my brother only washed his cheeks, using two fingers on each hand. When the dirt on his neck became visible my father would take him in for a good scrub then the neck would sparkle pinkly.

 

 - When I was a teenager I’d get washed, very quickly at night and put on my clean bra; mornings were far too cold for washing and undressing. Global warming must be true; kids don’t feel the cold, so why else was my childhood icy?

 

What was the worst day in your week?

 

- Sunday night baths and bug-hunt; the fine-tooth comb stabbed into my hair and dragged along my scalp –  my mother was a terrier. Dad had the job of soaking my head in stinking oil every month, which ruined my Sunday because everyone recognised the smell, and the lank look. As my hair grew longer he’d pull it up into a pony-tail so people wouldn’t notice, but I still stank to high heaven. I didn’t care about bugs; but I did worry when the bug-nurse was handing out brown envelopes in school – she never had to give me one.

 

Who was in charge?

 

 - My mother, The Terrier, wouldn’t waste money on new-fangled things like washing-up liquid, soft toilet roll or a potato-masher: she grated soap to wash dishes that had to be rinsed; we had to tear up newspaper into neat little squares for the toilet; and she mashed potatoes with a fork, or made me do it – I hated this job more than anything because it burnt my fingers. I couldn’t understand her, when these implements were so readily available. But she spent her money her way. She took us to the seaside every other day in the summer, twice a year to the carnival and circus – not counting the little ones we discovered on our trips. We had new clothes for both, First Sunday in May and Easter; new nightwear and clothes at Christmas; all this was complemented by the clothes she made us herself…that’s another story.

 

Have you ever been normal?

 

 - M-A-R-I-O-N was my friendly ghost; I pronounced every vowel and shared everything with her, apparently. Dad had to lift her on buses and soothe my distress if someone inadvertently sat on her – The Terrier insisted that my father spend time with his family on certain times of the year, like Fair Friday, rain or rain. We must have been a great embarrassment to this man who was continually trying to escape into the realm of Normal. He had to swing Marion’s hand while walking along the road, making my mother less of a terrier.