Between all of the weeing in the bath and birthing a child I’ve been doing, the last month has been a blur. This has meant that Mother’s Day has snuck the fuck up on me, which is a shame really because my mum is a god damn angel and I don’t know how I’d have ever got through the last four weeks without her.

She’s been there every step of the way; from three horrendous days of labour to giving me my nightly injections – which she’s had to do with a brave face on while I sobbed my heart out into a cushion night after night because I’m nothing if not dramatic. She even rushed round at 6am BC (before coffee) in her PJs to see whether my episiotomy stitches had burst (they had) while I lay spread-eagled on the bathroom Floor.

But instead of focusing on how much of a star she’s been while I’ve been recovering/trying to muddle my way through the first few weeks as a first time mum, I thought I’d tell you about another time she had my back…

The year was 2011…

US forces killed Osama Bin Laden in a house raid in Pakistan, Frankie Cocozza was axed from X-factor for getting twisted at a gaff and most memorably; me and my mum got in a scrap in an LGBT bar in Brighton.

I was living in Brighton at the time, and Dina had got some last minute super off peak tickets so jumped a train down for a girlie weekend, which quickly escalated to a drag cabaret in the Queens Arms on George Street.

Once the show was over, karaoke kicked off. And you all know how much I love karaoke.

Now, picture the scene; at the time queen of the world, Rihanna, had bright red hair so I decided that I needed to stand out in the barnet department too – so, the night before I’d dyed 70% of my hair and 100% of my bathroom a deep blood red. It was patchy as fuck, but channeling RiRi gave me Big Dick Energy by proxy, so with my new found confidence I launched myself onto the stage to belt out my rendition of Bryan Adams’, “summer of 69.”

I’d just got to the bit where I was about to break out my air guitar when, through the fog from the rented smoke machine, I saw an ice cube hurtle towards me and bounce clean off my head. Nothing like winning the crowd over, am I right?

It took exactly two Ice Cubes to clock the culprit, lash the mic on the floor and bounce off that stage with the sheer brass necked confidence that a 5ft3 bird with a Napoleon complex and a questionable hair do had absolutely no business having.

I was ready for a fight to be honest, and I fucking got one. I pushed the girl throwing the ice cubes, she pushed me back, next thing I knew I was on the floor with four girls and a lad booting the shit out of me surrounded by tufts of my own (mostly) red locks. 

Anyway, I wasn’t down there long because Dina flew in like Jackie Chan and, single-handedly, ripped all five of them off me.

Things got a little hairy, but somehow in the next few minutes Dina accidentally gave a spectator a nosebleed thinking she was involved, I accumulated two mysterious bite marks on my arm and we all got thrown onto the street to kill each other without the bar being liable. A very short street brawl ensued and, to be honest I can’t remember what calmed the whole situation down, but we all ended up hugging (weird) and parting ways relatively amicably.

So, let this be a lesson in two things: picking your battles and appreciating your mum. Because there is nobody who will have your back quite like she will.

Until next time… x

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