Friday morning was hell. I woke up to get ready for a photo shoot in Glasgow’s East End (Shettleston actually, my home town) as I had written an article for the Sunday Herald on the forth coming by-election. Whilst washing my hair, I heard Ashley being very sick. I hate it when my child is sick, even though she is 22 years old, it strikes fear and pain in me to see her unwell.
Ashley finally feels better and I somehow start vomiting instead. Now this is too busy a day for me to be throwing up, I have to do a photo session then get on an aeroplane to Cardiff, so I get stressed more and puke up more.
Husband holds my hair back as throw up more bile into the loo. The make up I had carefully applied for the photo’s was now either being sweated or smeared down my face. That’s when the photographer called me from his car to let me know he was downstairs waiting. We had time issues; I had to get the pics done before 11am so that I could get to the airport in time for the flight. Subsequently I had no time to make myself look presentable.
I managed to pat some foundation powder on my scaly white face and run downstairs. We drove to Shettleston, I felt cold, sick and creeped out by old streets. I saw where my mammy lived, where I went to school and the photographer decided to get me out onto the street for the picture.
“Can you twirl round that lamppost?” he shouted, behind the huge lens of his camera.
“No, I will vomit again; can we do pictures that don’t involve me swinging, twirling or doing anything that will induce sickness?” I groaned.
I vomited again. The man waited for me to wipe my mouth, I smiled and he clicked on his camera.
I finally got home in time to see Ashley looking better from her puking session (what the hell is wrong with us?) and caught the flight to Cardiff.
The hotel is nice and I checked in with time to get ready for my comedy show at Jongleurs. I stood at the window and stared out. At that precise moment a big white beady eyed gull landed right on my window sill, pecked the window and stared at me.
I flinched. It stared. I poked at the window, it nodded its head. I clapped my hands hoping it would hear me through the glass, it stared more and refused to budge.
“There is a big scary gull staring at me and wont get off my window ledge” I hissed to husband on the phone. I don’t know why I was whisperings, the gull just stared at me, occasionally cocking its head at me and pushing one back beady eye further up to the glass.
“Maybe it’s your mum coming back to see you from the dead, you had a worrying day and this is her way of comforting you” he said.
“My dead mammy is a fucking seagull in Cardiff?” I screeched at him “Couldn’t she come back as an eternal butterfly or something beautiful and romantic? Not a big beady eyed gull”
“Well people don’t choose what they come back as” he added. Now he was annoying me. I had banged a shoe at the window to get rid of the gull and that means I have tired to attack my long dead mum who happens to have become a seagull, my day was already tough enough.
The gull stared at me.
“Are you my dead mammy” I shouted through the window. The gull stared and bobbed its head. “It’s saying YES” I shouted to husband.
“See, I told you it was your mum” he laughed.
The gull flew off the ledge and I laughed as well. Just like my mum, it got bored with me talking.
So The Sunday Herald will carry an article and a photo of me tomorrow, good news all round. Am off to stalk the streets of Cardiff to see if I can spot my mammy flying over the rooftops and throw her some bread, she may be hungry._