Fair play, it was hard for her to concentrate while delivering a running commentary on all I was doing wrong
It’s part of growing up and becoming an adult female that you find your mother physically repellent in every imaginable respect. I remember this from my own adolescence, when my mother had a lemon yellow terry towelling playsuit that made me want to put out my eyes.
My 11-year-old daughter (not pictured above) is extremely advanced in this respect, and has been picking over my physical flaws in a dispassionate but detailed way since she learned to talk. “You’re red here, here and here,” she said once, aged about three, gesticulating across the zones of my face, “and that’s because you’re old.”
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