Growing up it was my brother I wanted to copy, but watching my mother’s performance taught me to be brave
There’s probably a German word for it. Some 30-character term to capture the sensation of sitting down in front of the television and learning, along with 10 million primetime viewers, that your mother can twirl nipple tassels in opposite directions. But whether a word for it exists or not, watching my mother audition as part of a burlesque troupe on the ninth series of Britain’s Got Talent, I felt it – this mix of surprise, heart-swelling pride and an involuntary flinch that caused my buttocks to clench with the force of an angrily slammed door. I felt something else too: the thud of a penny finally dropping.
I have long been used to the sight of my mother performing. Whether it was in panto or amateur plays, the sight of her in an outrageous outfit barrelling across a stage is so familiar to me that it is hard to picture her out of costume. Even off stage, there has always been an air of showbiz about her. She brings something special to any room she enters, as if every light is straining to illuminate her. As a teenager I would marvel at this quality, watching as she sat around with her friends, the focus of attention, telling captivating tales that began with a readying “OK … ” and built to explosions of laughter that cracked the ceiling.
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