Rod Stewart and covid dreams - Janet Christie's Mum's the Word
“Eldest dreamt he was the illegitimate child of Rod Stewart,” I say to Youngest, who is passing the table. “Rod was denying it. Wasn’t having any of it.”
“Ily-what?” she says.
“Illegitimate. The child of a not married couple. So I said that was bizarrely almost possible because Rod Stewart’s dad was from Leith and in fact…”
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“So why not just say the child of Rod Stewart? He’d still be Rod Stewart’s child.”
“Because it’s a legal/religious/cultural term and he wouldn’t be able to inherit Rod’s cash and vinyls.”
“I’ve never heard of illegitimate.”
“Probably half of the people we know are illegitimate. You three are. Although I prefer to call you the bastard love children of me and Other Parent.
“Oh yeah.” Completely unruffled.
“Is the back of my hair curly?” she says.
“Glorious. Tumbling pink curls, very My Little Pony.”
“Aw, thanks.” Chuffed, she moves into the kitchen section of the work pod, singing “How much is that doggy in the window?”
“No dog.”
Silence, apart from heavy duty rummaging.
“So Eldest would be the bastard lovechild of me and Rod,” I continue. “Which would explain why he’s musical. Funnily enough, Rod’s youngest child was christened in Leith, in the church at the back of Lidl and...”
“Nobody cares about you and Rod, Mum. You know what we need?”
Counselling? Lawyers? A covid vaccine?
“One of those sponge things on the end of a stick.”
“Right.”
“So I can reach to clean the bottom of my mug.”
“Have you looked in the utensils jar?” I say.
“The what?”
“The thing I keep the spatula in.”
“Yay! Never heard of the ‘utensils’ jar. I’ve just been sticking a sponge on the end of a knife. But this is a brush not a sponge. Sigh. I really need one.”
“Well, Christmas is coming…”
“Oh yeah! Woooh! Christmas”
“Oh wait. It’s been cancelled. Ha, ha.”
“Mum, cruel. Too far.”
“But I say that every year.”
“Yeah, but this time it’s true.”