You’re My Best Friend – Queen 1976

She’ll hate this, but I have grown used to annoying her, so here goes. 

This song was released about 6 weeks after I was born. I can sing it from beginning to end, without missing a lyric because Motherbear loves Queen; more specifically she loved Freddy. Watching Freddy strut his fabulous white lycra’d self around a stage was a usual Saturday morning at our house. I remember her explaining what AIDS was when he died, which would turn into one of her many lectures about how there is nowt so queer as folk, people are different, and the fact that a man loves another man and loves lyrca more than a Prima Ballerina is not something to be afraid of.

…but spiders are.

Last week, Motherbear had a birthday; she shares hers with the Queen of Hearts herself, Diana. And just like Diana, she is a model of motherhood with an enthusiasm for Gay people and the monarchy, though rather more Henry VIII or Charles I than the current crop of sexually retarded blithering morons.

Maintaining the birthday tradition that I ‘beat’ the Smartarse, my brother, I was sure to ring her at exactly 6am AET, ensuring I would be the first person to sing (squeal) her Happy Birthday. I was also the first person to annoy her, which being the eldest of three, is something I am accustomed to.

  Artist's Impression #1

Sharing some odd, once every 50 year pattern of planets on our charts (the Art-sist-ologer informs me) we are close in personality. But even more than that I would add without hesitation that she is indeed my best friend.

Best friends share all kinds of things, and the basis of that rapport is usually similar tastes, similar likes and dislikes, shared passions.

She had me read Wuthering Heights for the first time when I was 12. This would lead to a life long passion for 19^th century literature with a shared enthusiasm for the Brontës and Jane Austen. We do both love a romantic hero and can easily chat for hours about which of the filmed versions of Darcy, (she the David Rintoul BBC version from the 80s, me Colin Firth) or Heathcliff (she Timothy Dalton from the 70s, me Laurence Olivier) we feel best represents our mind’s eye character from reading the books. She is much more of a fan of Dickens than I, favouring a story about the poor imp who comes good over significant adversity, I err more towards the romantic social dramas of Gaskell and Wharton. In summary, beyond a passion for reading, we both love a bodice-ripping bonnet drama.

In fact we both love movies in general.

  Artist's Impression #2

I would not be able to put a figure to the number of movies we have seen together, but I do know that when I was still in Sydney, we saw almost every one of the Harry Potter movies and the more recent of the Star Wars films together at Gold Class. The trademark annoyance that I am, I like to ‘dissect’ a film at the end, that moment where you turn to person beside you and talk about what or who you liked best, the realism of the special effects, the prettiness of the costumes and you sit until the end of the credits to see in which castle the movie was shot and discuss whether or not you’ve been there. Taking her vengeance on me for being just such an annoyance, while I am ready to explode with excitement at Alan Rickman’s excellent portrayal of Severus Snape, she answers my quivering ‘what did you think of him mum???’ with a cool, ‘yeah, he was alright’. A coolness that hides her real sentiment designed only annoy me.

Balance, equilibrium and calm are not qualities we share.

Just like a best friend, she also offers lots of advice. Advice that is generally put forth in those succinct powerful phrases that mothers use frequently, that she no doubt heard from her mother, and that echo in my ears every time I try to dip my toes in the tempting pool of wrong. Some of her pearls of wisdom include… 

Don’t eat while you are walking down the street, it is common.

Don’t drink too much; you don’t want to be common.

Don’t talk too loud, you sound like a fishwife thus, common.

Don’t straighten your curly hair; it will make you look common.

Don’t wear chipped nail polish; it is common.

I don’t care what everyone else is doing, if everyone else were jumping off the Sydney Harbour Bridge would you want to do that too?

You aren’t a billboard, which is why you can’t have that (Sportsgirl or insert other brand name) T-shirt. It looks common.

You are better than (insert any man, woman or child whose done me wrong). Which has of course led to the mistaken conclusion that I am indeed a F**king Rockstar.

 

There is one I never really understood.

‘Mum, I thought you said I could have that (ice cream, dress, doll, etc)’

‘You know what Thought did? Stuck a feather in the ground and thought he’d grow a chook’

Still has me stumped as to what exactly the lesson is to be learned from this, none of us are gardeners, or poultry farmers, but hey, the woman has raised three very determined and enthusiastic individuals…let’s not get too picky.

  Artist's Impression #3

When not imparting granules of Socratic wisdom, she also taught me lots of valuable life skills.

The application of make-up, with your fingers so you don’t get splotches, crème base on the eyes so you don’t get creases and we both make that same carnival-game-oscillating -clown face when we apply mascara. While not a Michelin starred chef, she taught me to make curry, tacos, roast dinner and the perfect white sauce, which is now the basis of my Béchamel and Mornay. How to sew a button, hem trousers (Dad was rather short) and iron a shirt. The latter involves spraying clouds of that Ironing Aid Spray from one end of the room to the other with an occasional chance of it landing on the crumpled shirt creating an impromptu ice rink on the floor below.

In addition to these skills which are all required to be a perfect wife, she ensured she imparted that most valuable of lessons early and often.

You can be whatever you want to be, you are an individual, an education means you have a choice, and no matter what goes wrong, you can always come home.

 

Comments

[Braveheart]

Don't go home. My aunty's cousin was Freddy Mercury. To be discussed.

[Jo Weatherhead]

Your mum sounds amazing! I love that you're so honest about your great relationship with her, and you're obviously very blessed to have it.

[Rebekah Holmes nee McDonough]

I have read this 3 times now and it makes me miss my daily education sessions with your Mum. I miss her sinister giggle, her worldly advice, her worlds best bear hugs, how honestly she loves, the oobery dooberies on her desk and most importantly how we always hate the same people! I am sending her a text right now...

[MM]

Braveheart; am I not going home because of you? or because of Freddy? Or are you the same person?

Bek; welcome to the house of fun, I didn't realise you were reading, and I LOVE your spelling of Oobry-Doobry..

Jo, she is a rockstar, and about 95% the reason for my sense of humour. Thanks for reading

[AG]

The pearls of wisdom certainly did come from grammsie because I have used the same phrases with my children. Also there were poultry farmers in our family - your maternal great grandfather and great aunty ed, although I think this is just a bit of Irish/Australian slang! Your mum also offers great advice to her big sister and I love her for it.
AG

[Fiona]

What a lovely hommage!

[MM]

Thanks for the comments everyone. Seems Mum is an Effing Rockstar now too!