Mummyfesto, The

by Green, Linda

  ‘Came over from America, did it?’ he asked.

  ‘No, born and bred in Hebden Bridge,’ I replied.

  ‘And this skipping thing,’ Rob said. ‘I take it it’s entirely unrelated to your political ambitions.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Jackie. ‘It’s one of our core beliefs.’

  ‘It’s a sort of pillar of wisdom, actually,’ Anna added.

  ‘You haven’t even had much to drink, have you?’ he asked.

  ‘Nope,’ I said.

  ‘Jeez. If there was a pill of whatever you guys are on, you’d make a fucking fortune.’

  ‘Remember that when I’m asking you to shove election leaflets through letterboxes.’ I smiled.

  Rob scratched his head. ‘I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and go back upstairs,’ he said. ‘If I’m ever asked publicly about this incident I’ll pretend for your sakes that it never happened.’

  ‘I bet you he tries it himself when there’s no one around,’ Jackie whispered.

  ‘No,’ I replied, ‘I think he’ll remain firmly in the skipping sceptic camp.’

  We settled ourselves down again at the table and Jackie cut herself a particularly large wedge of Brie.

  ‘Well, I deserve it after that,’ she said, when she caught us both looking at her.

  ‘So, Anna,’ I said, ‘have you got anything for us that can top that?’

  ‘Nothing as much fun,’ she said. ‘But I do have something pretty controversial.’

  ‘Controversial is always good,’ said Jackie.

  ‘Go on,’ I said.

  Anna took another sip of wine. ‘It’s about London,’ she said.

  ‘Horrible, big, dirty place down south, isn’t it?’ asked Jackie.

  ‘I don’t think the government should be based there.’

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘I think we should propose a dozen video-linked mini-parliaments in cities across the UK. It would mean that no one would have to uproot their family or live away from them to become an MP, which would open politics up to loads of parents, especially mums.

  ‘It would also put an end to the ridiculous yah-boo politics we have now. All the parliaments would have people sitting in circular chambers so they would be more likely to discuss things in a civilised fashion instead of shouting at the people opposite.’

  ‘We could use the Corn Exchange building in Leeds,’ said Jackie, leaning forward in her chair ‘and the Rotunda in Birmingham. They’re both brilliantly positioned for shopping too.’

  Anna and I both gave her a look.

  ‘Well everyone needs a lunch-hour, don’t they?’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Anna, ‘the whole thing would make the government less London-centric and mean MPs were truly in touch with people across the UK because they would actually be living in their constituencies. I mean, if Salford’s good enough for the BBC, why not the government?’ Anna paused and looked at us. ‘That actually sounded crazier than the skipping, didn’t it?’

  ‘Only marginally so,’ I said. ‘It’s certainly radical, but we want to be radical and why bother tinkering around with things when actually what we need to do is rip up the whole system and start again.’

  ‘That’s Will’s slogan suggestion,’ said Anna. ‘Rip it up and start again.’

  ‘Really? Well I like it.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Jackie.

  ‘In the interests of fairness,’ said Anna. ‘I should tell you that Esme’s was “Making everything sparkly and boingy”.’

  I smiled. ‘Sweet though it is, I don’t think it would quite cut it with Jeremy Paxman. What about Charlotte’s?’

  ‘Putting people before politics.’

  Anna looked at me. I looked at Jackie. We all nodded at the same time.

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘Tell her she’s a complete star and if she fancies getting some work experience with us we’d love to have her.’

  ‘I will,’ said Anna, looking down at her hands. I sensed all was not well on the Charlotte front, but didn’t want to undo the mood-enhancing benefits of skipping so soon by delving further.

  ‘Oh, we’ve got a logo as well,’ said Jackie rummaging in her bag and holding up a brightly coloured purple-and-pink lollipop.

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘I’ll get it scanned and Rob said he’d do the lettering for us. We’ll need to use it on our website and campaign leaflets and the mummyfesto and everything.’

  Even as I said it I was hit by how daunting the whole thing sounded. There were three of us. And between us we had six children. How the hell were we going to do this? Come to that, how the hell were we going to be able to afford it?

  ‘We need to get some funding, don’t we?’ said Anna, who had clearly been thinking along the same lines.

  ‘We should launch a membership scheme,’ said Jackie. ‘Let’s say £20.30 to join – that’s a week’s child benefit. What better investment could you make for your child’s future?’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said. ‘You can be membership secretary.’

  ‘And I’ll write to lots of companies asking for sponsorship,’ said Anna. ‘Small, child-friendly companies, not big high-street names.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘I think you’ve just got yourself the job of treasurer. Now, on with the mummyfesto. So, so far, we’re selling off the Houses of Parliament in favour of a network of mini regional parliaments.’

  ‘I didn’t say anything about selling them off,’ said Anna.

  ‘It’s either that or blowing them up,’ said Jackie. ‘And though I accept it would be headline-grabbing, I’m not sure I want to be tossed on to a bonfire with Guy Fawkes.’

  ‘We’d need to fund the regional parliaments from the sale,’ I said. ‘And the money left over could go into affordable housing for all. And we’d make it a stipulation that whoever bought the Houses of Parliament kept them open as a tourist attraction to show future generations the anachronistic system we used to have in this country.’

  ‘So I take it you think we should get rid of the House of Lords as well?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Oh God, yes.’

  ‘What will we replace it with?’ she asked.

  ‘I know,’ said Jackie. ‘Mumsnet. A hell of a lot cheaper and more in touch with the people. They could scrutinise our legislation to make sure it was in the best interests of children.’

  ‘To be honest,’ said Anna, ‘that’s actually not any more ridiculous than the current system.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘So those are our core beliefs. Now, let’s do our top five mummyfesto ideas each and then we’ll listen to everything that’s come in through Anna’s blog and Twitter. Jackie, do you want to go first?’

  ‘Sure. I’m proposing a big investment in treating dementia, including specialist training and care, and I’d like us to pledge more support for carers, including regular respite breaks and an annual free holiday – I was thinking Chequers could be turned into a spa retreat for carers, that way it will benefit those who save this country billions instead of a bunch of toffs who want to play croquet at the taxpayers’ expense.’

  ‘So where will foreign leaders stay when they visit the UK?’ asked Anna.

  ‘My place,’ said Anna, with a wink. ‘If they’re American, that is. The French ones can stay at yours.’

  Anna groaned. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Let’s move on.’

  ‘OK,’ said Jackie. ‘I think we could offer full employment to the under twenty-fives.’

  ‘How?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Instead of paying those who aren’t in work or training dole money we’d pay them the living wage to do really useful jobs in their communities, like being park wardens and litter-picking, running youth groups, helping to insulate old people’s homes and installing and checking smoke alarms for them, driving elderly and disabled people to where they need to go, that sort of stuff.’

  ‘It would give them a real sense of being part of their community too,’ said Anna.

  ‘I like it,’ I said. ‘
What else?’

  ‘All roads and road signs should be colour-coded,’ said Jackie. ‘So if you want to go from Leeds to Manchester you just follow the purple line along the road.’

  ‘Now that’s up there with skipping,’ I said.

  ‘But the whole road system has been designed by men. That’s why women like me get lost all the time. It’s not our fault. It’s men’s brains that are wired differently.’

  ‘I have to say,’ said Anna, ‘that I fear we might be ridiculed for that one.’

  ‘Only by Jeremy Clarkson, and if he says anything we’ll suggest that Top Gear becomes pay per view with all proceeds to fund public-sector pensions.’

  Anna and I smiled and shook our heads.

  ‘And my final one,’ said Jackie, ‘is more public toilets and the right to a free wee. All public toilets and trainstation toilets to be free.’

  ‘It’s a vote-winner,’ I said. ‘Right, what have you got for us, Anna?’

  ‘A massive antibullying campaign with independently appointed children’s champions at every school and specially trained play workers and child-behaviour specialists on duty at break and lunchtimes.’

  I nodded, knowing how important that one was to Anna.

  ‘A national network of food kiosks and shops selling healthy food and smoothies to help counteract the chocolate, crisps and Coke culture out there.’

  ‘They could be run by the former unemployed young people,’ said Jackie.

  ‘See,’ I said. ‘We’ve got joined-up thinking already.’

  ‘I’d also like to get Jamie Oliver to do for hospital food what he did for school meals. Plus introduce free natural health centres across the UK, so people have the option of complementary therapies and counselling, which would take some of the pressure off GP surgeries and cut drug bills.

  ‘Next, free parenting skills classes for all,’ said Anna, ‘with drop-in parenting centres in schools and supermarkets and parenting mentors.’

  ‘Aren’t we going to get accused of being the nanny state?’ asked Jackie. ‘Or rather the super-nanny state.’

  ‘It’s the most important job in the world,’ said Anna. ‘It’s ridiculous that people aren’t trained for it. It wouldn’t be about telling people they’re doing it wrong, it would be about showing them different strategies parents can use for different situations and helping them to find solutions which may benefit their families.’

  ‘Sounds fair enough,’ I said.

  ‘And finally,’ said Anna, ‘all parents to get up to ten days off work a year for sports days, nativities and parents’ assemblies, with time to be made up during the year.’

  ‘You can’t get much more family-friendly than that,’ I said.

  ‘Come on then, Sam,’ said Jackie, topping up her glass. ‘Tell us what you’ve got.’

  ‘OK. I’d like all hospices to be fully funded by the government. And no children’s hospitals having to resort to tinrattling.’

  ‘Seconded,’ said Jackie.

  ‘I’d also like to make Terry Wogan redundant.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Anna.

  ‘That whole Children in Need thing is so embarrassing.’

  ‘What, him with some young blonde presenter on his arm, you mean?’ asked Jackie.

  ‘Well, yes, that too,’ I said. ‘But what I mean is that people shouldn’t have to beg for money for essential projects for needy children like that. And we shouldn’t have to sit there bawling our eyes out watching them do it. What does that say about our society’s priorities?’

  ‘I quite agree,’ said Anna, ‘but how are we going to pay for it? They’ll want figures, you know.’

  ‘Well, we can start by scrapping the plans to replace Trident and privatising the Royal Family,’ I said.

  Jackie started laughing, then stopped when she saw my face. ‘You’re serious aren’t you?’

  ‘Yep. The money we save will be used to fund hospices and children’s charities who run those sort of projects.’

  ‘OK,’ said Anna. ‘Two things. I’m no royalist but a lot of people are and won’t like it. And even if we did want to do it, how exactly would we go about the process of getting rid of them?’

  ‘But that’s just it,’ I said. ‘We’re not getting rid of them. If people still want to camp out overnight and wave a Union Jack at whichever one of them gets married next, they can do. The only difference is that we won’t be stumping up the cash for it because the Queen will no longer be the head of state.

  ‘So she can stay in Buck House if she wants to and keep all her castles?’ asked Jackie.

  ‘Absolutely, as long as her family raise enough cash to keep them going.’

  ‘Whose head will we have on stamps?’ asked Anna.

  ‘We won’t have anyone’s head. We’ll have pictures painted by kids.’

  ‘I think you might be sent to the Tower,’ said Jackie.

  ‘I’d like to see them try and get past Zach and Oscar to do that.’

  Anna and Jackie grinned at me. I took that as a yes. I wasn’t going to stop there, though. I was on a roll now.

  ‘I’d also like us to become secular, like France, and not have any state-funded church schools. I resent the fact that although only about 7 per cent of the UK population are practising Christians, the Church controls about a third of our primary schools and even if you choose for your child to attend a non-church school they still have to do Christian worship in assembly and have vicars coming in to preach at them. Where’s the choice in that?

  ‘There are about the same number of vegetarians in this country, but we don’t get to run a third of schools and go in to spout our beliefs to impressionable school-children, even though they’ve got proven health benefits. And yet our children come home from school believing God created the world and we’re paying for that. It’s obscene, it really is.’

  I paused for breath and looked at Anna and Jackie who were staring at me as if I’d lost the plot.

  ‘So you basically want to take on the Church, the state and the monarchy,’ said Anna.

  ‘Yep. That’s about right,’ I said. Anna nodded slowly. She didn’t have to say anything: her expression said it for her.

  ‘Look,’ I said, ‘I know it’s ambitious and controversial and will probably lose us some votes, but if we’re going to do this we need to believe in what we’re fighting for and we need to fight for what we believe in.’

  ‘There you go electioneering again,’ said Jackie. ‘I’ve told you, you’ve already got my vote.’

  ‘And you’d back the secular bit?’

  ‘Yeah, with one caveat. We still allow harvest festival assemblies because if we didn’t have them, my cupboards would be full of out-of-date tins and free samples that I don’t want but aren’t going to chuck away.’

  ‘OK,’ I grinned, ‘we can have a harvest assembly tins amnesty.’

  ‘So what’s your last suggestion?’ asked Anna. ‘And please tell me you’re not going to sell Cliff Richard off or something.’

  ‘Is he ours to sell?’ asked Jackie.

  ‘If we’re going to get rid of the monarchy we’ll need a new national anthem,’ I said. ‘I was thinking a medley of ‘All You Need is Love’, ‘The Green Green Grass of Home’, ‘I Will Walk 500 Miles’ and ‘Teenage Kicks’. That way we represent all the countries in the UK and everyone will know the words.’

  Jackie looked as if were in danger of falling off her chair laughing. Anna appeared to be in shock.

  ‘The Daily Mail is going to hate us,’ said Anna eventually.

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘Won’t it be fantastic?’

  The gallery phoned on Monday morning, just after I’d dropped the boys off at school. The woman’s name was Rebecca. She had what Rob called a posh London accent. It wouldn’t bother him this time, though. Wouldn’t bother him at all.

  I drove straight to the road where he was working. It was dry today so he was painting the front door of a big house up on Birchcliffe. Pillar-box red he’d
said they wanted it. Something to brighten the stonework up a bit.

  I pulled up on the corner of the road and started walking down. Rob looked up and saw me, his brow furrowed for a second.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asked. I recognised the tone in his voice and wished for a second that I’d phoned to tell him, anything to stop him panicking like that. I smiled, a big, obviously not fake, smile, so that he would know it was OK.

  ‘Yes. I just wanted to let you know the good news.’

  ‘Cameron’s resigned and handed the keys of Number Ten to you?’

  ‘No. Your good news.’

  ‘Me? But I don’t even do the lottery any more.’

  ‘You’re going to have an exhibition,’ I said, grinning.

  Rob put the paint pot down and stared at me. ‘Where?’

  ‘Linden Mill. Sorry it’s not the Tate, but from little acorns and all that.’

  ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Just reminding some people of what a brilliant artist you are. Sending them a few photos. You’ll have to get your act together, mind. You’ve only got a couple of weeks.’

  A smile spread over Rob’s face. He looked down at the paint on his hands and overalls. ‘I’d give you a hug,’ he said, ‘only you might not appreciate it at the moment.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, giving him a kiss. ‘Save it for later.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rob. ‘For not giving up on me, I mean.’

  ‘That’s all right. Thank you for not having me sectioned.’

  Rob grinned.

  ‘Anyway, I’d better dash. I’ll give you all the details later. They want you to pop by later this week with your stuff.’

  Rob nodded. I started to walk back to the car. Just as I reached the corner, Rob called me. I turned around. He’d written ‘I Love You’ in red paint on the front door. I smiled, remembering how he’d painted it all over the walls of our first house when we’d moved in together.

  ‘You too,’ I called back.

  11

  JACKIE

  I clearly wasn’t cut out to be an undercover agent. My first thought as to how to disguise myself for my visit to the Labour Party pre-election meeting in Halifax had been to get one of those Tony Blair masks off eBay.