A mother scorned

Italian mums have a reputation for being a little 'protective' of their sons. Well let me tell you that Italian mothers are kittens in comparison to the formidable force of a Turkish woman and her male offspring.

In Turkey it is often said that you don't marry the man, you marry the family. It is tradition in Turkey, that when a man marries he must provide a house and all of the furnishings in it. So before the wedding the grooms mother takes him out and selects the couch, bed and colour scheme of your new marital home. And you'd better pray that his Uncle Ali doesn't own a cheap used furniture store. Upon marriage you are expected to call his mother 'mother' even if you have a perfectly good one of your own.

Bf's mum is no exception and I had already been forewarned by his friends that she had stopped at least two of his marriages from going ahead. Also he is the only child and his mum a widow who lives with her unmarried sister. You can imagine. There's an awful lot of protective love poured onto this 36 year old bachelor. You also only introduce a woman to your mother if you have intentions of marriage. Something that I am trying to learn to sit comfortably with.

But I figured out a strategy. It's amazing how far a bit of flattery about a mothers housekeeping skills can take you.
Yes I can cook, but she must have taught her son well because he is an exceptional cook
Yes I can iron, but I'm not very good at it, well not as good as her - how does she fold his shirts so neatly?



Those who know me may find this slightly hillarious.


As an independent self efficient person who has supported herself alone pretty much since the age of 17 I can't help but cringe a little as I write it. But I think of it more as an exercise in sociology and politics. If I can convince a Turkish mother that I am capable of looking after her precious son, I can probably rule the ottoman empire. AND not even have to iron the emperors clothes to boot.

Anyway other BIG news. I am moving back to Prague. I have landed the job as creative director at a major advertising agency where I will be in charge of the British Airways account, which means I'll be doing the creative for the print and internet advertising for 27 countries. This is like a shit hot position. This is like the dogs bollocks of a job for me. When I was in college at 16 I had 3 dreams. One was to be a journalist, the second an underwater photographer and the third to make up advertising.

As the fat man once sang: Two out of three ain't bad.

I'll be gone within the month. With a little trepidation.

As kafka once wrote 'beware the old crone she has claws' by that he referred to 'mother Prague'. He also said that the only way to get prague out of your system was to build two fires, one at Prague castle and one at Vysehrad and burn the whole place to the ground. A group of american artists even once made a low budget film called 'rexpatriots' about expats who tried to escape prague but always ended up returning.

It seems the old crone has hooked me again. I have spent many of my formative years in this city. Its the first foreign country I ever lived in, at the age of 19. I survived a lot including carbon monoxide poisoning, the subsequent death of a flat mate, homelessness and associations with the most unsavoury of characters.

However, I was always absolutely bloody determined never to call on my parents for any sort of assistance no matter what happened. So while other people would have turned and ran to the bosoms of their families, I stayed and did a lot of growing up.

My second encounter was on better terms, with a job as a copywriter, a decent flat, old friends, a more mature attitude (well I was in my mid 20's anyway). But soon I found the carpet whipped from under me again with the death of a parent, the loss of a true love (if unrequited love can indeed be true) and slightly too fond a penchant for crap czech wine.

Prague, perhaps, is the toughest mother in the world. But she always sends you back into the foray a little older, a little wiser and infinitely much better prepared. I can't help thinking, in the most romantic of senses, that she knew things weren't working out for me here and decided to call me back to give me another good bloody talking to.

Anyway, whatever personal crises the world decides to heap upon me within the next few years, I hope that at least my job pans out. I could do with a bit of pocket money as a treat because I sure as shit have done my chores.

Wish me luck!