The Mummyfesto (19 page)

‘Wooh,’ Jackie shouted as we made it to Market Street. My rush of exhilaration was immediately tempered by the realisation that people were looking at us. I briefly contemplated pretending to be drunk to justify my behaviour, but thought better of it. This wasn’t alcohol-fuelled merriment. It was something much purer than that.

We carried on down the street. ‘Hey,’ I called out to Jackie as we passed the shoeshop, ‘is that the first time you’ve ever gone past Ruby Shoesday without stopping to have a look in the window?’

Jackie snorted a laugh back to me and gave a little kick of her platform shoes. A middle-aged couple on the other side of the road stopped and stared, the woman pointing at us. They were obviously not locals. I caught sight of our reflection in the Turkish restaurant window as we skipped past. We looked like something out of
Little House on the Prairie
. Girlishly innocent and naïve. Several of the diners stopped with their forks in mid-air to look at us. I waved. Laughing as I did so.

By the time we made it back over the bridge to Fountain Street we were all breathing heavily. Actually, that was a lie. It was more like panting. We collapsed on the front gate. I was the first one to get my breath back.

‘Skipping,’ I said, ‘is in the mummyfesto.’

‘It’s bloody brilliant, isn’t it?’ replied Jackie.

‘It took about twenty years off me,’ said Anna.

‘And if I did it every day, it would take about twenty pounds off me,’ said Jackie. ‘Which is brilliant as it means it can be in on both physical and mental health grounds. They should bloody prescribe it on the NHS. Would be a damn sight better than antidepressants.’

‘If we do ever get to Number Ten,’ I said, ‘the Downing Street one, not this one, you’ve both got to promise me you’ll skip up the road to the door.’

‘Promise,’ smiled Anna.

‘You’re on,’ agreed Jackie.

It was only at this point that we looked up and noticed Rob standing in the doorway staring at us.

‘That was really weird,’ he said. ‘I thought I heard the front door shut so I looked out of the window and saw these three fully-grown women skipping down the street like lunatics. And five minutes later they skipped back again.’

‘It’s the latest fitness craze,’ said Jackie, grinning.

‘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 tax-payers’ 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 anti-bullying 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.