Craic On

I’ve been called some choice things in my time. I don’t suppose I will ever be privy to the full range. The Son, who was a Red Dwarf fan, hit upon the idea that henceforth his Mother, should be known as R’mere. In his mind, this was the perfect response to his love of the lead character Rimmer, known for his intergalactic adventures, and the French for Mother. He was rolling down the side of a snow-covered French slope at the time. I like to think it was an idea born of affection but suspect it was more affectation. It stuck. I once received a letter addressed to Mrs Attila. I may be fierce, but surely I’m not that fierce. It turned out to be a best effort at Mrs A Tylor by someone who couldn’t spell. That one stuck too, for the duration of my job. With form in answering to so many different names, you’d think it would not bother me, not to be called by name, but it does. Since my adventures in the Big C began, I have learned to respond to “lovey” and “my darling” and “dear” and “my lovely”. While I think