Too early?

Not one to shy away from making people feel uncomfortable, I have chosen in my next word prolapse to discuss something that not only happened recently but involves violence and my 56 year old mother.
Now I could sit here and belittle women suffering from the bain of menopause,I could reach new depthes and go on to suggest that their hormonal actions make them appear mentaly ill,rationaly incapable slightly incontinent sociopaths,but of course i wont, because in the case of my mother those words are too light and too complimentary to sum the crazy bitch up adequately.
Now just to put some background to the story,the reason I'm at home (and quite possibly bored and bitter enough to be here writing this) is due to a rather unsavory affair with regards to a drunk dog,long story in itself,but because of said drunk dog, im unfortunately and completely against my will left to the mercy of my parents and the eerie silent snobbery of Wennington.If it wasnt enough that im extremely unhappy about this, it has appeared recently that my mother is even less impressed.
Although in a family as volitile and scottish as my own,purile rumours are rife, evidence of my mums dissaproval of my presence reared its head only prominantly, to me, last week, when she quite inexplicably decided to 'remind' (and when i say remind i actualy mean shout at..) me not to leave the grill door open.Now these trivial ramblings may have past unoticed had it not been for that fact that the actual grill itself was,as adivised turned off completely and this was at 5am.
I decided to shrug it off,in the manner i do when the mental old hound starts talking to me about the ghost in her room or the healing power of crystals or whatever semi-secular religion shes decided to join recently, which is currently, to my knowledge tao-cunt-ism.
Deciding to make the best of my rather dull situation, i have of late, busyed myself with debt-repaying and regular trips away to somewhere without a parish council,and as I was preparing for another one of my regular re-visits to civisation,mother-dear springs a new 'reminder' to my list of things 'not to do before mum gets the hrt'.
Apparently Moses had idoly and rather uncharactristicly missed off one of the commandments..Thou shalt not hang hosiery or similar leg related underwear in a visible place around the house,thus making it look (and i quote)"like a fucking crack den"..Moses may well have missed this off, in hindsight with regards to the amount of breath needed to exult.
Shocked by my current victimisation i quitely removed my tights and began hairdrying them in time for my escape.I remember at the time how much the hairdryers baffling monotonous waves reminded me of my mother,especialy when i caught some hair in it and it caught fire a little..however much i was comparing my mother to a robotic demon,could not of prepared me for the bout of irrationality and brutal scottish violence that was to come.
Freshers week is never the easyest week to work when you are a reluctant barmaid and I was attempting as much sleep I could grasp, it was,however proving rather difficult due to my mothers early morning equine rambling at my father for not sweeping under the toaster or some shit,progressively I was becoming what anyone who has witnessed me with slight sleep deprivation will agree is an advanced form of 'ratty',it certainly was not helping that she was also trying to insinuate at any given oppertunity that I was the sole reason for her unhappyness,wether it was the towel I left in the laundry,the beer I was sneaking my dad when she was away, or most prominantly just my presence.At one point after everyone else had stopped listening to her,she cajouled the milklady into sitting for a brew whislt she regailed her of my slobbish antics and the inabilty I was causing her to access a set of drawers because "The lazy slob doesnt get up till midday Carol"
Carol i suspect whilst quietly chewing a stale hobnob had by this point already developed mild and irreversable depression.
After Carol made her notidely quick escape, mother decided to merely air her thoughts aloud,very aloud and it was at this point my 'rattyness' kicked me up the arse, out of bed and forced me to 'remind' mum that i would sort myself out with a nice spot outside boots if she so desperately craved a pair of deck shoes from the wardrobe in my room, this was replyed with "help yourself to the boxes in the garage you spoilt little bitch"
Completely sensible for a mother to suggest her daughter be a socially outcast transient,making house in the piss splayed slabs outside cashpoints in order to gain full uninterupted early morning access to her 'winter socks'.
By this point I knew that i would be unable to shrug off anymore requests for me to file my socks or dust the ridges in my cords and when she woke me once more to tell me my sister was on the phone and i was not to come upstairs in trainers i politely told her, not nessasarily in these words that she could pro-create respectively on her own.
"dont you dare you cheeky little bitch"
"oh do be quiet woman you dont intimidate me"
"Oh really?,well i should"
"why what you gonna do mum? hit me?"

Now i can say with complete absolution i was in no way shape or form prepared for what happened next,if you were a fortune teller (and by all means a very talented fortune teller,and in another dimension where i would A.beleive anything remotely to do with the occult or mystism and B. be prepared to pay to witness it) and you told me up to this point,then preceded to tell me what actually happened next,I would require a full refund and would have told you in no uncertain terms that you were "a charleton",if however you had told me Dave Benson Philips had broken through the front room window with a bible and started preaching extracts from genesis,in limerick form,naked,covered in hand etched tatooes of the various past teatchers and parents he had 'gunked' on Get Yer own Back,smiling maniacly and claiming he was the god of all childrens games shows,i would have been less inclined to disbeleive you...

SHE HIT ME

suprisingly hard in the stomach,then as I laughed at her, continued the onslaught to the point where I was forced to lash out in defense,unluckily this resulted in a chop to the eyes,which only proved to make my now clinically insane 56 year old mother more clinacally insane,by this point she'd got me in a hold,arms behind my back and life long pacefist Father joggin madly down the stares crying out "noooo oh no please dont fight", i chose this moment to free myself from a hormonaly unstable, baron and unforgiving ball of rage by gently kicking her in the fanny (a low move you might suggest,but I adhere not to the marquis for advise on real fighting, if you have a mad scottish gypsy attacking you from behind,the etiquette of a gentleman proves wholly useless).She grasped me by the hair and twisted my neck round to push me to the ground in what she later reffered to as a nessasary retraint.My father seeing this tryed to detatch us and in the process got a punch in the face and kick to the nads, and anyone who has had the honour of meeting daddly Lea knows full well that man deserves nothing but awards and cheers...this scrappling and shouting and general chav style confrontation continued for some ten more minute before the barmy bag of piss decided to walk on what I hope was a long cold walk to my sisters in Lancaster.
Me and my father left bleeding and in shock, feeling somewhat akin to apollo creed after balboa had left the ring.
Had this actualy happened?
Had I actualy just partaken in a proper fist fight with my own mother?
Has she really ultimatumned my own dad into its a her or me situation?

I sadly have to report that this is not a fabrication and I indeed did enter the ring with my own spawner....and she has indeed refused to come back to the house until dad has nothing to do with me.
Now i can,as i write this,start to feel there may be some of you also in shock right now possibly asking yourselves similar questions to the above

Has she really just blogged a very serious personal story?
Has she actually just revealed something to us all that it takes many people to merely hint at their phsycologists?
Has she really done all this in such a jovial and lighthearted fashion?

Well...yes I have because I find humour in the strangest of places...and I certainly thought getting twatted by my aged mum was worth a cheap laugh.
If youre prepared to laugh at practically any joke, then youre laughing directly or in directly at somebody elses suffering, so go on,feel good, ive offered mine up for free off my own back.
if nothing else truly orignal comedy.

over and out (with a sore head and slight whiplash)

Ginge
xx