A year ago on Saturday my mum, the Guardian writer Michele Hanson, died of a massive spontaneous cerebral haemorrhage, while doing what she loved most – walking Joey, her boxer dog. Her dog featured in her Guardian column spanning 30 years, a column that started with me, about Treasure, the teenage terror.
She wrote to turn something awful into something funny. I was awful and it was very funny. On top of me being awful she received lots of criticism for her awful single parenting. However, 25 years later, she was still writing, just not about me, as I was no longer awful. I had realised how witty, sharp and compassionate my mother was. Just in time. What a relief that the last thing I sent her was a joke about constipation. I have spent the last year working out what to do with the dogs and tortoise, and going through 40 years of writing and music with no family but some wonderful friends.
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