Apart from a sprinkling of 'e by gums' and 'cor blimeys' there was a special voice that was turned on whenever engaging complete strangers, high society and the rent man in particular. This voice had a noticable high end twang attatched to it where anything that should have ended in 'ave' for example ended in 'arve' instead thus turning microwave into microwarve and immediately ensuring the full attention of the entire staff down at Currys and PC World. and all its share holders in particular - apparantly only the Queen ever ordered a microwave with such educated finess but coming from a dockers wife in disguise was just to much for the young delicate things that worked for PC World to handle where many resigned when confronted with my mum and a barrage of 'arves' where even compter ended up as ;computar.
Anyway, what she lacked in refinement she more than made up for it with crowd stopping attributes such as stunning good looks, endless legs that showed no sign of terminating anywhere, a frontage that would have derailed an express train and hips that cordinated all these parts into perfect motion - until she met Uncle Reg, a superdrunk from down the Old Kent Road, where walking in a straight line was no longer a possibilty wheras walking into walls was.
As a mum she tolerated all my bad habits like setting the local school alight, derailing anything that ran on rails, stuffing petrol bombs inside peoples letter boxes but drew the line at trying to launch the neighbours cat into orbit strapped to a Pains Wessex rocket that earnt a very sore backside bared for the ocassion across her knee where after, by way of compensation I suppose, sent me out to buy and ice cream but where I would buy another rocket instead - then go looking for another cat. As her open hand progressed to some old battered leather slipper these 'hidings' became most unbearable if you forgive the pun but with time evan that old leather slipper became ineffective as it just more or less bounced off where it was supposed to be doing the most good then I was packed off to a string of boys homes where slipperings were on a far grander scale and one of these from a rare selection of ancient old crones achieved more than anthing my poor old mum ever could where the saying "You won't sit down for a week" never took on a more truer meaning.
Now my mum could sing, or so she thought, and unannounced and with sudden ear splitting warning she would burst into song in the wrong key and the wrong words. During these outbursts she would pop all the buttons on her blouse and any one elses who happened to be passing anywhere within a 500 yard radius. Often, and without the slightest provocation or consideration of my street cred, she would hit a high C then de excelerate into a booming base thus ruining that all time London classic, Knees Up Muvver Brarn once and for all at the same time as being barred from most pubs South of Wapping and all those North of it.
Anyway, more on my old mum another time, another place.