Mind that time when littlest kid invited Nicola Sturgeon to tea.
Originally published in The Courier on May 16th 2020
I laughed when Gillian Lord first approached me, then an editor with The Courier, to write a weekly column for DC Thomson. We were in lockdown, and while many had nothing but time on their hands—either furloughed and enjoying the sunshine or working from home—my husband and I were still plugging away, juggling work and raising our three bairns while trying to stay sane.
I was far from a professional writer. Although Gillian and I hit it off straight away, we had only met a handful of times through my role as The Courier’s Food and Drink Ambassador, so I wondered why she was asking me.
What was she thinking?
At first, I assumed she wanted me to share my café recipes to help people navigate the tsunami-sized wave of lockdown home baking. That made sense—I’d already been posting them on the café’s social media pages, hoping to help bored folk channel their creativity during this strange period of ‘spare time.’
But no, that wasn’t it. She wanted a 700-word, light-hearted column about being cooped up at home with the kids. I admit, I wondered what she’d heard about my parenting (or lack thereof). Was she sure she had the right person? She was adamant she did.
But I wasn’t a professional writer! Sure, I could assemble a recipe, knock out a decent Facebook post, and spin a yarn when chatting with folk—but an actual column?
By the end of our chat, Gillian’s belief in me had won out. I agreed to submit something to see where it went.
A lot has changed
A lot has changed in (almost) six years. Originally Cooped Up With the Kids, the column was rebranded after lockdown as A View From Here. It still appears every Saturday in The Courier—and now in The Press & Journal.
When the columns were first published, they were also available online, which made it easy for me to share them with friends and family beyond the paper’s circulation area. They all very kindly read along and—just as kindly—offered their feedback, whether complimentary or not!
Writing this column for the past five and a half years has been a joy. Gillian’s faith in me set me on a path I never could have predicted. Though the column is still in print, none of the weekly pieces are shared online anymore, so the best I can do is post a photo of the print version for those who still want to read it from afar.
What happened next? I could never have imagined
The warm and enthusiastic reception of my weekly column gave me the confidence to return to college and study for an HNC in Professional Writing at the City of Glasgow College. Now, I’m pursuing a Master’s in TV Scriptwriting at Glasgow Caledonian University, working alongside some of the most talented writers I’ve ever met. If you’d told me back in 2020 that this was where I’d end up, I wouldn’t have believed you.
Thinking back on it all, I recently reread my very first column. It made me laugh (with just a little cringing!), but I am glad I was brave and did it. Gillian and I became great friends, and, along with another good friend of ours, Murray, we published our Scots Ink Substack early last year. The three of us were overwhelmed by the support it received.
I’ll post a link here: Cooped Up with the Kids: Mary-Jane Duncan’s Little One Invited Nicola Sturgeon to Tea, and pop it in print below for you to see—hopefully, you’ll enjoy looking back, too.
This is just a reminder that I no longer own this piece; DC Thomson first published it in The Courier on May 16, 2020.
Cooped Up with the Kids:
Mary-Jane Duncan’s Little One Invited Nicola Sturgeon to Tea.
It’s just a normal week of lockdown when Mary-Jane Duncan’s little one invites Nicola Sturgeon to tea…
Littlest kid has invited Nicola Sturgeon for tea and cake. Of course she has. It was during a virtual Q&A session by the Scottish Parliament’s Parent Club run to provide some reassurance to wee ones.
I’ll admit, when asked I thought it was a great idea. Just a quick video of her asking questions then send it over, easy peasy. Two tech-savvy teens on hand to help, what could go wrong? Never in a million years did I imagine she’d ask the first minister who was helping look after HER mental health and would she like to pop round for tea and cake when the pandemic is over?
Ahhhh wee soul, what a lovely offer. The media LOVED it. Cue my heart bursting with pride. Everyone, including Nicola, lapped it up and it was reported all over. Imagine, even shores as far away as Northern Ireland! The Irish branch of the family nodding with delight at the media darling in our midst.
The newspapers missed out on herself running about the house greeting while her sisters taunt her about being turned into a meme. Me? I’m left thinking brilliant, just brilliant. I have to clean the skirting boards and as we’re 87,334 days into lockdown, I’m fairly certain the house resembles a Jumanji sequel rather than somewhere Nicola would want to set herself down. Even for a beloved Tunnock’s wafer.
Maybe she’d prefer to sit in the garden? It’s been cracking weather so we’ve ignored dusty skirtings and got stuck into that instead – 17 years of neglect. Abandoned since eldest blessed us with her presence not long after we moved in, it never stood a chance with the subsequent arrival of Two and Three.
These past 97 weeks of April and May have been beautiful so we’re digging, planting and nodding our heads to cement the pretence of knowing what we’re doing. I’m the love child of Charlie Dimmock and Alan Titchmarsh all because we’ve a solitary tomato plant in a plastic greenhouse…
Himself and I lug all the accumulated nonsense out of the “big shed” only to realise our hard working ”helpers” in charge of the “wee shed” have in fact turned it into a den. Complete with couch, table, TV and tins of fizzy pop. I hate to approve, and certainly don’t show it, but there’s a tiny voice in my head debating if I can squeeze in a mini bar.
Don’t judge. I adore my children. Wouldn’t be without them. We’re so blessed. They’re the apple of my eye. Is that enough platitudes? Because I really, really don’t want to cook them tea any more and if I’m ensconced in my Mumshed hopefully they’ll remember how much I love them even if I refuse to come out to make their dinner.
I’m here to ensure everything is all right
I’m the constant in their lives while himself continues with important, frontline, emergency service work. I’m here to reassure everything is all right. No, the world won’t end because you didn’t get to sit your Highers. Yes, lilac hair is OK. No, you can’t have the boyfriend over – not even for social distance dating. Middle kid is a tad less effort, considering she was an expert at social distancing even before COVID-19. The oldest pair have morphed into pandas. Feeding for 12 hours a day, sport dark circles and are constantly hungry. Littlest kid is another matter. Up with the lark, instantly chatty and raring to go. I take slightly longer to resemble a decent human being. She’s worked out I’ve reached the “sure, fine, whatever you want” stage of pandemic parenting. She can smell resignation and knows she can get away with murder, as long as it’s before 9am.
As a mother I constantly worry about the safety of my children. Especially the teenager brave enough to roll her eyes and talk back to me. I’ll keep on keeping on with the help of my worn-out mantra and checklist. Here they are, just in case you need them.
Mantra: “They’re safe, they’re warm, they’re fed, they’re loved”. Repeat whilst rocking in a corner, gin in hand.
Checklist: Awake? Yes.
Clothed? OK, nothing structured but at least yes if with an elasticated waist….
Coffee? Hell yes.
Sanity? Patience? People, we have a runner…