A Quote by Emily Atack

I sounded like a fantasist at school when you'd go round the class, and they'd say, 'What do Mummy and Daddy do?' I was like, 'Mummy's an actress, and Daddy's a musician, and he plays his guitar with Bonnie Tyler.' And the teachers used to, like, roll their eyes, like, 'She's mental!'
Those days of every child having a mummy and daddy who lived at home - Daddy went to work, and Mummy stayed at home and took care of everyone - those days have almost gone, and it's so much more unconventional now.
What must it be like for a little boy to read that daddy never loved mummy?
I love a cardboard coffin. Both Mummy and Daddy went off in cardboard coffins, painted - Daddy's was rifle green. Beautifully made.
Whenever I get home the house becomes messy and chaotic. Kinvara, my daughter, said, 'Mummy, do you like it when Daddy is away, because the house is nice and clean?'
The only reason I went for that goal is that I wanted to say: 'Now, mummy-daddy, will you love me?'
By the way, I've decided to start referring to myself exclusively as 'Daddy.' Everytime Daddy would otherwise say 'I' or 'Me,' Daddy is now going to say 'Daddy.
It's always the mother's fault, ain't it?" she said softly, collecting her coat. "That boy turn out bad cause his mama a drunk, or she a junkie. She let him run wild, she don't teach him right from wrong. She never home when he back from school. Nobody ever say his daddy a drunk, or his daddy not home after school. And nobody ever say they some kids just damned mean.
I wouldn't say I'm a mummy's girl, but I have grown to have a tremendous appreciation of her as a woman. I was very much a daddy's girl.
Mind you, I've always been musical... Mother used to sit me on her knee and I'd whisper, 'Mummy, Mummy, sing me a lullaby do,' and she'd say: 'Certainly my angel, my wee bundle of happiness, hold my beer while I fetch me banjo.'
When I was five, I discovered a secret box that contained Mummy's stage makeup. It was like finding buried treasure. I tried the rouge, the eye shadow, the lipstick. But I couldn't get the rouge off. Mummy spanked me terribly.
Two hundred and fifty mummies covered in gold. Something like this cannot be explained - mummy after mummy covered in shining gold.
I remember Mr. Mayer very well. He sort of liked to be the father - no, he liked to be treated like you thought he was Daddy, but he didn't treat you like Daddy at all.
I did a forward roll for the kids the other day, thinking it'd be a breeze like it was when I was six, and I had to lie flat for about 20 minutes afterwards - 'Leave mummy alone; she's feeling a bit dizzy.'
While Daddy liked to stick to the rules, Mummy liked to bend them.
For years I've wanted to write a book about mummies, and had been following the science of mummy CT scans when the premise for 'The Keepsake' occurred to me: what if an 'ancient' mummy turns out to have a bullet in its leg? How does a modern murder victim get turned into a mummy?
I woke up my pop in the middle of the night 'cause the boogie man's under my bed. My pop is this big, huge man, nothing can hurt him. I went running into his bedroom like, 'Daddy, Daddy, the boogie man's under the bed!' Pop opens one eye, he's like, 'Is the boogie man bigger than me?' 'Well, no Daddy, he's not.' 'Well, you got your choice: you can deal with the boogie man or you can deal with me.'
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!