Suck on this Gina Ford.

Gillian Martin and Emma Kaufmann cannot claim to be lifelong friends. They cannot share clothes. They have totally different accents and live a gazillion miles away from each other. But they have managed to do something very special. They have together built up a Tupperware Distribution Business with an annual turnover of $2.3 million USD.

No? Well I would have believed that before believing these two feisty mothers who have never met in real like, could have co-written a book, the best book, on modern parenting. I would go so far as calling it A woefully inadequate guide to early motherhood. My type of parenting.

I sat down with them recently over the net, poured us all a few stiff ones
and asked them the important questions.


You two have written a book together yet never met. What will you do if indeed you meet,  and one of you fancies the other’s husband while the other hates your kids?

Emma: The last time I fancied someone’s husband was – actually I can’t for the life of me remember. There is something distinctly unfanciable about friend’s husbands. I’m pretty sure it’s a genetic thing like there is probably a gene that makes sure you don’t fancy your brothers (unless you live in certain parts of the United States such as West Virginia where inbreeding is de rigeur) – the same goes for other people’s husbands – if I do think of my gal pals and their hubbies making love it tends to be about as erotic as a nature documentary featuring slugs. Not that Gillian’s husband isn’t rather amusing – I talked to him briefly on the phone once – but in the unlikely event that he is unbearably sexy in real life and I couldn’t keep my hands off him I’m sure Gillian would ruin the fantasy by telling me that he slurps while he eats his Frosties or something. As for her kids I think I would like Gillian’s – they seem a little bit kooky and off the wall like mine.

Gillian: In fairness the Frosties thing is the least of it with Mister Martin. I’d say given that situation, and knowing us, we’d write a bloody book about it!

A mini bar stocked with vodka should be the first priority in your hospital suite. Discuss.

Emma: In the interests of disclosure I’m more of a sugar/carb addict than a boozer. When my second daughter was born I was scarfing a box of a dozen doughnuts moments after birth while my daughter suckled away at my breast. I don’t think it really gets any better than that – the maternal high and 6,000 calories worth of deep fried dough.

Gillian: When they took our ante-natal class round the hospital maternity suite and showed us the birthing room I assumed the rack that held the gas and air contraption was a draught pump wired to a barrel of ale below. How disappointed was I went nothing flowed out when I bit into that mouthpiece three weeks later. My legal case is still ongoing.

Who do you think would win in a bitch slap fight between Barack Obama and David Cameron and why?

Emma: Cameron would win, no question. It all comes down to a question of sexual preferences I think. I don’t think it’s too far fetched to think of Obama wearing a gimp mask in the bedroom while Michelle shouts commands and wields a whip while wearing six inch heels. In short, I don’t think he could fight his way out of a wet paper bag. Whereas for Cameron, a lusty public school boy, I should imagine that military role playing features large in his and Sam’s repertoire and I can well imagine him mounting her, naked save for a pith helmet while shouting “All right Sam! Ready to storm the trenches! Chhaarrge!”

Gillian: I disagree heartily with Emma on this. Not only could Obama kick Cameron’s ass, my seven year old daughter could kick Cameron’s ass. In fact I reckon that aging North Korean dictator with the dodgy hair and the life threatening medical condition could have a square go and come out on top.

Look at this. 
Can you please explain why I find it so offensive?

Emma: For one terrible moment I thought that was you Mrs Woog and I was a bit angry. I was like, this is not the wine sodden harlot with fags stubbed out on her armchair I have come to know and love. But then I looked at a pic of you on your website and realized the cheesy lady wasn’t you. Phew! Why is the pic offensive? Well I suppose because the smiles are very forced. The guy looks guilty, satanic really, like he’s having an affair with a high class prostitute who he thinks may be about to sell pics of their tryst to a local tabloid. The woman senses this – she is insecure despite the fact she has perfect teeth. She is clinging onto him for dear life. Behind the smiles is great sorrow – mark my words. Although when the sex scandal does break Mrs Chicklet teeth will stand by her man I have no doubt!

Gillian: You find it offensive because it’s me and my family. Our general perfection just upsets people I find. But what can you do?

Did you have any good fights while trying to write this book trans-continentally? And is trans-continentally really a word?

Emma: To be honest it’s a bit weird that we never had a blazing row. I am not a tolerant person in real life, nor a particularly easy going one so the reason we didn’t fight is probably down to Gillian not being a very confrontational person I think. I mean there was never a situation where I wanted to rip one of her paragraphs to pieces and shout “how dare you split an infinitive like that you brazen harlot!” She just has a very good grasp of grammar what can I say. But if she’d every used a double negative I’m pretty sure I would have given her a right dressing down.

Gillian: Emma knows I’m a lover not a fighter. However a misused apostrophe can, and has, driven me to violence in the past. Luckily Emma and I are as fascistic about grammar as each other. In seriousness we were always really honest with one another. Something didn’t work- then we told each other so straight. We’ve reams of stuff that didn’t make the book, like Emma’s recipes for placenta and my chapter on how to make a realistic Voodoo doll of your antenatal class leader.

Is there any plans for a follow up?  Maybe Xanax at Breakfast?

Emma: I’m pretty sure Doughnuts have not been well documented in literature. I’d like to see us pen something like ‘Doughnuts for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner: Our Sugar–Coated Trip into Carbohydrate Hell’ but maybe I’m telling you a bit too much about my private life and despite the rumours that all Scots eat deep fried Mars Bars you can see Gillian is skinny (bitch) and therefore is probably not obsessed with fried Mars Bars and Doughnuts the way I am so I might have to fly solo on this one ….but I think I’m onto something …the tragic memoir mixed with greasy treats – it can’t fail.

Gillian: I think the teenage years are going to provide me with a lot of material. I’ve one on the cusp of it right now. I just need to get him to sign that waiver and then I’ll be good to go.

Complete these sentences.

Emma: Mrs Woog is the sexiest thing to come out of Australia since Dame Edna (insert from Mrs Woog – you are going to be so let down if we ever meet)

Gillian: Mrs Woog is everything I dreamt an Australian woman could be. Frequently pissed off and with a superb array of colourful vocabulary.

Emma : My mother always told me to save my virginity for that special someone (sod that!)

Gillian: My mother always told me to eat prunes. I’m still not sure why, she wasn’t even around when rationing was going. I still have a tin she gave me in my cupboard six years on

Emma: When in doubt lie, bullshit, smile, give people chocolate.

Gillian: When in doubt ask for the finest pharmaceuticals that hands can be laid on at that particular moment in time. This works for birth but can also be applied to other situations, I find.

Emma: It ain’t over until you’ve had a womb prolapse

Gillian: It ain’t over til that dowry hits my upturned palm. Then she’s your problem, chum.

To get your hands on a copy of Cocktails at Naptime, go to your local bookshop or click on here to order directly from Finch Publishing. But please buy this book if you know someone who has got themselves in the family way. Sure has hell beats the shit out a copy of The Contented Little Baby Book.

But because my generosity continues to know no bounds, you can get yours here for free.
Please comment on this post, telling me your most woefully inadequate parenting tip. Random.Org will select two lucky readers to win a copy of Cocktails at Naptime on Friday 5th November.

I will go first.

Do not run away from your child screaming when they come to you bleeding from a fall from the roundabout at the local park. Now your turn….