Janet Christie's Mum's the Word - Youngest goes glam in Milan

By Janet Christie

Published 4th Mar 2023, 04:55 BST

Updated 16th Mar 2023, 17:57 BST

“Sooooo excited. It’s been the dream of a lifetime,” I overhear Youngest telling relatives asking what she’s up to. “Always wanted to go to Milan. Gucci, Fendi, Armani, Prada, blah, pricey brands, spraff, design museums, galleries…”

Well, she’s never mentioned it to me. I’d LOVE to go to Milan. I’m sure we could…

“No,” she says. “I’m going with my uni friends. For my course. Mums aren’t invited. God, just let me live my life! We wanna be free, to do what we wanna do!”

Hmph. Maybe I shouldn’t have spent the panto money taking the kids to see Primal Scream and danced around with them to Loaded that time.

“Anyway, I’ve been,” I say. “Grand old shopping arcade, beautiful cathedral made out of icing sugar, drone…”

She’s already left the room to curate her capsule wardrobe. Just as well because my interrailing and sleeping in parks is not behaviour I wish to discuss with Youngest, who has already booked a very nice Airbnb, guided tour and spa day like the grown up I never was.

After her departure we get updates from Milan and it looks suitably glam, pictures of galleries and statues, architecture, surprisingly nutritious meals and she’s walked miles.

“Did you not go clubbing at all,” I ask later during the welcome home interrogation.

“Yeah, we did go to a club, but it was 20 Euros a drink and someone nudged me so I dropped mine and I refused to buy another (that sounds right, always a pleasingly stubborn child), plus it was full of old men your age, so we left…”

“Good. I mean, that’s a shame.”

“I did go crazy at one point though.”

“Oh?” I scan her exposed skin for new ink. Nothing visible.

“No, not that. I bought a bit of Fendi. Not fake, real.”

Gulp. I clutch at the positive and say, “Well, that’s marvellous, when in Milan… I’m sure it’ll hold its value on Vinted if you have to sell. And it’s your money - working full time hours as well as doing a full time uni course. Dunno how you do it.”

“Ken. Look,” she says, unfurling a short length of fabric. “Nice, eh? And not fake, official, from a credited place. Ridiculous at 30 euros but…”

“Enough to make one of your teeny tiny outfits.”

“Yep. And I’d much rather have something I designed myself anyway. Unique.”

That’s my girl.