Our Mo - tumour and all

Utterly absorbing, powerful, emotional and all-consuming - the two-hour-topping drama of Mo Mowlam’s life from Labour’s first winning election until her death had me in fits of giggles, uncomfortable silences and pouring tears.

I was torn by how aghast I was at a clearly testosterone fuelled Government, and how inspired I was to change the world no matter what challenges lie in front of one – be them living and thriving in a man’s world, or battling cancer.

I suppose I can boast living in these shoes to some small extent, being both a Digital Editor (not a whole lot of women there) and having survived a far less threatening cervical cancer in my early 20s. My ‘change the world’ goal has, I’m afraid to report, yet to materialise.

Julie Walters, whom I already knew to be at her worst thoroughly watchable, blew me away with an unapologetic portrayal of a woman who both embodied the female in politics at her thunderous best, and one who was so masculine as to all at once join and threaten her alpha male colleagues – pissing with the cubicle door open, sitting with her legs wide apart, and swearing like a builder after 5 pints of larger. It appalled and excited me all at once.

I was devastated at Mowlam’s fury as she nearer her death that the ‘larger than life Mo that everyone loved’ might not have been ‘her’ at all, but the work of the tumour which was already pressing into her frontal lobe and altering her behaviour.

Mo was still our Mo – tumour and all. She was a woman of courage, passion and confidence. I can only hope that by the time I turn my toes up, I could have achieved even half of what she managed.