On Victoria Wood

She was female. She was funny. She was Northern.

I am at least two of those things (though we hail from different parts of the North), and I take a regular stab at the third.

I have distinct memories of seeing her on TV when I was younger. The repeats of Dinnerladies and her stand-up shows were always on UKTV Gold, which in turn was always on in our house. I watched her and watched my parents laugh at her, a northern female comedian was well-loved by everyone in my family.

This made a difference, to me at least. She sounded like I did and like the women I encountered every day. She was funny and unapologetic about it, just like they were. I never once thought about what she looked like. I didn't give a tiny hoot about whether she was beautiful or she dressed well or her make-up looked nice. To me she was lightning sharp, and intelligent, and obviously very ambitious and dedicated to her craft. I watched her at about the age people started to call me funny, and at that age I cared much more about that than anyone calling me pretty.

The way I felt about her was the way I felt about myself. It was the way I wanted other people to feel about me too, that everything I was would be more important than how I looked and my accent didn't mean I couldn't be successful and respected.

I got a short sharp shock when I realised that both my looks and my accent would be very regularly up for discussion. Victoria Wood was one element of a wonderful, confidence-building childhood which left me completely unprepared to be considered 'ugly' and have my accent ridiculed on the daily later in my life. I lost sight for at least 7 or 8 years of what she had taught me:

That I was worthy of whatever I wanted even if I didn't meet the standards of people who had a very narrow definition of what was 'attractive' and 'appealing'. That it was okay to be unashamedly loud.

I feel that way now, again. Although I had honestly forgotten what a huge part of that feeling she had been until the news of her passing away came through last week. 

She meant that I didn't even comprehend the reasons why people would say women couldn't be funny - because how could this be true when I had seen it so frequently? Not just that, she was funny like the women I knew were funny, the way everyday people can time things so perfectly and not many people can replicate.

Hearing her standing on stages in front of hundreds of people, on TV, adored by everyone, meant I didn't link my non-RP accent to the likelihood of my success - her vowels sounded like my vowels so if she could be successful in the arts, then why couldn't I?

More than any of that, she brought laughter to our house. She made me feel like making people laugh was the most wonderful thing you could do, I'm still convinced that's true.

Thank you Victoria, you will be so very missed.