Some writers say they have a 'knotí they keep worrying at that makes them write. Maybe my mother, Wendy, has been my knot. I always knew I would write about her after her death, when I was no longer caught up in the intense, all-consuming business of being her daughter. Tributeís origins lie in the eulogy I wrote for her.

Rather than a lachrymose farewell, this was largely a celebration of Wendyís idiosyncrasies and wicked sense of humour. Instead of trying to choke through it myself, I had my sister-in-law, the accomplished actress Jessica Turner, 'performí it - voicing my mother's many Lady Bracknell-esque quotes and capturing her curious ability to be both withering and warm in one exchange. As the many mourners knew her so well, I could use shorthand, but while further developing the eulogy into a dramatic piece for Tribute, I needed to explain Wendyís quirks to strangers - thus her backstory and her relationship with her own impossible mother, the fascinating Flora, required an airing.

Though I have much in common with my mother, getting inside her peculiar head to recreate her is sometimes hard. Furthermore, she was from a different world, almost a different planet. Her 87 years spanned some serious historical upheavals and took in experiences well beyond the ken of my generation: from the luxuries of colonial life to real poverty and hunger; from un-anaesthetised teeth pulling to adventures on troop ships; she both witnessed the horrors of and served in World War Two. She told a million stories Iíve yet to relate and through this project Iíve begun to reanimate a person that I at once knew deeply, but sometimes couldnít fathom - a strange hybrid woman. At times it has been painfulÖ let her rest. But also somehow necessary - the start of the unravelling of a knot that will probably be a lifetimeís work.