My Mum's Bad Diaries turns decades-old teenage diary entries into a lively two-person record of memory meeting the present tense. Jenny Ackland reads from the notebooks she kept as an 80s teenager, while Lily Ackland listens and responds with curiosity, skepticism, affection, and quick comic timing. The format sounds loose, but it has a strong engine. An ordinary diary detail opens the door, and the conversation keeps finding the larger pattern underneath it. A roast dinner, ice cream, a band night, or an election party can lead into how teenagers used to gather, what public life felt like before constant phones, and why socializing seems to belong to another era. The show is funny first. It is also sharper than its casual rhythm suggests. Reality TV becomes a way to talk about emotional labor, avoidance, gendered expectations, and the odd demand that women absorb the fallout of men's unmanaged feelings. Film chats stretch from Wuthering Heights to Hamnet, with attention to tension, consent, abuse, performance, styling, and why a story can feel dull even when the material is dark. The pair also roam through Love is Blind, Summer House, Carol Bessette, JFK Jr., fashion, fame, editing choices, and the social theater of couples under pressure. Travel stories bring a different kind of chaos. A missed flight in Paris, a bag sent ahead to Cairo, and a delayed plane with a stuck overhead locker become part complaint, part farce, part family checkpoint. The mother-daughter frame matters because it changes the stakes. These are not polished memoir chapters delivered from a distance. They are old selves being read back in real time, with embarrassment, recognition, disagreement, and surprise still in the room. The show works because it lets tiny facts stay tiny for a moment before showing what they reveal. It can be tender. It can be cutting. It is rarely solemn for long. The recurring joke of bad content and not being sued fits the whole enterprise: self-aware, untidy, affectionate, and more perceptive than it pretends to be.