Mothers’ Day, or Mothering Sunday, as my mother insisted it should be called. She said Mothers’ Day was American and commercial, and not the religious celebration it should be. When Emma and Richard were small, we went to church on Mothering Sunday and all the children would receive tiny handmade posies of daffodils and some greenery to give to their mothers: it was very charming, and reminded everyone of the old tradition of serving girls being given that day off in order to visit their mothers. I was very spoilt today, I have to admit, and received beautiful flowers and lovely cards. One of the things which lockdown has brought home to most people I think, is the importance of family, and I count myself as extremely fortunate to have my immediate family close by. Today was a difficult one for my wider family with relatives in Africa and Australia: who knows when they may get together?
The late posting of the blog was firstly because I had several phone calls, then I watched Michael Palin in Brazil, what an amazing place, and then the final episode of “Bloodlands.” I think James Nesbitt is a great actor, but I freely admit to being none the wiser by the end of the hour. So much double crossing, I was mystified. Explanations on a postcard please to a bear of very little brain.
We ran round the park with Adam in the morning, and after they left at lunchtime, I sat down to read the paper. The news is relentlessly depressing and/or tedious, and has an entirely soporific effect. The back of my eyelids is infinitely more interesting. I did bestir myself and tidy up the house and garden, most of which is rearranged after Adam’s visit. Small ornamental cat turns up in the bathroom for example.
This is a good challenge for bored lockdown dwellers: when you change the toilet roll, does the paper run down the front or the back? My mother preferred the backwards mode, I prefer the front as it seems easier to get at. And while we’re on the subject, my pet hate is in public toilets where there is a huge drum of the stuff, when the previous person tears it off so close that the next person cannot find the end, and sits there spinning it round in frustration, hoping to release at least one sheet. You can tell I am getting seriously bored to contemplate such world-shattering events.
This is a great piece to celebrate Mothering Sunday: chosen by John Humphreys this afternoon on Classic FM. Skip to about 11 minutes for the famous bit. One of the comments says the conductor looks like a sorcerer commanding his followers.