Last Mother's Day

So that could be the last Mother’s Day which I spend with my children for some time, since the date falls in the middle of the university term. 

But, don’t worry about me - I have a plan for next time. 

First I shall wander around the house howling and drooling, then head into the town centre for some pacing and loud threatening muttering. 

Memo to self: do not give up alcohol next Lent.

Be that as it may, this was as close to perfect a Mother’s Day as I remember.

I woke to a cup of coffee from Nigel: “Shall I send the children in now?”

For a moment I imagined enthusiastic young children bounding in in their dressing gowns.

“Children? Won’t Perran and Carenza mind?”

But it turned out it was them he meant – they slouched in, crawled into bed with us and took up all the space.  It was lovely. 

Later Nigel drove us through snow to pick up Pascoe in Norwich and we took him off to the workhouse (see yesterday’s post).  It was frosty as Siberia and the walls of the work house chapel were made of flint.  It was like an embodiment of the expression “as cold as charity”.  But the café was warm and the cream tea splendid.  I only wish I hadn’t read the information  board – food was being served in what used to be “The Itch Ward”, so called because they used to treat infectious diseases there.

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