It's my Mother's funeral tomorrow.
I stepped out of a delightful school trip with my Latin pupils and into the car to travel down with Nigel and Pascoe. The twins will join us there.
For administrative reasons, there's been a long interval between Mum's death and her funeral. 'That must be difficult,' people say.
But now as we drive down, the sun is lighting up the white blackthorn blossom all the way along the hedges. Primroses and celandines glimmer on the verge.
The delay has allowed new growth to take place. In our pond appear newts and frogspawn, in our hedge, the birds are in full chorus.
And in our memories, superceding her last period in hospital and the sadness of Alzheimers and Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, the Mum of old has had time to return, lively, humorous and full of creative ideas.
