Mum’s the word.

Last night I had a great idea for something to write about and then ‘the wife’ asked me something or other and I completely forgot the idea. Shame really because at the time it felt like an absolute belter – it was a simple concept, I’m sure of that, but it seemed like it had so much potential and for a moment I thought to myself “blimey, that’s great, I’ll write about that tomorrow and then I’ll be back in business after that mean spirited, third rate post on charity”. That I can’t now remember my excellent idea is deeply frustrating and it seems extra so because I can’t even remember what ‘the wife’ asked me as we sat on the sofa watching MasterChef. I’m sure it was something really, really important.

So now here I am writing something about nothing, about the baby that never came or the first rain drop in a shower that will never happen. In some ways it’s easier to write about nothing. I suppose it gives you a freedom to just go in any direction you like and not really care where you end up. I also suppose the problem is that when I write about nothing it generally goes nowhere and ends up being even less engaging than the nothing it was to start with. As you can clearly see. This is bad. This is way worse than the charity post.

So let’s make things a bit easier and write about my Mum. I love my Mum. She’s great. Tomorrow is Mother’s Day and so I have sent her a card. I’ll buy her some flowers when I next see her (perhaps just before, to add a sliver of surprise), which has yet to be arranged but can’t be too far off. Tomorrow the clocks go forward too. I just thought I’d remind you. If you’re reading this after tomorrow then I’m sorry you woke up late but then you really shouldn’t rely on someone like me to remind you about the clocks going forward. To my eternal shame I have forgotten my Mum’s birthday twice. I don’t know how it happened but I feel very bad that it did. Twice. Fortunately Dad rescued me from a hiding to nothing. At least when you’ve missed your Mum’s birthday twice you know a third time just isn’t an option. I’d have to perform hara-kiri on myself, kneeling in a cauliflower field in Lincolnshire, and even then I wouldn’t be out of the woods. Or the field.

Because my Mum is great I’ve never had to worry about having a Mum that isn’t. Don’t get me wrong, she’s not perfect. How could she be, she’s human. There, there’s an interesting fact you can share with your friends: my Mum isn’t a robot or the product of artificial intelligence. Having a good Mum is by no means a given and I probably should remember that more often. Perhaps I secretly do. Having a good Dad is also highly advantageous. My Dad is also great. Again, not a robot, but great none the less. Dad doesn’t like to be left out. He would say he doesn’t mind but really he does. Between them they gave us a warm home and food on the table and a good education. They also taught us to be polite and that it is never a bad thing to be helpful to others or to show gratitude. They tried to teach us the value of money and the virtues of honesty, to varying degrees of success. They were also very good at offering advice, whether the advice was good or not. Back to Mum.

Thanks to Mum I can tie my shoelaces and make a bed and hang out washing properly and iron a shirt a hell of a lot better than most. Thanks to her I still like ‘I Know Him So Well’ by Barbara Dickson and Elaine Paige (it’s definitely the only thing I like about Elaine Paige) and ‘Easy Lover’ by Phil Collins and Philip Bailey. Thanks to Mum I’ll never make anyone eat a fishcake for breakfast and I’ll always lose my temper when domestic objects don’t fit in the right place really quickly. I’ve got (the remnants of) my ginger hair from Mum and I’m fairly sure she’s responsible for the fact I’m not anywhere near as tall as big brother and sister. I don’t mind that though, I have other superpowers.

Thanks to Mum I’ve got the job I have and thanks to her I do it pretty well (the last part of that statement is permanently questionable and enormously subjective). Because of her I can sling out a sharp little insult or put-down without too much effort and although I would make a mess of it I could just about sew a button back on. If you asked me nicely I could even do both those things at the same time. My Mum is jam packed with lovely stuff but she’s also feisty and I would never get in to a fight with her because what’s the point in getting into a fight that you could never, ever win? She’s a fluffy bunny with boxing gloves and a Stanley knife and she is, according to my exhaustive research, the best Mum in the world. She doesn’t have to apologise to anyone for anything and I think that’s a pretty good position to be in. Cheers Mum, I doubt you’ll read this but have a good day tomorrow anyway. Mustn’t forget to give her a call.

G B Hewitt. 30.03.2019


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