Monday 31st March 2014

Sunday,

Mothering Sunday.

Mother’s Day; Mothering Sunday used to be dedicated to the Virgin Mary. But somehow this has been turned, at first, into some sort of occasion where we have to buy flowers, chocolates and/or book a table for 75 at the local Berni Inn to celebrate the day. That I been spammed in the last week several times by various flower suppliers about whether I would consider ordering some flowers from them. Needless to say, I didn’t.

That suppliers of cut flowers/chocolates and owners of Berni Inns double the prices for their good and services on those days means we are getting conned. It is all down to supply and demand I suppose, but a tenner for a few wilted daises that Mother dearest is going to put into a vase and forget about seems a bit pricy to me.

As the fateful day approaches, we have to decide what to get Mother/whether we write ‘love’ in the car or, in this year’s case, whether we should drive up and visit. And so in the end, mainly as we failed to buy flowers/chocolate/a kitten meant that at the crack of dawn we were up and getting ready for a drive up to leafy Suffolk. For the day. And to compound the folly of this, the clocks went forward the night before, which meant we had an hour’s less in which to squeeze the 400 mile round trip into.

And away we go, up the A20, M20 along the M25, under the Thames and into Essex. Up the A12 and into the 1950s. The weather was glorious and the traffic light. It was just nice enough driving along looking at the countryside waking up and spring forth new life. Of course now I don’t live in Suffolk there are temptations all the way up to Lowestoft, from a cold war museum at Bentwaters, Sutton Hoo and a drive along the coast road.

But, we pressed on. North of Ipswich, the good roads still run out and the average speed of the traffic got ever lower. At Darsham we got fed up and headed out across country to Halesworth, Bungay to cross to Oulton via the marsh road at Haddiscoe. The rhododendrons along the road in St Olaves were not yet in bloom, but great to see them recover after the severe pruning they got last year. It seemed such an anti-climax to arrive at Mum’s and go through the usual dances around the large elephant in the room.

As we had arrived unannounced, there was fag smoke in the air and tubes of Pringles on the tables. All her lies once again laid bare. I don’t mind if she smokes, eats nothing but Pringles, it’s her life. But the lies she spins to cover this up insults us. Insults me.

So, we stay for a couple of hours, nearly three. And we have exhausted all conversations and we revert to our usual things; Mum studying the TV schedules, Jools doing Sudoku and me messing around with my mobile. We say we have to go, bid our farewells and we’re free.

I decided to head to Hales to find a church that a friend of mine had snapped last month. The drive back over the marshes was wonderful, and again in light traffic. Once in Hales, I find a sign to a church and we follow the narrow lane to a church. No Hales but Heckingham, which is Hales’ twin apparently. It is unlocked and is a delight.

On a nearby tree, dozens of butterflies flit about, gathering pollen and being very happy to be photographed.

We return to the car and head back south, stopping at a picturesque village for a drink before braving the A14 from Bury and then the M11 and the M25 again. But as planned, as we arrived at Dartford at nearly 5, the traffic was light and we were delayed for just 5 minutes before we were back in Kent and on the last leg home. It had been a fine day, and I had done the dutiful son thing, but it is a drag.

We were greeted by three hungry cats. Once fed, I make a coffee and we much on more dark chocolate and slump on the sofa waiting for darkness to fall. It is at least an hour later now, which means it has only just got dark before our constant yawning meant we headed up yon wooden hill to Beddingtonshire……