The Friday feast with my mother was highly enjoyable. Good food and good conversation. My mother usually arrives around 4.00 p.m. which is the time I usually start preparing the food. It’s become something of a tradition that she grabs a stool and sits in the kitchen whilst I dither between pot and pan, blade and board. I like this informal means of conducting conversation. The subject matter cuts and slices in all manner of directions. As the food passes the point of preparation and proceeds into the cooking zone, we’ve usually done friends and family catch-up and start addressing the political, social and cultural events of the week. Doreen, a fervent believer all her life in the rights of cruelly oppressed minorities to hunt foxes with their hounds, can be contentious.
Certainly her view that the Queen is working class (on the basis that she works very hard for this country) seems deliberately provocative, and one which I think even the most loyal monarchist would have trouble squaring up to. Yet for all the generally blue hue of her political beliefs she remains remarkably tolerant of my own left-leaning inclinations, and often agrees with the tone, if not the substance, of my various rants as I wrestle with the mash.
Debbie and I are getting fairly excited this morning about the prospect of going down to Birmingham next week to see Neil and Halina. From there, we are heading further south to Shaldon a tiny little village in Devon. It’s only for a couple of days but we’re thrilled to be going.
Any plans I had of taking the lap top with me to do some work whilst I’m down there have been scuppered by me having to use an external monitor. The plan is to do as little as possible for as long as possible. Something I find extraordinarily easy to do.