Swings and roundabouts

Mother’s Day, then. A time for people to say ‘thank you’ to their mums and show how much they love, respect and enjoy them.

Occasionally I think about the things I missed out on by having a selfish old sot as a mother. Things like hugs, compassion, pocket money, holidays, support, clean clothes and edible food. But then I remember that there are things I had that other people missed out on – like pools of vomit on the carpets, regular night-time visits from the police, and an oft-changing adult male presence in the house, usually resulting in smacks around the head and stolen possessions.

No chess today as Ted and Beryl were taken out by one of their many children. I spent the afternoon on a long walk, listening to an audio version of Nelson Mandela’s autobiography while exploring a footpath I found near the bus stop. It was lovely, until the heavens opened and I came home soaked and coated in mud. As I came in the back door I slipped on the step and scraped my shin on the bottom of the door.
Some days are just determined to be painful.

RC 14-3-10