Mother’s Day appears to have come early. I don’t like to appear too joyous in case anyone notices and deducts time off tomorrow.
I am lying in bed and they’ve all gone out. It happened in a mad scurry to get Daisy to drama on time, and now the house is quiet and it’s just me and the cat. My head’s telling me to stay in bed and drift back off to sleep: make the most of the peace. My stomach’s telling me to get up and make a delicious breakfast using the Old Smokey sausages bought from the market.
The stomach wins, as it always does, and with dressing gown on I multi-task frying, with washing up the pans from last night’s dinner for seven.
I eat this whilst watching Saturday Kitchen. What a luxury! I haven’t been allowed near the telly on a Saturday morning for the last six years.
My phone beeps. It’s a email from my mother in Spain. I’ve been making some grammatical errors on the blog. Standards are slipping. This is something you can only hear from your mother. I go back and read the last few posts. She’s right – there are some glaring mistakes; speech hasn’t been set out properly. This is the problem with writing it all on a phone (you know how fiddly these blighters can be); autocorrect takes over and does things you don’t want it to do.
And by the very nature of a daily blog it becomes a case of quantity over quality; something I would’ve been appalled at a few short months ago. I consider going back and correcting 76 posts but for some reason (!) I just can’t face it.
I’m still faffing around when Tom arrives home, minus the children. We have a date in town (I am definitely getting two Mother’s Days for the price of one this year).
We are the last ones in to our screen at the cinema. We are here to see Suite Francaise. We have no expectations, as we know very little about it. I read fifty pages of the book (of which we have two copies) but found it hard going.
BOOM! We are gripped from the first second; I have tears in my eyes within five minutes and I’m holding Tom’s arm tightly. I don’t take my eyes off the screen once. No sneaky peaks at my phone to see the time because I’m getting hungry/bored/need the loo. It’s mesmerising and amazing and goes straight in to my Top Ten.
We walk out and the day seems much colder. We head in a daze down to Frank’s Bar. I order the chicken, artichoke and pomegranate salad; Tom, the mezze with aubergine pesto and tapenade.
The food is delicious. The beetroot is roasted with fenugreek seeds (?); lots of things to try and re-create. We have much to talk about; up and coming things. I have a whole agenda in my head, but we both keep drifting off and staring into space. Back to the film? Or maybe it’s just the novelty of being alone together on a Saturday afternoon and having an empty head. Whatever it is, it feels nice. Nothing is achieved, no decisions are made, but then maybe that’s just what we needed.