Mothering Sunday
The house came to life at 8 o'clock when I was brought to my senses by the sound of Papa and Jim banging in the void beneath our bedroom floor. I had a dreadful hangover but got up and made breakfast for everyone. Mum refused to get out of bed and I served hers on a tray in her bedroom. She takes Mother's Day very seriously. Margaret quite the opposite. Sue declined a cooked breakfast and put on a coat and took Christopher for a lengthy morning walk. I went out with a pen afterwards and sketched the house for a brochure, coming in to escape the rain. The day was one of idleness.
Family news: Uncle Bert phoned the other day to say that my cousin Reg and Maria Clarke had a son on March 4 who is to be Richard Thomas Rhodes Clarke. __________. I browsed through the Sunday Express (which took approximately seven minutes), sat by the crackling fire and drinking some hideous wine. By 2:30 the sinks in the bedroom were all plumbed in. A wine bottled exploded in the dining room making a mess of the decor. We gave Papa the photo of his parents taken circa 1940. He didn't get too emotional about it. John drove us home at 7. We were shattered. They came in for a drink but left at 8. To bed at 9:30.
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