Plans for this Christmas include driving down to visit My Mother for a few days on Boxing day. All three children are genuinely thrilled at the prospect, My Mother and her partner both being somewhat laissez-faire in their approach to (grand)parenting. Which in reality means my children being allowed to eat apple crumble for breakfast (I swear this actually happened once) and watch dvds untill their eyes go funny. Nothing could curb their enthusiasm for a Christmas holiday spent at Grandmas. So today I phoned to finalise the plans.
My Mother has something of a penchant for exaggeratedly elongated vowels. She even pronounces Asda, 'Asdaar'. Also her partner is the only person I've ever, ever met who pronounces elastic and plastic, 'elaarstic' and 'plaarstic'. Conversations between the two of them, I imagine, provide much hilarity for the casual eavesdropper.
Now, after many years spent working in the public sector, My Mother has decided to re-train as a psychotherapist. She has always been very interested in peoples 'histories'. Any sort of anecdote concerning anyone else's life or decision making, (dysfunctional or otherwise) tends to end with some version of: 'But of course, one doesn't know their history...' I have bought her a biography of Carl Jung, and Oliver James' 'They Fuck You Up' (I'm not implying anything...) for Christmas. For my own childish amusement I imagine her reading Jung whilst reclining on her chaise long, pausing briefly to call to her partner peeling Brussels sprouts in the kitchen: 'Of course the man had a fascinating history daarling, but I do raarther think we should pop down to Asdaar for another bottle of bubbly, don't you?
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