||[Sep. 5th, 2013|09:58 am]
My mother went to the Women's Institute meeting last night. The topic was tarts. (Yes, I know, I know.)|
Mary took her. Mary is a good egg. Ailz says she reminds her of a pub landlady because she talks so much. I say, that's her armour. Ailz says, "Exactly."
It was a warm, clear night. Mary and I were looking at the stars. My mother could see one of them- or said she could.
Today is my mother's birthday. She's 92. We're not making a huge fuss. Jenny and Ian have booked a pub lunch for tomorrow.
The three of us have been sitting out on the patio almost every day this summer. My mother sits on the bench. Ailz and I have deckchairs. There used to be three deckchairs to choose from, now there are two. The third collapsed under Mike on Monday; (it is irrecoverable: one of the metal struts has bent out of shape at the point where it pivots against the other.)
The forecasters are saying the good weather ends today. Well, they've been wrong before.