The Mother of All Sundays

The Mother of All Sundays


Mothering Sunday conjures up memories of Infant School; daffodils made from scrunched up  yellow and orange tissue paper inexpertly, but lovingly, stuck to hand folded pieces of card that were only slightly softer than school loo paper. Waking the Aged P at some ungodly hour with a cup of luke-warm, milky, almost-tea in one hand, the card in the other and the phrase “I didn’t buy it” on my lips.

Years later it would be a  bunch of garage forecourt flowers and an inappropriately rude card, or some whizzbang kitchen aid, like a vegetable twirler, that probably still lurks at the back of the cutlery drawer, unused.

The days of such homespun presents are, thankfully, long gone, and I may be the reason my mother no longer drinks tea. So what, dear reader, do you buy this Sunday for the woman who has everything?

Antibiotics I hear you cry; but seriously, what?

Well, you’re obviously going to cook Sunday lunch, that’s a given. What else? Is pink fizz a bit of a cliche?

Not when its grown on the chalk and green sandstone of the South of England its not. We have a shop-full of stunning, award-winning, English pink fizz, ranging from the rounded strawberries and cream of Bluebell’s Hindleap Rose to the uber-dry, linear, Jenkyn Place Rose. Just perfect for keeping everyone else occupied whilst you burn the roast and murder the apple crumble.

Oh and don’t forget to use the vegetable twirler.