Some mothers do 'av 'em
There is nothing like a Mother's love
It was Mother’s Day here in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland yesterday. I don’t know where else it was Mother’s Day — apart from Ireland — which was providential, to say the least.
It was a good day to sit back and remember to be thankful for all that our mothers have given us, apart from force feeding us buckwheat and subjecting us to pudding bowl haircuts in our early youth (bet you’d kill for a pudding bowl haircut now — Ed).
Some recent motherly acts that I am grateful for include:
The mother-in-law acting as chief proofreader for my latest novel The Fragment from The Shroud. Which is out now, by the way.
The wife for “mothering” the family and taking care of me while my shoulder has been giving me excruciating gyp.
The stepmother for saving me time when it comes to making chicken kotlets by informing me that there is no need to bash the chicken breast until it is flatter than a 3-day golf tournament. The trick is to get a sharp knife and slice those breasts as thinly as you can.
As for my own dear late Mother, God rest her soul, I have many things to be grateful for, as my brothers will testify. The list below is by no means exhaustive:
An inability to pronounce many words correctly or even use the correct terms for various things, such as: Parmesan (“Paremzian”), Nivea (“Neeveya”), buffet (“boofay”), excuse me (“scuzi” don’t ask), bath (“sploosh”), microwave (“microoven”, meatloaf (“meatloaf-meatloaf”)
An instant remedy for earache: stick some plant leaves into your ear for a few hours. Curly parsley probably best, but don’t hold me to that (nobody is foolish enough to hold you to anything — Ed).
One of the best attitudes to adopt with certain sets of people: “Good luck to the whole lot of them”.
A complete inability to handle even the slightest stressful situation with even a modicum of calmness. An example: My mother once grabbed my little brother like a rugby ball, tucked him under her arm and hurtled towards our car as its alarm had set off in a German service station car park. She was completely oblivious to any oncoming traffic or the fact that my brother was being choked. It was a false alarm. No one was trying to steal the car or break into it. I suspect some fat German brushed his beer belly against the driver’s door when he got out of his Audi.
A knowledge that going without tea or food for more than 32 minutes during the day is a life-threatening situation and an extremely foolish thing to do to one’s body.
An understanding that every proper meal should start with a very large bowl of soup that is packed with either rice or pasta (let’s hope the wife is reading this).
An understanding that if the thickness-level of your butter does not match, or exceed, the thickness-level of your bread, then you are eating a woefully inadequate sandwich, which is likely to result in you becoming anorexic.
An understanding that all ailments can be cured with a herbal supplement called Amol. Apart from earache. And anorexia.
A love of wholesome comedy TV shows such as Some mother’s do ‘av ‘em.
Requiescat in pace, Mum.
Progress report:
The Fragment from The Shroud is OUT NOW. COME ON PEOPLES YOU HAVE TO BE BUYING MANY COPIES AND DISTRIBUTING TO EVERYONE YOU KNOW. OTHERWISE THE SKY REALLY WILL FALL ON EVERYONE’S HEADS.
The Anchorite, my new novella, is being edited.
I need to decide what to write next. It will either be another novella, or a new novel. The former could be about a kidnapped concert guitarist or a man in a top secret government unit that stages false flag events. The latter will based on my fictional Polish vigilante group The Kwan. It will involve the two main characters from The Dojang and Redemptio. If you have any strong feelings on the matter let me know in the comment section.
Take it easy. And thanks for reading.
Good idea! Xx
Hi Marek You forgot the BIGOS recipe which included a wide range of ingredients besides polish sausage, cabbage, sauerkraut, red wine, plum jam, mushroom stock etc etc.