Across the country, terrible meals will be served up today in an atmosphere of anxiety and desperation. Never mind – just get on with it
Mothering Sunday is upon us which means only one thing: all over the country people who have never before cooked a major meal are locked in kitchens attempting to express love and gratitude to their matriarch through the medium of traumatised ingredients. Cue oil-smeared cookbooks, bleeding fingers and gastronomic ambitions hastily reassessed. Feel for them: these are going to be the longest hours of their young lives so far.
My own mother disapproved of the concept of Mothering Sunday. Partly I think this was out of bloody mindedness; she hated being part of the herd. That said, I understood her argument. She thought it was simply a way for greetings card companies to build revenue in the name of a false premise: that you should show special devotion to your mum on one day of the year. She felt she should get it every bloody day. Bring on the chocolates and the hugs. Fair enough, though I must confess it was a tough lecture to receive when, aged six, I presented her with the card I’d made at school. I’d drawn flowers on it and everything.