Passing Mother's Day

The White Family travelled to London by car. As usual Mr White debated the various merits or demerits of certain routes, their likelihood of success or otherwise. His wife said, 'We are destined to become our parents.' The little Whites talked softly to each other until they reached the sewerage works. As usual this perked them all up and as usual they exclaimed aghast at how anyone could choose to live in such close proximity to the foul stench that always hung thick over the wooden-wheel-clad houses.

In Harrods they divided. The little Whites went in search of pets, phones and toys. Mr White ushered his wife to the furniture department eager to show her the round Italian soft table he had eyed for their living room. She felt sour as they walked around but it proved pleasantly empty which went some way to mollifying her. Large pieces of glossy furniture and smart, politely detatched sales people proved all that she must face. She liked that and felt surprised. She expected avid eye contact and dogged persistance. But then she supposed Harrods was above all that.

They ate at their usual Italian where they devoured huge plates of white pasta - Mrs White's exceedingly fishy. As each dish or drink appeared the waiters and waitresses would chirrup aloud the names with saucyl tenderness. It wasn't busy; where to all the Mother's Day revellers? They finished with an assortment of cakes, biscotti and excellent Cappucinos. As they walked back to the car the cold breeze marred the spring day.