“It’s true what they say, isn’t it? You can’t beat sunshine”

MY MOTHER is coming to stay.

I remove all incriminating teenage paraphernalia and dropped undergarments from spare room, rig up bedside lamp, put fresh linen on bed and flowers from the garden in a jug.

Bedroom primed, and my children primed to unstinting charm, good manners and selfless thought for others — which my mother likes but fortunately, does not expect — I pick her up from the airport. She’s just flown in from a visit to my brother in Geneva, which she says, was “very relaxed”. The general ambience of the trip — created by blue skies, 28 degrees, and three young, biddable grandchildren — was wonderful.