Ignoring the "I forgets" and writing wedding speeches
So far, there have been six oh my God I forgots — and we haven’t even hit the M8 yet. But though my heart has lurched at every one, I’ve held tough against all six; I’m embroidering the edges of a silk pashmina as my husband drives. I think the repetitive action helps. I think I’ll embroider all the way to England.
On the outskirts of Dublin, daughter 1 taps me on the shoulder from the back seat. “Oh my God, I forgot,” she says, “Granny’s picking us up from Bristol.”