I am a sharer of wisdom. Even when my chosen recipients recoil nervously, the belief that my pearls are fresh from oysters (not any of those cheap substitutes) enables me to wade in, fearlessly.
My son-in-law may, however, be choking on my pearls when he gets back from Germany next week.
This is the thing that I have taken a whole lifetime to realise. We all hang on to too much. We have duplicates of everything and then think we do not have enough space in which to store them. So like a mother possessed, I have been the driving-force behind removing the flotsam and jetsam of twelve years of family life.
The black plastic bags festoon the hall: some destined for charity, some for friends and some for the bin.
Son-in-law's shirts hang, ironed, in colour coordination. He will just adore them. Don't you think?
"I have put his pyjamas in a drawer marked pyjamas."
Well, not quite, but Dylan Thomas is obviously hovering over my shoulder.
Oh, he is going to so love me that he will quite overlook the settee that I have off-set diagonally across the living room to make it look cosier, positively hygge which means that I am on song stylistically. Another thing he is bound to notice, being totally fluent in Danish, as you would expect, coming from South London. And during this brave move, I have usefully exposed a radiator.. all that lovely extra heat! What's not to approve?).
This week, I have been the mother from heaven and most likely, the mother-in-law from hell.
Dressed in nothing but a string of pearls. Naturally. Just as nature intended.
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| Of course, I could try going under cover, and hang upside down? |
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