Why would I make her -- the woman in the opaque black helmet who is stopped at the petrol station to fill up her motorbike before heading off to begin her new life on the Witness Protection Programme -- purr?
That cryptic question is my first thought for this day, Mothers' Day, 2014; that is had while still asleep within a dream of unusual dimensions where I'm either the film director wondering why I would make my character purr, or I am questioning my dream self about her dream logic, half aware that I am dreaming. I can't be sure which.
Still asleep, I interrogate the dream. The bike has its engine switched off so it can't be the bike that is purring, my second thought as I attempt to solve the mystery while still clinging to sleep and the logic of the dream.
Then I begin to construct various plot scenarios of dream-cryptic plausibility for why my character might be purring at this point, rather than be woken up for lack of logic, which wouldn't do: I am enjoying the dream.
Alas, before I can construct a plausible plot scenario, blasted REALITY asserts itself, dragging me out of the dream and sleep medication to boot, to find a cat perched on my shoulder, thinking it's a parrot, purring into my ear as if it were a petrol pump pouring fuel into a motorbike.
HAPPY MOTHERS' DAY!! The time is 6:23 on my bed-side digital.
The previous morning, after another restful five hours' sleep, I was woken fighting for my life with someone holding my head underwater in a bucket. At least on that occasion, REALITY was not quite so blasted. But combined, these waking scenarios make clear that there is definitely no rest for the wicked, least of all for all the wicked mothers out there.
One of my most memorable Mothers' Day moments was when my youngest, then 4, became very emotional when he discovered during our morning gift-giving ritual in bed that he hadn't got me a gift, and close to tears exclaimed; "I didn't know how to get you anything!" before tearing off outside and returning, at a gallop, with a perfect little white button daisy -- just for me.
This morning, that same boy (now 15) took off for his squash comp, grumpy about having to wake up so early on a Sunday (it was 8.30), without so much as a Mothers' Day wish for his dear old mum. Instead, I bid him farewell, wishing him a Happy Mothers' Day squash game, which received a slight snigger as he went out the door with his back turned.
Just as well I don't go in for all this Mothers' Day hoopla!
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