Some Mothers do 'ave 'em

The traffic has been unusually heavy even for a bright and almost warm sunday in March.

A few clumps of daffodils that I noted and admired during the week on the verges and traffic islands appear to have thinned out a bit leaving clear bald patches of disturbed soil and divots but I might be mistaken.

There are additional hazards on the main routes with last minute decisions for drivers, encouraged by their pointing passengers, to swing violently into a lay by to see what is on offer from the flower seller who for much of the year looks extremely under employed and bored. The stock on display has been swelled with some extra racks of early season pansies and bedding plants and some tropical species of orchids and other exotics visibly cowering at their rude awakening to an English spring.

Garage forecourts are temporarily missing the seasonal offering of logs, bagged fuel and kindling in favour of racks of brightly wrapped bouquets at quite exhorbitant prices. These are however selling very well to single men in gawdy last season Paul Smith blazers, moleskin slacks and non matching formal shoes. Older ladies, bearing a faint facial resemblance to the fashion victims of the out of town designer outlets , squashed into the bucket seat of an open topped sports car look cold, embarassed and petrified by the experience although this is well concealed by a smart, classic chiffon headscarf and sunglasses. "Surely the Volvo would have sufficed for a trip out" they mutter.

The car parks to the large dining refectory public houses, better calibre restaurants and the occasional self styled carvery are heaving to capacity but with a few loitering vehicles trying to get a space as close as possible to the main entrance. Frustrated drivers who did not think it necessary to book a table edge out into the flow of traffic and mentally route map their next journey to get a sit down meal and a drink.

At the cemetery just on the old main approach to town , now a cul de sac following construction of the new link road,  a number of badly parked cars straddle the muddy chewed up verge. A loose arrangement of visitors pass through the wrought iron Corporation liveried gates, all in respectful silence. Some carry tightly bunched fresh cut flowers or a bucket and gardening trowel. The individual groups hang onto each other for part of the long walk amongst the headstones.

The ice cream van on the Common has a long queue shuffling along to keep in any warmth of the afternoon sun and maintain position as the Farmhouse Organic Vanilla visibly runs low. The front near side seats of many of the stationary cars have elderly passengers wrapped up against the breeze and pleased not to have cast out their clout till at least March is out. At the prospect of a single cone '99 there is a slight resistance to this very modern trend when, as tradition demands, a nice hot cup of tea would have done very nicely, thank you..

Children just about visible in the rear of cars, hunched over their electronic games module, have been scrubbed up a bit and are in the throes of sullen behaviour at being dragged out into the daytime atmosphere when T4 on Sundays is just getting good. One of the front seat occupants looks like their annual duty has been done, is noticeably relaxed and showing some good humour. The other, still to undertake their obligation, although grudgingly willing remains nervous as though just getting ready to sit an oral examination.

Yes, it is Mothering Sunday.