Mary and Me

I've been spending far too much time with my Mother recently, and somewhat abnormally we did not argue over six weeks. She says it's testament to my newfound maturity and I say it's testament to her old age. We regale over our newfound content in each other's company and banish our previous years of angst as part of our collective mis-spent youths.

In less sentimental terms that means that we spend a lot of time mulling over a vintage 2007 Vasse Felix Cabernet Merlot stolen from the cellar and argue over Q&A.

Anyway, picture the two of us sitting at a nice pub, sharing a bottle of sparkling, followed by some beer, followed by a glass of red and a cup of tea. We're exchanging vowels and consonants about DH Lawrence, cycling and how she once vomited on the dance floor of Connections, an infamous gay club in Perth. As the sun slowly goes down, a band starts to play and we both say 'ah. what a lovely evening - how nice it is to have a good bitch and indulge in our favorite pass-time'.

The drunk in the corner ignores us, mostly because we look fairly boring having red-wine-induced teary conversations about how wonderful our lives are etc, whilst the bar tender probably thinks that we're the strangest drinking-buddies the world ever saw. Needless to say we're not harassed and not rushed to be anywhere. Conveniently the kitchen opens and we have an early dinner, slightly worried about driving home.

But as the last of the sun disappears a certain air of hurried-ness comes over both of us. Suddenly we're waiting for the other to finish eating, begging inwardly that the other doesn't want a coffee. Hoping that we miss all the traffic lights and don't get stopped by police. Mum checks her watch as I lift my phone from my pocket. 'Shit!' I exclaim. Mum says 'It's 7.30! We have to head home'. We leave immediately, in a tipsy haze. The walk to the car sobers us both up and Mum briskly drives us home. The car is silent, our conversation does not continue after the last drop of wine is finished.

As we hurry to get out of the car, lock the car, walk down the stairs to the front door, open the front door and race down further stairs to the kitchen, still not a word is spoken. Mum puts on the kettle whilst I race to the TV. I press the '2' button and find that there are adds.

'We haven't missed it!' the first words spoken since dinner, whilst Mum rushes in with two cups of weak, black tea and the theme song for Midsomer Murders plays. The only conversation left to have is our speculations as to who is having an affair with whom and who is killing whom.

How long do I have to wait until the highlight of my week existing of drinking tea and watching Midsomer Murders on Sunday night with my Mum stops being pathetic?