Sons and mothers

Out tonight for drinks at a wine bar in Leicester Square (not, you’ll be relieved to hear, on the awfully touristy main drag, but just off it) – then dinner at my favourite Chinese. Mother, brother and his rather glamorous Italian / German girlfriend; a family affair.

Heading home. Turns out my mother’s 70 minute train journey home is up the khyber due to problems with the train line so she comes back to my flat instead. Thankfully, I’d tidied the other day so it’s not as much of a dump as I’d thought it might be. A round of G&Ts ends the evening.

I get on well with my mother; always have. Not sure what her personality type is but feel fairly sure she’s also an ENFP. Extrovert, likes being around people, etc.

I no longer have a spare bed in my spare room (I gave that to my ex lodger / university friend who’d lived with me for 3 years who moved out 4 years ago). Luckily, one of the two living room sofas is a surprisingly comfortable sofa-bed (it’s more comfortable as a bed than a sofa) so no problem.

Mother keen to know what I have in the way of moisturising creams, cleansers, etc. Whilst I don’t ‘cleanse’ my skin day to day as I really can’t be bothered, I find some cleanser at the back of my toiletry shelf (which is packed with every type of toiletry, much ransacked from hotels), including toothbrush and other useful items. My mother indulges in a cigarette and then insists on a hot bath. I make up the bed.

My mother lived in London in the early 70s, in Chelsea (in the time when it was bohemian rather than astronomically expensive, as it is now). She lived next door to Adam Faith. One of her first jobs was au paring in Paris. She met my father abroad; in Africa. She’s always been what I would describe as cosmopolitan.

4 thoughts on “Sons and mothers

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  1. You’re going to have to spill the beans on which is your favourite Chinese and where it is. We have mixed luck every time we head out in that direction.

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