So Pumped

I’m off to mum’s tomorrow to show my face and check that she’s got nothing of dire importance that needs sorting out. And because we haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks and Carole starts to worry if we don’t pop round with any sort of regularity – as though driving to Middlesbrough every day and me staying with her for a week weren’t enough…

So, yes, my plan is to get up early and head over there. There will be things to do – all incredibly random and written by mum in a handwriting that neither of us can entirely read. I know there are bits and bobs to do in the garage, for example. And I know that there is currently an active quest to locate and return two quilts which may or may not even exist. I say they may not exist because the two quilts mum found did not exist according to her. So, you know, quilts can be a challenging item.

Because it was a simple day, my plan was simple. I would get up, get dressed and go. That was pretty much the idea. Grab my Kindle on the way out of the door, read on the bus. Give mum a ring from Halifax to ask if she wants anything from town and then tell her she should have told me she wanted it when I did the shopping order in the first place. Stuff like that.

Easy. Quick. Simple.

And then today I received a text message which said:

You might want to bring some spare clothes as you might want to play in the pond.

I didn’t. The pond is not on my radar at the moment, despite the fact that it is so disgustingly green I keep expecting Dave Benson-Phillips to turn up and laugh a lot while a child gunges their parent. But I have read between the lines (or, more technically, line) of the text. I assume that there is something amiss with the pump in the pond.

It’s probably got a frog in it. Or the carcass of a mouse.

Which mum will just casually mention in passing, as I am arm-deep in the murky water and my fingers are just coming into contact with “something slimy”.

I can’t wait…