After a very early start I arrived at Mums loaded with a new enthusiasm for life, but when she dragged open the door my enthusiasm disappeared.
She looked other-worldly, ethereal almost, maybe it was the pallor of her skin or just the shot of daylight falling on her..I was to find out soon enough.

She'd had a bad night she said and found herself, just after midnight, sitting on the edge of her bed looking at a shimmering light.
I knew from the way she looked that a few days away with me were looking decidedly unlikely.
And so after several attempts to put on her red coat we sat silently, me wondering what to do and her holding onto a tube of Deep Heat, her hands with papery skin gripping the useless medication. Around her newspapers, browned strawberries and bills.

A bird came to mind. A baby one. Maybe a sparrow whose fallen out of its nest. This bird, clinging to detritus found lying on the ground. Mum's detritus being drugs, toothless combs and demands.

She didn't make tea.
I certainly didn't.
I'd been up since dawn.
Where was my welcome? Where was my cuppa?
My welcome of course was in her eyes, a miserable old trout sometimes but a homeloving trout with sea blue eyes.
I forgave her the insult of not offering me tea.

Instead we talked. Mumbled. Stretching out to each other. Eager to please, eager to re-assure.

Then, after managing to load her into her coat, we went out.
In the lift I knew we weren't going anywhere and as soon as we were half way up the slope, she stopped and winced.
"Come on, let's go back" I said
"You can come another day".
With that out of the way we stood silently in the lift as it ascended to the sixth floor.

It was pointless for me just to sit there so I dashed around Queensway on errands.
Jobs done I went back...I nearly said 'home'. Funny how London always makes me think of home. Well not really, after all I did live there for forty years before disowning it in favour of a semi-rural location. Foxes are cool but so are red buses.

She at last made me a cup of tea, whilst I microwaved a Chilli, we talked endlessly, mostly about me.
She was reliving some of my more exciting moment like when I worked at the ice rink and smoked a Gauloise in a Pizza Hut when I went a bit mental. Like when I sold loads of my jewellry and books to an old cow called Mrs Crewe because I was skint. And like when there were three of us.

I nipped this in the bud.
I hadn't travelled for two hours and spent half my housekeeping only to be reminded of the worst summer of my life. Instead I broke her deepness by uttering of a few reassuring words, snippets of wisdom and tales about love.
She was mad keen on the latter.
And so was I.

After chattering like a couple of parrots I left for home, leaving her fridge stocked and her mood brighter.

Home to debate in the House of Commons and an omlette.