Mothers' day...

I don't know what time I wake up, but suffice to say it is not at my own house. I have no problem with this. I make a point of always knowing my place; it's technically very difficult to get lost if you know where you are all the time.
Having breakfast at the house (of Earl Grey tea, yoghurt and cookie crisp- yum!) I remember it is indeed Mothering Sunday, and proceed to wolf down the rest of my food -eating cookie crisp at speed can result in some serious coughing fits - and I then say goodbye to Mr. W. and practically run to the bus stop.
I say "run". I mean, "walk a teeny bit faster than my average sloth-like pace". Give me a break, it's Sunday morning.
The bus is late by two minutes. But then, I am late by one, so this lateness (and reliable unreliability of the public services) is welcomed like a glass of water in the desert, almost literally. I am tempted to hug the driver, but refrain on the grounds that he looks like he has some form of lergy; indeed, he's sniffing profusely.
I sit upstairs (it's a double decker bus) and as Mr. W. has stolen my iPod for the day (downloading the music off it can take some time, it's a temperamental so-and-so) I sit looking out of the window. It's cloudy but the sun is managing to sneak through the gaps- great rays of it, at times so clearly outlined that I imagine people might start floating up in the columns of light, as if they're weightless.
After half an hour we reach my stop. I am so busy people-watching (often the other passengers on the bus entertain me for the entire journey) that I almost miss it, but never mind. I begin to walk home, my hood falling off my head because it's windy and I look like an idiot, a pure and unadulterated idiot, if I draw the strings tight. Like that character off of South Park. It's not cold out; I'm walking pretty fast. I've got energy now- the yoghurt, Earl Grey and cookie crisp have seen to that.
Getting home, everyone is awake. Unsurprising as it's gone eleven am. Still. I say my "hello there"s and we're off, more drama. The child is meant to be picked up by her sister. Who does not show up. This sister is NEVER on time. My mother dislikes the girl intensely- she's not allowed in the house... Ha ha ha! Eventually, the child is dropped off at her mother's by her father rather than her sister (she seems, as can be gathered form that sentence, and occurrence, to have a rather complicated family). The three of us (my mother, her boyfriend and I) go out for breakfast- though for me it's lunch- at Sainsbury's. I have scampi, chips and beans. This is a bad choice, as I'm not fond of chips, but everything on the lunch menu seems to come with them.

We go to Tesco and shop for a few essentials, and then go round adding other things in. I add in hair dye, dark brown. Also in  basket are jaffa cakes, oreos, slim-juice, and yoghurt. BRAN FLAKES! My favourite purchase today will be Bran Flakes. I love them.

We get home. The child is still out; my mother dyes my hair. It goes pretty much black, but I like it. I dye hers. We have somehow formed a new Mothers' Day action which we doubt will sweep the nation, but it is fun nonetheless.

The child comes back, ringing the bell, making noise. My hand is on my mother's shoulder. She says, "And she's back..." and there is a little pause while we listen. Her shoulders tighten- stress? Yes. "Calm down," I whisper.

We finish dying the hair and cook dinner. A huge roll of beef, with potatoes parsnips, peas and yorkshire puddings. And gravy, you can't forget the gravy. Dinner is wonderful. The child and my mother's boyfriend don't help at all; they sit there staring at the TV. My mother and I would rather read; for us TV is just a source of news and other interesting snippets of information from documentaries.

Dinner is good. I am very hungry and it's gone quickly- mum puts more on my plate. I notice she's all tense again- more stress. She's angry, very angry. The quiet angry that means after I have gone to bed there will be yelling and arguments and bangs. People in this house seem to strop a lot. Mother and I wash up and dry up and then put the things from dinner away. I wish her a Happy Mothers' Day. The worst bit of today was coming home and finding a card to her, with flowers, from the child. It is not her child. She is not it's mother. I wish the child would go, sometimes.

I'm tired. I brush my teeth. I come and write my blog. Sorry for the long and dull post. I have done no work this weekend... I will have to buckle down tomorrow, with my black hair and my stressed mother and my lack of space and freedom. I will have to work very hard.

Goodnight.

Happy reading folks!