Monday Mornings Are My Favourite Time

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Monday Mornings. Each One A Gem.

I may be overstating it a bit. Mostly Mondays are Gems. It is the first morning of the week ahead, and after a busy weekend with lots of Teenagers, Mealtimes, Football (Son, not me), Shopping (only for food. Always food. Never perfume or curtain material or silk lined slippers); after clearing up, washing piles of clothes (I just like your washing machine Mum. Nothing like your washing machine, so I bring it all home to you)... And, of course, being a Nice, Understanding Mummy. "I'll hoover for you Mum" says tall, languid Oldest Son. I put down the hoover, I am frantically trying to hoover before I take 13 Year Old Son to his football match because after I will have Washing and Gargantuan Meal No 53 to prepare with very little food left in the house funny that there was plenty yesterday..."Will you, my Son?" I say laying down the hoover attachment with tears of love and pride in my eyes, "Yeah," he says, "I'll do it within the next 2 hours. Or later. Or before I die. Yeah. Watching telly just now". So I say with a peal of tinkly laughter, "Never mind my dear, I need it doing right now and not a moment later so you just watch telly and I will hoover and may God strike you down with leprosy" and I carry on like Disney's Cinderella, sweetly admonishing myself for any unkind thoughts and doing the work of 10 maids.

Monday mornings mean silence. There is no one in the house. The washing is done and taken back to London or Brighton or Timbuktoo and there was just enough food for breakfast for French Student (who is very nice indeed and never ever complains), 13 Year Old Son (tricky, he is a thin 13 year old Obelix the Gaul) and me (Me? I am allowed breakfast too?) and there is no writing in the calender for the day.

So here I am. It is not yet 9am and I have had my breakfast, had my pot of tea, and am ready in my studio to Paint Angels. The sun is shining through the window and the hammock is swaying gently in the breeze. There are about 8 hours before 13 Year Old Obelix comes home and calls for his Whole Roasted Ox. In the meantime I have no housework to do, no gentle sweet natured empathetic listening to do, no Darling As Soon As You Have Finished That Meal The Next Will Be Only Minutes Away puff puff pant pant wipe sweat from my brow. I have no Yes I will Drive You To The Station - Which Station?? and I have no Oh My Sweet Child Of Course I Didn't Sell Your Shoes/CDs/Christening Robe At The Car Boot Sale. There is just silence, me, tea and Angels.