Happy Birthday Mum

Happy Birthday Mum. 

You'd have been 88 today if the vagaries of the British National Health Service hadn't let your diabetes run rampant. Lots of things have happened since you've been gone, some good things, though more bad. Terrorists have taken over the world, causing mayhem and madness wherever they so choose. You'd probably remember them from your time in London during the war, though they were called GI's back then. 

I've just been out taking photographs and thanking the universe that you didn't pass on your photography skills to me. They'll probably invent an app soon that automatically crops off heads and frames feet in the shot but you could do all that manually, you didn't need fancy new technology to do it. 

How would I even try to explain PC's, DVD's and smart-phones to you? You had enough trouble with the VCR. To this day I have no idea how you managed to record Michael Jackson's Thriller video when it was first shown on TV. I suspect you were trying to record EastEnders or Coronation Street on a completely different channel on a different day and at a different time, but I'm glad you did it, whenever I see that video now, it reminds me of you.

You did pass on your love of reading and your interest in crosswords for which I'm grateful, but you also gave me your short-arse little legs, which I'm less thrilled about. Your other great passion was knitting. I remember all the jumpers you churned out on your knitting machine, and the fights we used to have because I refused to wear any of them. You could never understand why a teenage boy would refuse to wear a jumper that was: a) made by his Mum and b) had a pattern on it so alarming even Val Doonican would have refused to wear it...but that didn't stop you trying.

Happy Birthday Mum, from your 40th birthday present. Yes, I never had any excuse for forgetting your birthday, did I? Some women get champagne and flowers, you got me instead, though looking back on my grunting teenage years, I'm sure you'd have swapped me in a heartbeat for a bottle of Guinness and a bunch of daisies.

Your loving son, Chris

XXX