tartan bunker

It’s Mothering Sunday and my friend went to call on her mother. And her dad. No longer round the corner but several hours’ journey away, her mother has recently joined her dad in a plot of earth in a quiet country cemetery. No flowers. Mother was allergic for years. Most likely to the chemicals sprayed on many blooms grown abroad (which, if you’ve forgotten, can be deeply injurious to the foreign growers and their unborn children).

Mother was always ahead of the game, with a good nose, eyes and head: Foreseeing years ago a credit crunch, a recession worse than the 1930s, tanks on the streets (ok, but you wait) and no one to man them (ok, ok, hang around some more). If she could foresee our current mess - on a diet of the Daily Express, LBC (especially Nick Ferrari), oh, and that crazy little thing called life - why couldn’t those in charge? At the least, these myopics should change opticians. As should myopic voters.