Edinburgh

My Mummy came up to see me this weekend. Hurrah for Mothers. And ain't they all special, dear reader? Even if not, mine is. Yes, she may fart. Yes, she may belch, yes she may be a Tory, but j'adore her because she's loving, generous and always puts the needs of her children before her own.

She's gone now. Arrived on Thursday evening with Pat, leaving today, Mothering Sunday.

On Friday morning, we took a taxi to The Canny Man's in Morningside for a lunch. We didn't see JK, although I have it on good authority that she's a regular. Mum and I enjoyed our Swedish style open sandwich. Pat did not. The poor thing thought she was getting a hot dinner. "This lamb's cold," she said, and made no bones about telling the waitress how she objected to the food. "It was disgusting."

Mum and I were a bit squiffy, her having had a Ritz Fizz champagne cocktail, me having had a Margarita, so we didn't really care what Pat thought of her lunch.

Bitches!

But we did really. Poor Pat's a fussy eater. I don't mean that in a nasty way. She's a very particular person, very choosy and a lot of foods upset her delicate stomach. I know what it's like to look forward to a wonderful meal, only to be served with something you don't care for.



From The Canny man's, we took the bus to HMY Britannia at the Ocean Terminal, Leith. At first glance it appeared luxurious, but scratch away at the veneer and all was very Sealink Ferries.



This was the Queen's bed. I wonder if she wet it after a few too many gin and Dubonnets? I bet she did. And I wonder if she had any accidents after a large portion of Vindaloo...? I do know she's forever uploading images to Rate My Poo.



Mum has a look at the honeymoon suite. Poor Diana had to endure Charlie's enormous wanger up her front-botty in this room. I wonder if that crossed Mum's mind?



The above, my little maid, is not a seat with a luggage rack above it, no. It's not. Here, we see three of the beds the ship's sailors had to sleep on. Not exactly similar to the luxury the Queen was laying about in. Do you think she felt sorry for them? Pitied them? Felt any form of guilt? And it can't have been fun for those poor sailors on cold Winter nights. I wonder if they found a way to keep each other warm?

From HMY Britannia, we made our way, after a nice cup of tea, to The Omni Centre for a bite to eat with Pat's daughter, Mandy and her husband, Chris. Ian soon joined us, after which, we made for The Playhouse to see Mandy's son, Nick, in Fame! The Musical! An interesting piece, executed deliciously, though marred by the lack of lycra and semi-naked men.

We met up with some of the cast in a pub after the performance. I will admit to being a little star-struck. Some actors kissed me, others touched me (on a spiritual level, you understand) while others remained aloof.

Nick, Abi and Darrien gave me the kind of pleasure I'd not experienced since 1986. A signed programme now lives in my home and will remain unsold on ebay.



Saturday. After a wee trip to The Palace Of Holyroodhouse in order for Pat to buy a t-shirt she'd seen and not bought on a previous visit, we drove over to North Berwick for a look at the sea, Bass Rock and to devour a plate of fish and chips.



Mum, like Complany B before her, was satisfied.



A walk along the beach was then in oder to work off all those calories. Mum and Pat stayed in the car, watching the world go by. Ian was ready to go home, as were the rest of us, being quite tired indeed.



Pat loves my daughters. As soon as we were back home, she kicked off her shoes and invited the dogs to join her on the sofa in the kitchen. I think Meg had been drinking. She laid on Pat's lap without even a look of guilt when I entered the room with the camera.



Mary, however, was sober. The poor thing thought she was in trouble. I tried explaining to her that she was not, but I had the distinct impression that she didn't understand a word I said.



After a few drop scones, we retired to the living room to watch Kyran Bracken win Dancing On Ice. He made up for the lack of lycra in Fame, using yards and yards of it to cover up his huge, bulging muscle(s). Other telly viewed that night:

You've Been Framed
Harry Hill's TV Burp
Making Your Mind Up
and
The Dame Edna Treatment

None of it very highbrow, my lamb.

Mum and Pat left this morning. Ian and I dropped them off in the city centre where they joined Chris and Mandy for the drive across to Prestwick Airport. I just spoke to Mum. She was glad to be home. I miss her.

I don't know what today's really like for Ian. Another Mother's Day without his Mum. It must be horrible, very horrible indeed.

Have I said too much? There's nothing more I can think of to say to you. All you have to do is look at me to know that every word is true.