Return with  paper from village shop and bump into neighbour, who tells me that she is about to take Sunday Lunch round to her (grown-up) daughter’s, and that You Never Stop Looking After Your Children. Can’t help hoping that she is quite mistaken. Own attempt to look after children by suggesting that they could invite friends round here one day is met with general dismay and declaration that It Is Too Old-Fashioned; unsure whether this refers to house décor or prevailing parental attitudes (both of which I prefer to consider perfect blend of old and new), but decide that further discussion unlikely to prove productive, and return to writing e-mail to their Headteacher about retention of Latin in school.

Have own Sunday Lunch in evening, once sons return – muddy but victorious – from respective football matches, then settle down to cry in front of War Horse.



2 thoughts on “Sunday

  1. i too cried over ” war horse ” . i cried at the bit where the poor horse got covered in barbed wire and when the lovely english soldiers got killed but i mainly wept over stephen spiel berg’s depiction of a devonshire cottage ! good grief did he not employ a researcher ?
    and your neighbour sounds like a perfectly nice kind madwoman , i made my grown up son take me out for sunday lunch this week, and he offered to pay……ha ha

    • Glad to know I’m not alone in crying over films – or in getting completely distracted by unconvincing domestic sets! I find it difficult to imagine my children as fully-fledged grown-ups, but have told them that I plan to relinquish all maternal duties as soon as I can (my neighbour is of course much nicer and kinder than I am) – and am very much looking forward to them taking me out to lunch one day….

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