MY mother has what people might refer to as “something about her”.

She isn’t someone who can simply blend into the background and fail to be noticed.

For example, one winter’s morning not so long ago, Mum and I took ourselves off to look for headgear ahead of my wedding day.

At the time, I was feeling more burdened than blushing and by the time I’d settled on a piece of fancy French frippery to adorn my barnet, I was really quite over-wrought.

We ended up in the pub.

We meant to get a coffee to warm us on the bitterly cold day but because I felt nervy and shaky, Mum decided I should have a brandy with it.

Everyone in the boozer seemed to think that this was a good idea, so I agreed.

And Mum had one too – just to keep me company.

We sat by the fire and Mum filled in the landlady and bar manager about the forthcoming nuptials.

Even the window cleaner joined in – offering up various gems over his shoulder as he worked on the doors.

As it approached midday, a few locals (mainly farmer types) called in for a pint of “the usual” and started recounting tales of recent events – one centred around losing a wife “in the bunker”

(we can only hope he was talking about golf), while another involved buying a “roomy pair of cords”. You get the picture.

Then one of the men sauntered over to Mum and asked her if she used to be a model.

Well, of course Mum (who allegedly resembles both German actress Elke Sommer and British beauty Susannah Yorke – 50 years ago) was delighted and dissolved into girly giggles.

Three hours later, we finally left the pub.

I should stress that Mum is very happy indeed with the Step, and has been for more than 20 years.

But this doesn’t mean she doesn’t enjoy a little attention, and not necessarily just by those given to flattery.

At the moment, there are builders working opposite my house.

Mum comes to see us every week or so, and not one visit seems to go by without her causing a stir among the builders.

However, this attention is mainly down to her driving.

She seems able to arrive with no problem at all, but when we return from whatever excursion she’s taken us on (usually via several wrong turns and diversions), she appears to have completely lost the ability to park her teeny tiny car without executing a 33-point turn and stalling countless times.

The workmen find it hilarious, and happily point and wave as the Child and I try to hunker down out of sight.

This week she announced that she and the Step are going on a two-week campervan trip around Croatia.

“Would you like your birthday present before I go, or shall I get you something there?” she asks.

“I think I’ll have it before,”

I told her. “You may not find your way home.”

“Ooh, I know,” she exclaimed. “We can spend the day shopping together.

And how about we go back to that nice little pub . . ?”

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