Friday, 20 April 2012

Home is where Mum is

My mum is saint. Actually, that is a lie. She makes a mean champagne cocktail and used to smuggle sweets into our dull school performances. She is much more fun than a saint.

I couldn't help thinking there was something fairly divine about her though when I arrived at Heathrow airport at 5 in the morning a few weeks ago to see her waiting for me. She had got up at 3 and had been driving all morning.
I love living in London, but there are times when nothing seems more appealing than going home to my mum and the Kingdom of Clean (as I have nicknamed my home in Dorset). Even when the day eventually arrives that I think of myself as a proper grown up (although I'm not sure that will ever happen) I am sure there will still be those times when I need to jump on the train and head for the warm embrace of the clean sheets and neatly made bed that my mum always has waiting for me.
And I'm sure I'm not the only one. Who else other than your mum will always enquire about your body temperature so intently regardless of your age? (Most of the phone conversations between me and my mum end with her asking if my room is warm enough. If anyone else that I know ever asked me that question, apart from perhaps a heating specialist, I would be more than a little perplexed.) Who else will stock the (in our case pink) fridge with all your favourite things when you come to visit so that you end up wanting to store food in your cheeks like a hamster to take back with you? And who else will drive all the way to Heathrow airport to pick you up at some painful hour in the morning?

Mum's kitchen is one of the best places in the world. It looks like Minnie Mouse lives there and it has a telephone box shaped drinks cabinet and a toasty Aga that is perfect for warming bottoms and clothes.

After a weekend in sleepy Dorset and in a town with no Starbuck's and a bus service that is like a petulant toddler, I am always ready to come back to London. But you can guarantee that the next time stress gets too stressful or the state of my grubby house or my empty cupboards get too much for me, there will only be one place I want to go. You can keep your spa retreats or your woodland hideaways - there really is no place like home.



  1. so true! I love coming home to my mum, she always seems to have cake in the oven ready for when I arrive too :) x

  2. Lovely story. We should all appreciate our wonderful mums a bit more. x

  3. Aaah thanks Libs. Lots of love. Your far from saintly Mum xx