I loved my mother. And my mother loved me. She loved my wife. She loved our children. That’s it really. I didn’t have any “issues” with her. We never had a row. Not even when I failed to realise that Copydex glue for carpets was supposed to be applied to the underside. She didn’t have any hang-ups and she didn’t leave me with any. I really liked her, too. She was great fun, my mum.
Literally the only annoying thing she ever did was die. Although, to be fair, that has proved properly annoying.
And the only mystery, really, the only puzzle to work out, was why was she like that? Given all that she experienced, her lack of oddness was a little . .
