Sunday 3rd April
Day 347
Mother’s Day
I am not a mother. But happily I am an aunty. Both our mothers are gone. We take my husband’s aunty out to lunch as her son lives in another country.
The glass restaurant overlooking the sea specialises in oysters and fish. It is full of families and the hot smoke of grilled flesh. Our meals are miniscule. The bill is astronomical. Afterwards we wander through crowds surging along the harbour promenade - the wind cold, the sun hot on our faces.
Back home, rain spattering the windows, I slather Ryvitas with butter and Marmite trying to fill the empty, hungry hole in my stomach.
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