Mothering Sunday

It's Mothering Sunday tomorrow readers, or Mothers' Day as our American cousins call it, although interestingly it's not Mothers' Day in America tomorrow. In fact, you might be surprised to find out that Mothers' Day or Mothering Sunday (as we rightly call it) is on a different day of the year all over the place.

Some people call it a Hallmark Holiday, in reference to the firm called Hallmark that makes greetings cards. Cynics have suggested that the reason we have different dates in different places for celebrating our Mums is so that Hallmark can sell cards all year around, rather than lumping all their revenue on one date.

I think that's a terrible viewpoint. That said, I totally forgot it was Mothering Sunday until this morning when I looked at the calendar and so now I've missed the post. So Hallmark won't be making any money out of me anyway.

I can't believe, in this day and age, that the Royal Mail still refuses to deliver letters on a Sunday. You can bet your bottom dollar it's not because the postmen are all in church. They're more likely to be down the bookies. Is it any wonder that the Royal Mail is going out of business?

Speaking of the Royal Mail, in the week, I read about a postmaster in Nottingham who was refusing to serve customers who cannot speak English. It sounds like out and out racism, yet amazingly, the postmaster in question was born in Sri Lanka. You would think he'd be sympathetic towards immigrants. He claims that he cannot serve them, because he cannot understand them.

I wonder if he still serves his mute customers?

Anyway, I thought I'd post on the blog today, because tomorrow I was thinking of going up to Lincoln to visit my Mum. Whom I love more than words.

I was going to nip down to the High Street and buy Mum Lionel Richie's latest album. He was on Jonathan Ross last night promoting it. My Mum loves Lionel. Though, I'm not sure she'd be too pleased that he appeared on Ross's show. After the furore with Russell Brand and the granddaughter of Manuel out of Fawlty Towers.

She was not too pleased that Ross and Russ got their jobs back, especially in the current economic climate. There are plenty of talented presenters out there, like Michael Parkinson, who wouldn't dream of phoning up national treasures and taunting them about the sexual habits of their family.

It's a disgwace. As Ross would probably say.

Lionel Richie wrote a song about his Mum (Mrs Richie, not Mrs Ross). You've probably heard of it. Three times a lady. It's a beautiful tune with a lovely sentiment.

Thanks for the times
That you've given me
The memories are all in my mind
And now that we've come
To the end of our rainbow
There's something
I must say out loud
You're once, twice
Three times a lady
Yes you're once twice
Three times a lady
And I love you

When we are together
The moments I cherish
With every beat of my heart
To touch you to hold you
To feel you to need you
There's nothing to keep us apart
You're once twice
Three times a lady
And I love you
I love you

Now I love my Mum readers, as you know, but that second verse is a bit dodge. Makes you wonder what went on in the Richie household. You hear about these child stars and sometimes it's not all sunshine and light.

They say that there's no smoke without fire. You've only got to look at how Lionel's own daughter, Nicole, has turned out. She's forever tumbling out of some bar or club with Paris Hilton. And we all know what she's like.

I'm pretty sure Mum wouldn't approve if I took up with Paris Hilton or Nicole Richie. I'd be much better off with someone like Amber. We're on at Blockbusters later today, maybe I'll see if she fancies going for lunch tomorrow. I can always give Mum a ring or something. She's probably forgotten it's Mothering Sunday anyway.