Mothering Sunday

Image of violetsWhen I was a child our parents would put us on our bikes and send us off to Sunday School at the nearest church, two and a half miles away. It was probably the only bit of peace and quiet they got all weekend.

We weren’t keen on sticking pictures of an improbably blond, blue-eyed Christ into little books while being catechised by well-meaning parish ladies, so we often faked a puncture. Continue reading