April 17: Spring

Had a wonderful day today with mum. For the past few months, she has been on and on at me to 'let her help'. What can I buy? What jobs can I do? How can I get involved? Well, right then. I let her have it today. She had it coming. She came over - all clean-clothed and smelling of tooth-paste and perfume. I said, 'Come on then, let's go to the skip. Sod your arthritis, can you please just help me haul these great big brambles and hunks of wood and discarded plant pots into the back of my car?'
We then went to Mothercare (it being close to the tip... is it just me that regularly combines the two?.. they must think me very scruffy and dirty-finger-nailed in Mothercare.. perhaps I should explain...), buying a mattress for Bumpette and some flat sheets. I said: 'Why does she need sheets? I never use sheets. Sheets are only good for getting wrapped around your ankles in the middle of the night. Can't she just have a blanket?' But no, no, no. Overruled by shop-assistant AND mother. Best not to argue, I thought. Bumpette needs sheets.
Close to my house is Bristol's self-styled 'Creative Quarter' - full of media types, and designers, and painters and sculptors, all paying extortionate rent just to be part of the scene. It's got a fantastic warehouse-esque restaurant though, serving tapas and salad, and pizza and cake and ginger ale. Every thing a girl could ask for. We ate there, gorging ourselves on the fresh leaves and Mediterranean flavours. Middle-sister and niece then joined us. We went to the lido to eat scones with clotted-cream and jam and marvel at the swimmers (they are so much more interesting in an out-door pool.. I would never watch them in an indoor pool).. then, two hours later, went back to the very same restaurant for dinner (Mum's idea.. she is a creature of habit.. is it any wonder I'm enormous?)
Enough food already? You might have thought so. But I then went to my friend's bbq in the evening. I love my friend. She is an excellent cook, born hostess, and is always up to something of interest.. (she recently re-turfed her lawn which, in my book, is pretty damned adventurous). It's quite fun being around lots of pissed people when you're sober. Half way through the night, a few of us loitering by the gas-fired bbq in a bid to keep warm, one staggering girl came over. She said, taking a step-back in astonishment at the sight of me, and nearly spilling her vodka: 'Cor, you're a bit pregnant, aren't you?!' Hmmm, well-spotted. Then she said - very loudly: 'What's it like having a "thing" in your belly?' Then, with lots of people walking past in full ear-shot: 'Do you have sex when you're pregnant?' What, me personally, or the population at large? Then: 'Can you have sex when you're pregnant?' Then: 'What's it like?' Then - my personal favourite: 'Where's your partner? Is he here?'
Honestly, I outdid any politician with my deflective, smile-and-nod-and-hope-the-mad girl-goes-away answers. When I left, my hostess friend walked me to the door. She has a boyfriend who has gone back to university. To cover the cost, he works as a 'warden' so lives on-campus and has to be there most evenings. He spent all day with her helping sort out the bbq preparation then at 6pm, disappeared to look after vomiting students. I said: 'He's never around in the evenings, is he. You must have lots of day-time sex.' She - a bit merry by this stage, said: 'Ohhhh, we do. We christened the lawn today.' I blame Spring. Seems they're all at it.