personal

I often ask my mother if she would like to come and see me in London (she lives in Italy), and she always says no. She either feels tired, or ill, or too old to travel.

A couple of weeks ago she said yes – darn ;-) – so I booked her flights before she could change her mind, and Dr B.'s parents insisted we go and see them when she is here (they already met last spring).

She has travelled on her own in the past but was not too sure about it now that she is 83 years old (she had me veeery late), so I found a service that escorts passengers from the aircraft to arrivals and helps out with formalities and luggage. She asked instead if I could go and pick her up.

In Italy.

So I'm flying there today and back with her tomorrow, and in a week I'll fly her back to Italy and spend a few days there. Things a good Italian boy would not do for his mamma, eh?

I am about to leave and am very excited, but I will probably be fed up with her so quickly that my Twitter tweets (or Facebook status updates) later this afternoon are guaranteed to be on the rantful side.