The trouble with my being Bink’s mother, is that I tend to be a very slightly impatient person…
(Not nearly as much as my father – you’d think nearly reaching your 102nd birthday would teach you to wait occasionally: my father’s limit is about 30 seconds – but as my brother said years ago, Impatient people get things done.)
The Little Viking has gone back home to the middle-sized Mummy Viking and the big tall Daddy Viking, and Bink’s job here, for the moment, is done.
So I offered to drive her to Cambridge last night, before broadcasting Thought for the Day this morning. So of course she came up with a hundred gazillion, gatrillion, gasquillion pointless and neurotic OCD things which had to be done after her assessment yesterday – of which more anon – and before getting into the car, before and without which she couldn’t leave.
Whereas I needed a sensible bed-time the other end in order to get to the BBC studio this morning.
I had I Cambridge friends who had kindly offered me dinner, who were waiting for me to turn up before eating. As were their relatively small children.
It’s one thing to inconvenience yourself.
But when it involved a) Work and b) Other people…
Can’t remember when I last pointed out to God that I wasn’t really cut out to be mother to all this OCD stuff.
I think He got my file mixed up with someone else’s…