My Mum had a very expressive sniff.
With one sharp intake of breath through her nostrils, she could say more than most people do in acres of rambling speech.
My Mum used to tease my Dad about his lack of SOA (Spirit of Adventure).
Life had to have a full quota of fun and laughter.
My Mum always wore an apron;
Utilitarian ones for everyday use and frilly, lacy jobs for special occasions.
My Mum loved school.
She was devastated when she was taken out aged 12, on the grounds that girls didn't need an education.
My Mum was determined her children should have the opportunities denied to her.
She loved writing stories, but never did.
My Mum would have had a brilliant relationship with G.
She would have 'got' him, sorted him out.
My Mum would have been besotted by my children.
And they would have adored her.
My Mum loved this time of year, when families gather together to celebrate the New Year.
She would have preened and basked in a way she never had the chance to do in life.
My Mum died eighteen years ago today.
(NOTE: This should have been published on the English anniversary of Mum's death on Sunday. She would have been blown away to know she was the subject of a blog post.)