Just clothes

Today I am helping my mother clear out my father's clothes. She didn't ask me, not in so many words, but she needed me to be there. I'm the least sentimental out of her daughters; the most pragmatic. They're just clothes, after all.

She begins to falter after just the first shirt, and I send her away on a pointless errand. We are both relieved, I sense. I don't want to talk about what we're doing, to re-live each garment or attach a memory to each one. Methodically I remove clothes from hangers, fold and place them in a box and although I try not to, I can't help but let the memories filter through. I hold to my face an Arran sweater he wore through my childhood; its scratchy wool is reassuringly familiar against my cheek. I can't stop a wry smile when I see his one concession to casual dress; an M&S polo shirt which never looked as comfortable as the formal shirts he wore day in, day out.

I reach for the shelf above the hanging rail and fish around for the remaining jumpers. My hand hits something hard and I climb on a chair to see what it is.

Sex o'clock

My husband and I have identified the ideal time to have sex. It's taken a few years but we've finally reached a compromise. I like it in the morning, he likes it in the evening. He's grumpy and tired in the morning, I'm shattered by bedtime. So we've settled on around 6.30pm, when the girls go to bed and their brother zones into CBeebies for half an hour's wind-down before his own bed-time.

As we settled down to it I heard J call from the playroom;

"Mummy, can I have some milk?"

"Yes, darling, I'll be down in a minute"

I wonder if all my friends are this distracted while they're having sex. If any of them still have the kind of head-banging, mind-blowing sex we used to have before marriage and kids. God I hope not. I really hope it's not just me adding sex onto my list of things to do;

Put air in buggy tyres
Buy milk
Book car in for MOT
Worm the cat
Have sex

"Mummeeeeeeee, can I have my drink now?"

"I'm coming!"

My husband looked smug.

"No", I said, "not in that way".

Oh bollocks, I never did worm the cat.