The Queen of Plumstead Ascends To Heaven

You need to know that we call my mum the Queen of Plumstead, because that's where we grew up as kids and she is the matriarch of the family.

She's now 89 and most Saturdays I take her out and push her around in a  Wheelchair until one of us gets tired (usually me). Today we were in Greenwich Park and found a large puddle after yet another downpour, which I photographed her in front of. The reflection gave me this rather wonderful spectral blip, which has airs of one of those old fake Victorian pics of faeires and ghosts.

When she does shuffle off this mortal coil I like to think it will be like this - mysteriously, gracefully, with a smile and a regal wave, a happy fadeout.

But please, not for a while yet.