Demented

My mother.

She's brought her washing, her recycling (for the last time, plastic and cardboard don't mix) and has hacked her way through a freshly baked loaf of bread and my goats cheese seems to have been attacked from the inside out.

She's been smoking at the bottom of the garden and has rooted out a load of stuff from the loft which is now on the kitchen table.

She's requested that I tell her if she ever shows any sign of suffering from dementia.

Apparently she's fine at the moment.

She hasn't mentioned that I should look out for signs of late-onset teenagerism too.

Why oh why do small boys need to obsessively put things in jam jars.

My jam jars.

For making jam.