I love Mother’s Day, always have done, ever since I was a child and taken to buy flowers for my mother. My stepfather would take me to Alice’s ​Flowers in South Kensington ​Arcade and we would usually buy a tiny bunch of violets or perhaps mimosa. I don’t remember seeing either of those in florists’  nowadays. My mother was always delighted and it happened that I would look forward to this particular Sunday year on year. 

Especially as I grew older and was able to make more choices myself. 

Flowers were a necessity but from time to time I wou​ld bu​y her an actual present. A little vase, or a piece of jewellery – and one year – these were the swinging sixties after all – I bought her an enormous plastic daisy in a colourful plastic pot. She thanked me profusely, put it out on display and must have been very relieved when I went back to boarding school. 

Many,  many years later, I found it, carefully hidden away (from prying eyes? ) (as a memento to my bad taste?) wrapped in newspaper, untouched, unspoiled, in pristine condition, and totally forgotten. 

My mother was not a hoarder, generally speaking, but she did keep everything I ever gave her, even if she didn’t like it. I found several of my childhood gifts after she died, and they warmed my heart.

 How I would love to give her some violets now.