Men get a bad press nowadays (often from me) but I’m prepared to stand up and say some of my best friends are men.  And both my sons, of course.  So let this be the week when we sing their praises and of course the word ‘singing’ is a very handy lead in.

Last Sunday was the Big Concert.  We had sold about 900 tickets for a performance at Cadogan Hall and all we had to do was produce something worth listening to.  Step forward Maestro Michael McLoughlin, who has given blood, sweat and literally tears in his attempt to turn us from a cats’ chorus to a choir.  God alone knows why he didn’t give up or how he ever imagined that we could succeed.  His belief was up there with people who think Brexit will happen in our lifetime.  But it did.

I will be the first to admit we weren’t the absolute perfection he was aiming for and it must be said that the audience, almost entirely friends and family, might have been on the partisan side. But.  But.  We were a bloody triumph.  Two standing ovations and we took six bows.  By the end my back was hurting almost as much as my throat.  So thank you Michael for believing in us against all the available evidence.  He also gave the bouquet he was presented with to ‘a very special woman’.  It was Mothers’ Day and his mother had flown over from Ireland to be there.  God knows how she didn’t just die of pride on the spot.  He deserves a medal.

Also on my list for Birthday Honours is Bob the Builder.  Hearing through secret sources that he had a free day I managed to lure him to Kastle Kingston to tackle the million and one defects that drive me mad on a daily basis. (And you were wondering what caused it?  Look forward to days, possibly weeks of serene sanity). I now have functioning taps, flushing loos, working door handles; the list of things you can find for a handyman to sort is almost endless but – and this is TRUE – somethings he merely scowled at things and they started behaving.  A living miracle worker and no, you can’t have his number.

Finally to my own little miracles, my two sons.  Is there any better thing in the world for a mother than to know that her children are well and happy? The Holy Grail of parenting, people.  Henry managed to miss my stella performance (He slept through it and not even in the Hall) but more than redeemed himself with a card he gave me later.  It said on the front ‘Happy Mother’s Day.  Luckily I turned out awesome’.

And inside.  ‘I know the irony won’t be lost on you’.

My work here is done.