Flowers, eh?

My mother likes flowers a lot but she never buys them for herself.

So since the Professor died I am Flower-supplier numera una. (Pretty much  as when my brother died, thirty years back, I  suddenly metamorphosed into the Prof's real-ale-and-malt-whisky-drinking companion. I  performed these duties womanfully - never having the heart to tell him I would unhesitatingly swop  both for a bottle of Bolly.)

The Professor was in all our minds because today is not only Mother's Day, it is the  first anniversary of his death.

So we went to The Queen's Head, Newton, and toasted his memory as well as the continuing health of my redoubtable mama.

1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace. as he would have taken great pleasure in booming out.

The Professor was always partial to the King James version