Sweden is a dangerous place to live. No there haven’t been any terrorist attacks. No the mob doesn’t run an alcohol protection racquet over here; they leave that to the government. No its much worse I am afraid. They have Mothers Day at a different time than back in England.

Now if I were to go walking down any high street in England I would have to be pretty stupid not to notice one of the deadest dates in the year to forget was fast approaching. Every other shop window would be screaming at me to buy something for my dear mum. Mind you taking up everything’s-a-pound on their offer of 3 dishcloths for a pound might be more dangerous than to forget all about it.

Mind you this year I have had even bigger reminder than any high street could offer. A bitter mother. You see, with the absence of any gentle reminders last year mothers day slipped my mind. I know shocking as it may sound I am forgetful. So this year each phone call, each email has ended with “you do know what day it is this Sunday don’t you?” Well of course I do mum, its when the clocks change, the anniversary of the time the lift decided to get stuck with me in it and oh of course, a very happy mothers day.