All things must be bright andbeautifulformymum

Fiona sings praises of her parent while on a shopping trip during the pandemic – just don’t mention the dazzling choice of paint

Oh, the forgotten joy of going shopping for something other than food! This week I take my mother to TK Maxx. It is her favourite shop and she can spend many a happy hour browsing the shelves. There are the brick-sized fancy French soaps. The flashy designer bags and the racks of curious clothes.

There are the names I have heard of and, more intriguingly, the names I have not...

It is a fun way to spend a morning. But it is not shopping as we know it.

We go in at one entrance and are told that we must come out at another.

We are wearing masks and we are following large arrows on the floor.

Not that it matters. I soon find a pretty top on one of the rails.

It is navy blue cotton, and perfect for the hot weather we have been having.

But the changing rooms are closed. And I find myself being reprimanded for attempting to try the thing on in front of a mirror.

Mea culpa. I apologise to the nice lady. At least mum is able to fill her trolley.

A half-price watch for a grandchild. Some bargain birthday cards, and various ornate nick nacks. Including a small silver giraffe.

The thing is, she loves quirky bits and pieces – and she loves colour.

This is the woman who wore brilliant bohemian skirts in the 1960s and 70s.

Who went to work in gold and silver shoes, heavy-hued jewellery hanging from her neck.

Her furnishings inevitably came in vivid shades. Her ornaments were generally red and peacock blue.

Why, even the cigarettes she smoked in those early days were pink and yellow.

That dubious habit has long been packed in. Yet while time has mellowed vivid tones, the desire for brightness remains.

Take last week, for example. The decorator is asked to come in to paint the wood on the outside of her house.

It is currently white – which is a boring colour – so we sit down with a chart to decide on something a bit cheerier.

I tactfully manage to steer her away from the pinks and purples, and eventually she decides on a restful light green. Yet when the second coat goes on, it is declared too dull for words.

So she has a word with the painter – and the next time I arrive at the house, I find the balcony a dazzling daffodil yellow.

The thing is, she loves quirky bits and pieces – and she loves colour

Which is a sunny enough shade – and one that will no doubt cheer both her and the swans that paddle on the loch below.

What can you do? I grit my teeth and say, “how lovely”.

After all, it is not my house. It is hers. And colour, as we know, is a personal thing. Moreover, when I think about it, mum has always been a cup half-full person.

She is always upbeat and sees the best in everything and everyone.

So, there must be something in that rainbow she surrounds herself with…