Mother’s Day 1985 – Sunday 12th May. I’m sure I was OK. Having worked at the theatre all night and made it to Buffy Lavery’s scrambled eggs at 8:30am, yesterday’s battle to get some sleep before the bump-out turned into today’s battle NOT to sleep before having lunch with various mothers and grandmothers.
By the time I got home and did the pre-requisite Mother’s Day ablutions so as to present a cheery, “I haven’t been up all night” face to the relations, it was time to catch the bus to my grandparent’s house. Now fortunately, they lived on the other end of the New Farm bus route at West End and even fortunatelier, that route had/has the best service in the City, even on a Sunday. Being a child of seperated parents, Mother’s Days, Christmases and the like had to be carefully managed and scheduled. This day was no exception. I went with my Nanna and Pop in their beautiful, baby poo brown coloured Toyota Corolla station-wagon to my Dad’s place at Mt Gravatt, then struck out to Cleveland for a fish and chip lunch at Markwell’s Restaurant, which was the restaurant on the end of Cleveland Point near the lighthouse.
I was driven back to Hawthorne where I caught the ferry over to the end of Merthyr Rd and home to wait for my mother to visit. The Hawthorne to Merthyr Rd Ferry has long since become a memory, but I recall it being famous for having a french, wrought iron pisoire nearby – wonder where that ended up?
So the day ended with a dainty afternoon tea at my place. Entertained my mother and her husband, Don and his son, Martin. I can only assume that I didn’t stay up late drinking coffee that night.