Among the treats the mothers of Britain can look forward to on Mothering Sunday there are some rum offerings. A company called Nosh Detox is offering a hamper including something called a Nux Vom drink, and the Guardian has helpfully drawn up a list of mother-related films you only take your mother to if you want to terminate the relationship. Meanwhile, the profile of the mother as depicted in the gift sections of M&S and Waitrose is that of a woman with a penchant for anything pink, who loves imported roses and has a thing about prosecco. Her day is made if you take her out to tea. I quite like prosecco, I suppose, but my own tastes run to burgundy, daffodils, Hotel Chocolat supermilk and handmade cards. My own mother is grateful for anything. But really, the notion of being petted just by dint of being a mother still feels a bit weird.
The social historian, Ronald Hutton, says that there was no such thing as Mothering Sunday until the seventeenth century, and certainly the priggish point, that it appears to have been the feast of your home parish church, your mother church, rather than a feast of mothers per se, is fair enough.
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