So it’s Mother’s Day in South Africa on Sunday, which is a good thing for my husband, as the English Mother’s Day, which naturally I felt I qualified for, passed unnoticed by him. All is not lost – this weekend he gets a second chance. I think he is now clear that he is expected to act on behalf of his sons. So having prepared the ground, my thoughts naturally turn to the potential gifts I might receive. I browse the shop windows in anticipation. But I am horrified to find that mothers apparently want old women’s slippers, thick, pink towelled dressing gowns (with spots on), hot water bottles and plants. South African shops have taken chauvinism to a new level. Hardly seems worth the ear-ribbing my husband got for failing to deliver on the first Mother’s Day. I think I would rather he forgot it than spent an afternoon selecting an assortment of tea towels (or as the ad I keep hearing on the radio jokes – a packet of washing powder cos mums love laundry…). Since when does being a mother equate with being dull, old and obsessed with housework? Honestly, all I want for Mother’s Day is something that says WE LOVE YOU MUM. Why is that so difficult?