Mothers Day was delayed this year, in my family at least, because we couldn't assemble sufficient numbers for the actual day. Also, my Mother didn't seem too fussed about when just so long as it happened.

So, Ann and I made the long trip to Manly yesterday, the weather being magnificent for such an occasion. The ferry from Circular Quay ploughed through becalmed waters with only the Heads producing the most amiable rocking of the vessel. This was Ann's first trip on the harbour and the boat was packed with tourists of all stripes who clamoured for the best positions. You can't blame them, for, to steal Wordsworth from London for a few lines,

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning;

This, I suspect, was how everyone was feeling. It was certainly how I was feeling.

Meeting my brother Peter and Mother at the Corso we strolled the long promenade between harbour and ocean before finally settling upon lunch at the portentously named, Fiasco. I was told by the waitress that a fiasco is the shape of an Italian wine bottle and she seemed blithely unaware of its more common usage. But our meal was fine - fish and chips all round - and a lovely Mothers Day luncheon was had. Two mum's left the restaurant very happy.



In transit upon the seas.