Sam Avery: Mother’s Day with the Colonel

Sam Avery, comedian and former guest editor of 4Laughs, is a wannabe rock star and budding gourmet. With Mother’s Day on the way, Sam reminisces about a previous experience…

I saw a sign in Pizza Hut this week saying, ‘Mother’s Day bookings now being taken’. Hardly the best way to show the person responsible for your very existence your appreciation is it? With a deep pan Meat Feast and an all-you-can-eat salad bar? (Actually, they do a nice salad bar in there, but still…)

This reminded me of perhaps the only time I’ve ever made a fuss of my dear old mum at this time of year, because as she always says, ‘Every day should be Mother’s Day’. (In theory I agree, but surely with nation-wide obesity on the rise, the last thing we need is a daily fix of Chocolate Oranges.)

I intended to take my mum out years ago and had booked this fancy restaurant in a nearby village that everyone was raving about. “Ooh, the black pudding is to die for!” one friend had boldly claimed, which I always thought was an unusual expression, as I’d never heard about anyone giving up their life for a dish consisting of mainly blood. (And surely the story of the Black Pudding Martyrs would be an important part of the curriculum?)

So the table was booked long in advance, with flowers and all the trimmings awaiting our arrival. As we drove across the country roads towards this haven of delights that awaited us, I felt that just for once, I was the son my mother had always wanted.

Then we saw the massive ‘CLOSED DOWN AWAITING INSPECTION’ sign that popped up on the horizon, and the day was ruined.

Disappointment kicked in first, followed by some rather choice language from my (increasingly less) dear old mother. We tried in vain to find somewhere else to salvage the afternoon but it was impossible, and I didn’t help matters by magically recreating that special feeling of panic normally reserved by men for Christmas Eve in the John Lewis perfume department.

Still, we were out, we were hungry, and suddenly The Colonel was calling. A KFC drive-through was the furthest thing from our minds earlier that Sunday afternoon, but as we scoffed our way through a family bucket (what better way to bond?) in my battle-weary Fiesta, I looked around the car park and saw we weren’t the only ones in this predicament.

Proof that Mother’s Day can be finger-lickin’ good.

Not keen on the restaurant route? Bake your mum a cake

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