WHILE searching like a biologist for Flora among the out-of-date yoghurt and leftovers in the fridge, the interior light went off.
Simultaneously, the toaster sparked and died. The radio was silenced. The washing machine stopped washing.
It was 1pm and - curses - we had a power cut.
After a flurry of phone calls to Southern Electric, and much stomping about by Mr F, we learned it was going to be an overnight jobbie. A cable had come uncabled or something.
No heating or lighting, just like it must have been in the war. "At least there won't be any bombers overhead," I said to Mr Southern Electric on the phone. He wasn't amused.
We returned from an early meal in Gerrards Cross (they had heat and light there) to a cold, dark house. Strange when you can't read a book, watch TV, write, listen to the radio, play a CD or use a computer.
We considered parlour games or a séance, but instead boiled a saucepan of water (gas rings) for a stiff-upper-lip cuppa and headed for bed. It was a risky business - brushing teeth by candlelight, stubbing toes on the bedroom furniture, not to mention nearly taking my eye make-up off with nail varnish remover pads.
Next morning, the TV was blaring downstairs, all the lights were on, and the dishwasher was going manic. And, oh joy, the house was warm - power and equilibrium were restored. * Mother's Day last week was the first one without my mum, who died in November.
Easy to avoid the racks of cards, the mountains of flowers and chocolates, but you can't dodge the day itself, can you?
Rank commercialism maybe, but I have happy memories of it, and I still love celebrating it with my grown-up daughter.
* Did you read the columnist who said Brum, my home town, should not be considered as City of Culture in 2013 because of recent social services gaffes? In that case, perhaps my adopted home, London, shouldn't, post-Haringey, host the 2012 Olympics.