I cherish the time I spend with Mum – it’s three weeks in a small, unremarkable village in Nottinghamshire surrounded by flat fields and a few wetland nature reserves created from former sand and gravel pits. There’s not much going on which is why I love it. It’s a welcome change from my day-to-day life in Melbourne.

My focus is on Mum and settling into a gentle routine, thinking up tasty teeth-friendly meals, planning little outings and helping her with jobs around the house and garden. I noticed that being away from my desk meant I was much more fit and ‘flow-y’ plus it’s much easier looking after someone else’s place than your own. Mum thinks I am an exercise fanatic which made me laugh – of all the things I have been labelled this is not one of them!

Fanatic no, but keen to keep maintain a level of mobility and fitness, yes. I’d aim to do a good brisk walk across the fields most days, weave in some Pilates moves on the sitting room floor here and there, do my daily bone density hops (a routine I developed thanks to an article in the Times), and take every opportunity to run up and down her stairs.

I reckon going up and down the stairs is one of the reasons Mum remains as agile as she is; she can still get up and down from a chair without using her hands at nearly 95. However, I wasn’t sure what to expect when I visited in late April. She had slipped and fallen in February and, while she didn’t break any bones, she did have a nasty deep wound and narrowly avoided surgery. Since then, it’s all healed up, she’s made a complete recovery and we managed to get out and about much more than I had imagined.

We had pretty good weather (this was before the recent UK heatwave) which always helps. Keen to find some bluebells, we did short walks in two different Nottinghamshire Wildlife Trust woodlands. In one, there were stands of bluebells which, even behind the deer-proof fence, dazzled with their purple blueness, and in the other, we wandered down a grassy, sun-dappled glade to a soundtrack of birdsong.  Despite her deafness, I think Mum just managed to make out the song of the chiff chaff. British birdsong is one of my happy places.  When I first moved here I brought with me a CD of British bird song, and I’d lie on my sitting room floor and let myself be transported across the miles, listening to the sounds of woodland birds at dawn.

On my walks across the fields and past the cemetery dotted with bluebells, I saw skylarks rising and falling, their distinctive trills filling the air. And I recalled my paternal grandmother telling me that the song of the yellowhammer is like “A little bit of bread and no cheese.” I’d quite often hear and see yellowhammers, thrilled to catch a glimpse of bright yellow. My brother Charlie, who came over for a night to see me, joined me on a walk and introduced me to Merlin, an App (available on six continents) which enables you to identify the songs and calls of thousands of birds. Even if you don’t see all the birds, it’s wonderful to get a sense of the diverse avian life all around you.

At Cresswell Craggs, a limestone gorge dotted with caves surrounding a lake, I saw another yellow bird. Don’t be fooled by the name, grey wagtails have a bright lemony-yellow breast – and this one was darting in and out of a cave, food in its mouth. These caves set into the cliffs were dwellings and provided shelter for nomadic humans during the last Ice Age, 50,000 to 10,000 years ago. Stone tools, animal remains and Ice Age rock art have all been found here.

In glorious spring sunshine, we walked part way round the lake, and I peeked into some of the caves. Curiously, there were more yellow birds here – but these were of the plastic duck variety.  I couldn’t join the dots till a Google search informed me that the ducks are used for children’s scavenger hunts.

Mum is still very keen on her garden and gets very frustrated as her gardener is somewhat unreliable. We took matters into our own hands and went to a nursery to buy some lavender plants and an acer, all of which I planted. I am happy to hear that they are thriving and have survived the recent heat. While she’s had to give up pruning roses, just the other day she told me she was a bit stiff from doing some hoeing! I hope I can still hoe weeds at nearly 95 – mind you, it’ll probably all be done by robots by then.

On the subject of robots, at a hotel lunch with my Uncle Charles and Sarah halfway between Derbyshire and Nottinghamshire, we were amused that our food was transported from kitchen to table on a robot trolly – the same kind of machine with eye-like circles that was cleaning floors in Morrison’s. Thankfully humans still served us, placing our plates on the table, but it did feel a bit dystopian.

Mum has a new neighbour in the house bordering her back fence. And he kept popping up, draping himself right over Mum’s side of the fence and adjusting her climbing roses and clematis. I nicknamed him Jesus given his habit of making appearances and because he has long fairish hair and a beard. He seemed determined to cover every inch of the fence in flowers – a worthy aim – but I was tempted to tell him to get back in his box. Is it just about the plants or is he a nosey parker?

Luckily, he didn’t attend the lunch in the village hall, a fundraiser in aid of church restoration work. With four tables of eight on each side of the hall, it was well attended and well organised. There was a bar and lunch was quiche and salad followed by cheesecake.  I met people from all different walks of life and the conversation ranged from dogs and travel to retirement and conspiracy theories ––were King Charles and Trump in cahoots – just watch their body language – and covering for each other with regards to Epstein, for example?! Entertainment came via various raffles and a folksy band that made me think of that Combine Harvester song by the Wurzels – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bjvffx-h2KM

Talking of the church, the bell ringers practice every Wednesday evening, and the sound is sublime. I wish I knew how to upload my – crackly – recording!

As a family we sometimes worry about Mum still driving given her age, but it was me that nearly reversed into a pensioner in the Morrison’s carpark – whoops. Luckily I was going slowly, and he rapped on the back window but still…We did a fair few shops in Morrison’s to tie in with my menu planning. How I loved cooking on the Aga – roasting veg, making soups and stewing fruit in the bottom oven, doing things in advance and keeping them warm. I roasted a chicken when my niece, husband and their two little girls came over for Sunday lunch – and the Aga did us proud.

On our last Saturday, Mum and I had a girls’ trip to Retford. With a history stretching back to the Domesday Survey of 1086, Retford is a historic market town. Sadly, today the high street is full of bargain shops, charity shops, vape shops and the like. But there’s still an attractive Georgian market square and one or two shops worth exploring.  I had my eye on the clothes in Wisteria, a small home, garden and gift shop. They obligingly got a chair for Mum so she could sit down while I paraded in and out of the changing room. A few things got the thumbs up from Mum, and she bought them for me – an early birthday present. We rounded off with lunch in the Glass Lounge, a light-filled café with a rustic vibe. A delightful day – you’re never too old to go shopping with your Mum!