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The outcome was, Mum reversed the car out of the garage and mowed right over the top of it. So it was an accident? Oh 1998 yes. But I didn't shed any tears over its mangled green corpse. I thought 1998 I was finally in for a decent bag, but Mum immediately launched the search for a Replacement Port. The hunt was exhaustive, spanning three towns. "I can't believe how hard it is to find a decent port these 1998 days," she moaned. Finally we ended up in Canowindra, the tiny town in which she grew up. We were in a dry cleaners' and the withered shopkeeper produced The Brown Port from a dusty shelf. "We don't get much demand for these anymore," he said, "But it's a good case, built to last a lifetime." "Oh, she only has another ten years of school left," the Mothership smiled. "That IS a lifetime, Mother!" But she was basking in her triumph. Not only had she succeeded in finding me a sensible port, she had got it for a bargain price, in her home town, and in the presence of our grandmother, The Queen of Shoppers.
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