My friends know: I have a very caring, tad cheeky (something to do with an apple and a tree), travel-loving mother. The name is Trudy, a.k.a. Truud. Or Truudster. She is a bit of a geek after all, because every month Truud turns out to have a new talent that I had not known about until now. Quite inspiring, I must say. Never boring. Bit Lara Croft-like even. Next week, she can probably also archery and appears to have lived in Mongolia for a year without my knowing. Anyway: her love Gary turned 60, we celebrated big with a Spanish family dinner full of tapas, sangria and giant pans of paella, and suddenly my mum arrives with this plank. Herself. In. Each other. Flounced. ‘Do you like it, Kiek?‘ ’Say, I don't know, Mum, but please start your own drinks board company because I don't think this is normal.' You get the point: I spent the rest of the evening trying to have sincere conversations with people, but all I could do was drift around the drinks board like an idiot. Mouth-high-fiving with the pesto cheese. Tongue-kissing with the serrano ham with fresh fig. Exchanging saliva with the gorgonzola. Mum, I don't know where you were all those birthdays, but the bar is HIGH now, you get that.