When flowers open for business

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I'm restless all morning from when the day light begins to stream through the slits in the heavy outdoor blinds. I keep picking up my phone to calculate what time it is, but I cannot remember whether to add or subtract eight hours. 6am or 9am? I don't know and am unlikely to figure it out unless I find another clock, but I keep checking every ten minutes as though I might miraculously find an answer.

I get up. I have to fiqure out the time. I've been nervous since last night because it's mothers' day today, and we don't have any flowers for mum yet. All the way from Braunschweig to Hannover last night, I was scanning the shop fronts and petrol stations in the hope of finding a bunch of flowers; not that I could have stopped to buy them, but regardless, I wanted some peace of mind.

I find a clock. It's just before 8am. We are in luck, I reckon, because mum is still sleeping in the room next door, and I cannot hear any commotion downstairs either. I wake Eva; she mumbles, then gets up, and we are out the front door before anyone can say boo.

We backtrack the way we came last night over the 'Landstrassen', country roads, to the shopping centres that are closer to the city of Hannover. It doesn't take us long before we are at Real, one of the big non-discount supermarkets that I recall from my childhood. I haven't been inside one for ages, and am a little excited at the thought of a reunion with all the colourful shelves when Eva says, 'It's closed.'

We stop in front of the placard sporting the opening hours in the empty car park, and we cannot believe it; Real is closed on Sundays. Not just in the morning, they are closed the entire Sunday. We drive a little further to a smaller, discount supermarket, Lidl. Also closed. There's a Bunnings equivalent a little further on - guess what? Closed. So here's the lowdown; shops are not allowed to do business on Sundays in Germany. It's Ruhetag, the day of rest. Restaurants are open and most petrol stations, but shopping, forget it. We are, quite frankly, somewhat devastated.

Defeated, I do a u-turn and we head back along the quiet roads towards Isernhagen, the place we are staying at. Looks like mum will go without flowers this year, we are both thinking as we hang our heads. But then, there it is.

All of sudden I am overcome with Jane Austen charm and I see Mr Darcy riding on a tall dark gelding through the canola fields towards our speeding carriage; he is carrying... flowers! Picked in an obliging field. He smile handsomely as he appraoches, and I see the vivid yellows and purples of the wild species he carries in his arm. Our horse-powered carriage is somewhat faster than he is on his gelding, but he gallops alongside for a short distance, then throws the fragrant petals through the window before he turns the animal's head into the rising sun.

Mum has her flowers afterall. Picked in an obliging field. Thank God the shops are closed here on Sundays.

x

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