I’ve just seen my mother for the first time in seven months – we both cried

Did she know who I was? Oh, yes. Did we both cry? Oh, yes. Did I take my gloves off just for a second, just for the familiar feel of her skin on mine? Oh, yes, writes Jenny Eclair

‘I’m not entirely sure when my mother’s mind began to unravel ... she covered herself well, and we did the same for her’ (PA)

Apart from a few window waves, until last week I hadn’t seen my mother for seven months. I realise this is not a Guinness Book of Records record-breaking entry, in Covid times – but it felt like long enough.

Pre-pandemic, my mother, June, lived independently, cooking for herself from scratch every day. Convenience foods, she always said, were “cheating” – and it was only in her late 80s that she converted to pre-chopped-up butternut squash. My mother was a soup-making ninja, and after living in Asia with my army major father, back in the Sixties, she also made a mean curry.

June drove until a cataract operation a couple of years ago at the age of 89 backfired and compromised her sight. Had times been normal, she would have received laser surgery to help with this condition; but as we all know, the world went tits-up in 2020 and she remains on a waiting list.