Imagine the scene. Mother's Day here in the UK, a beautiful early spring day with warm sunshine, and I'm sitting in the conservatory at the back of the house reading, and thinking vaguely that my mother will soon be arriving.
Then I hear an enormous and rather prolonged groinging crash. It could be a tractor and trailor going over a bump, but somehow I don't think so. I dash out of the house and this, more or less, is what I see, except that no one else was around and the police hadn't yet arrived.
So I yell for my husband to call the emergency services, and run to the car, and close up, it looks even worse:
I don't recognise the car, because you don't recognise a car when it's upside down. I'm thinking oh my God, whoever is inside this is marmalised...
Then, through the side window, I see a foot waving: the foot is clearly that of an older lady, but I'm still not thinking with any great clarity. I wrench at the door, which is jammed. Neighbours arrive. We get the back door open: I look in, and there is my mother, lying on her back on the roof, smiling at me shakily and saying with great calm: "I'm all right! I'm all right!"
And miraculously, she was all right. She was able to sit up and shuffle out through the opened door, and by the time the fire brigade, police and ambulance services had arrived, she was sitting on my sofa, ready for a cup of tea, and apologising nicely to everyone: 'I'm so sorry to cause all this trouble!' - while the puppy made mad love to about six large policemen and paramedics clad in reflector jackets.
After they'd all gone, we had Mother's Day tea.