Beating Herts

My mum is clearly in the wrong profession. Or the right profession, depending on how you view teachers.

"I've had a few ideas about this Hertbeat thing," she said when I eventually answered the phone (if you don't ring three separate times, these days, I can't be bothered to answer. It's amazing how busy I am, considering I don't have paid employment).
"Mmm," I replied dubiously, putting down my newspaper and ice lolly. "Excellent. Hit me with them, then."
"Well," mum said, taking a deep breath, and I knew immediately that I was in for a treat because it was her I've had too much coffee 'well'; her I've marked an essay that doesn't totally suck 'well'; her I've been drinking Pimms at lunch again 'well'. "Do you know why it's called Hertfordshire?" she said excitedly.
"Nope," I said. I thought this was just a conversation starter, but apparently it was a genuine question because mum barked:
"Think about it, Holly. What's a hert?"
"A deer?"
"Right. And what's on the county logo?"
"A deer?"
"Yes, and a ford, which is the river Lee."
"Right," I said.
"So," mum said, and she took another deep breath. "So you need to find somebody who has a little deer which you can take into the town centre on a lead, and then you can serve them dressed as The Queen of Herts, with little paper deer on your dress, with a hert, serving out tarts."
"Tarts?" I said, trying not to laugh.
"Jam tarts. With little deer on them," mum improvised. "And you could take a little ghetto blaster thing, and get it to play the sound of a heartbeat really loudly."
"Well..."
"Ooh!" mum shouted. "And then you could get a toy deer, and bop it around to the music, and that could be a Hert Beat."
I was laughing by this point: a fact that mum managed to ignore with great dignity.
"And," she said: "I know this is a little controversial, but you could get the toy deer, and you could beat it with a stick."
At which point, I abruptly shouted with laughter.
"Like a hert beat, you know?" mum explained in a slightly offended tone. "No? Do you think the RSPCA would be upset?"
"Probably," I said, "and I haven't got the foggiest idea where I'll get a deer on a string from. But awesome," I said when I had calmed down. "Absolutely amazing. I was thinking cakes and a t-shirt, but there are some cracking ideas there, mum."
"Well," mum said proudly: "the last lesson of the day was very boring, so I had some time to brain storm."
"Thanks," I said, meaning it. Not for the ideas - which, frankly, if I actually did would end up with me being dragged off to some kind of special room - but for the support. Mum was always a bit dubious about The Best Job, and I think she's making up for previous reticence with an enthusiasm that slightly endangers the carpet.
"S'alright darling," mum said chirpily. "And if I come up with anything else, I'll let you know. You make my heart beat," she said coyly at the end.
"Too much," I said.
"Thought so," she agreed. "Always one step too far, eh?"
And then she went off to Google Fancy Dress Shops in my local area.

She's got one cracking imagination, my mum. But I'm not letting her near any of my toys.