Twice a year, the family goes to the local cemetary to say hi to my dad and my step-brother. The timing is something to do with the seasons, but I've never really been interested enough to remember the details. It's either the equinoxes, or something similar. Being, inconveniently, both highly superstitious and strictly a fair-weather worshipper (i.e. no wind, no rain), my mother always insists on waiting for a fine day which is not a holiday (religious or otherwise). Please note that my hometown is known for it's highly unpredicatable weather.
In effect, this is how it all happens...
One or two weeks before the date we should really go, my mother will tell my brother and I that it's coming up.
During the week, we'll be reminded that if the weather's good on Saturday we must drop everything and go to the cemetary with our flowers, water bucket and our prayers. If it's not fine on the Saturday we must be prepared to drop everything on the Sunday etc etc.
During the week, my brother will have organised to be very busy during the weekend, without letting the rest of us know. In the meantime, I (the good daughter) will have assumed we are going on Saturday and will have made sure I am free for the morning.
Come Saturday, if is has turned out to be a lovely day, there will be a flurry of phone calls before we all realise it's not going to happen. I will have wasted a whole morning, Mum will be all stress-y and frustrated, my brother will be...I don't know, I make sure I'm not around when they bellow at each other.