On you go – have a couple of hours to yourself, my husband said the other day. He’d look after the boys.
What to do? I thought, dizzy with liberation and possibilities as I sat in my car.
First, a coffee from Starbucks drive-through on the Kingsway which was very exciting.
Even if the alcohol wipe I applied to the lid made my Americano taste of fairy liquid.
Then I got some messages, popped into the butchers and wondered how everyone was doing at home.
It was a nice day and I craved a beer garden – or a leisurely breakfast in a cafe, but most things remain closed.
And so I sat in my car, worrying I hadn’t put the oven off, that the boys hadn’t done their homework, had eaten chocolate all day and not brushed their teeth – and I headed home, where everything was, of course, absolutely fine.
The ability to relax seems (hopefully temporarily) to have escaped me.
On the plus side, I’m sure it’s nothing a night out involving an open bar and taxi home wouldn’t fix.
May those times come soon.
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