When I got home last Thursday night, something felt different. Same house, same me, but total silence.
I was alone. Sans husband and kids (away until the next day) for the whole evening and (joy of joys) next morning, meaning I wouldn’t be woken at 5.30am with demands of porridge and Peppa Pig.
I was excited. I started making plans. I almost wrote a list of “All The Things I Can Do When The Boys Are Not Here” but composed one mentally instead.
Don’t get your hopes up for a wild time.
Number one on the list? Cook fish. My husband can’t stand the smell and it was years since I’d made one of my favourites – tuna steak with noodles and soy sauce.
Tonight was the night.
This had to be washed down with something, of course, and a bottle of red was burning a hole in my cupboard.
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A quick Google of the name showed it had five star reviews.
Just the one glass, mind – I didn’t want to have a sore head in the morning.
That rare lie-in had to be put to good use and I would leisurely wake around 8am after a mammoth sleep and go out for a run.
I’m not a natural runner.
I always think being 5ft 3½ins with wobbly bits makes me look like a duck trying to get somewhere fast.
But tomorrow would be different.
It would be the start of a new me, a woman who nailed lists and challenges after a dose of Omega 3 and delicious wine.
Except the wine was so delicious I didn’t just have the one.
After my tuna (as tasty as I hoped) I poured another – in one of those vessels that actually fit in half a bottle – accompanied by wonderful reality TV with no point or plot line that I also only get away with when alone.
I watched too many episodes, too late into the night.
The next morning, I woke with the feeling we have to downsize those wine goblets.
As my scratchy eyes opened, I decided a run was off the cards.
Making my way downstairs, I kicked myself for not putting the extractor fan on in the kitchen.
For my glorious night alone of new starts had actually resulted in a slightly sore head, overwhelming guilt about said sore head (such a useless emotion but it’s not half persistent especially, I find, amongst women) and a house that smelled of fish – and it turns out I don’t much like that odour either.
Do you ever get the feeling that you never learn?
Next time, I’m going to wake up as Gwyneth Paltrow.
You just watch.
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