Over the hump

I begin a third week of work bone tired; a gentle weekend of chores and minor home improvements beckoned; coaxing the kids to summer markets on the promise of treats, and dozing in cinemas to films we’d never watch without them (it was, of course, The Secret Life of Pets – the usual clutzy cartoonoid humour and United schmulz of Americana – both Tom and I slumbered, while the kids drip-munched popcorn). 

Father’s Day passed by with homemade cards and tea, and genuine gratitude after Tom built the boy a nigh impossible climbing wall on the back of the house – hopefully beyond the skills of an impromptu burglar. I thought about sending my own dad a digitised version of a now faded memory, but, in the end, thought better of it.

It was, last week, our ninth wedding anniversary and Tom picked me up from outside my new office, crotchety after a week of broken sleep, and a soggy journey in by bike dressed in clothes unsuited to the weather. But our evening – an expresso martini, small plates of tapas and a bottle of pink wine in a heated archway veranda, was contented, and the rain held off. We have made it over the hump.

Despite this month’s monsoon, we’ve allowed ourselves some fun – Field Day may have been wet, but, old hands to amusing ourselves in mud-drenched crowds, it was dreamy – the two of us up to no good like the old days while the kids played silly buggers with our new childminder. We made up for it this weekend, but despite our lie ins, I can’t quite catch up.

My weeks are now fraught, chasing my tail in the morning to get to my desk on time, yet twiddling my thumbs by lunchtime – the old inertia settling of days’ long screen-surfing, while the challenge of getting to grips with a new subject will only last so long. I’m not made for the office, but I like the relief an extra income brings – we can, at last, move forward once again.

From booking a nicer than usual holiday to a nostalgic location from my own over- privileged upbringing, to getting bits and bobs done at home, and splurging on unnecessaries down Broadway Market orprosecco cocktails on Friday night while the kids are at Scouts, money won’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell helps you spend your time more pleasantly. 

But it’s a double-edged sword. The restlessness caused by corporate smarts and wall-to-wall good behaviour means a desire for mischief sets in by midweek – a need for action that’s probably unseemly at my age, for all I misspent my youth on wholesome homemaking and necessarily childish pursuits.Yet, for now, I’m luxuriating in plain sailing and normality – a break from playground intrigues and local busybodying, and the blissful purdah of obscurity before the day-to-day rivalries and familiar petty contempts of office life set it.