The Creeping Dread Of Travelling With Work

On Sunday evening I will leave town on the train, waving goodbye to my family, and head towards a week living in a hotel once again. This will be the longest stint yet - an entire week away - and I cant say I’m entirely happy about it. It’s an odd feeling sometimes - being the “breadwinner”, but also the husband, the father, the washer upper, the feeder of the chickens, the maker of packed lunches, the chaser of getting ready for school, and countless other things. Going away dumps everything on W from a great height, pretty much precluding her from doing anything at all while I’m away. She will essentially become a prisoner in our own home, and the house will go backwards around her. After a weekend spent washing and ironing clothes (this weekend), I will return in a weeks time to a scene of devastation. Yes, our house is never really that tidy, but that’s because we value time with the children ahead of living in a show house. It bears more than a striking resemblance to The Burrow from Harry Potter at its best. So there it is. It’s only Thursday night, and I’m already counting down the hours and the chores before I make the walk to the railway station on Sunday night.