This morning began with a bedside vigil of the alarm clock - watching as it ticked inexorably towards the moment when I would absolutely have to get up in order to avoid being late for work. All sorts of factors went into the calculation - knowing there was thawed bread in the kitchen, knowing I had a shave yesterday morning, and so on (I can get away with shaving every other day usually - although I do end “day two” looking like an extra from a Robinson Crusoe production).
Just as I swung round in bed to begin the search for socks (an adventure in itself), our youngest stumbled into the bedroom with impressively crazy hair, and after focussing on me, which took a few moments, murmured “can go downstairs?”
I followed her down the stairs, turned the shower on, and half listened to the big decision going on in the lounge - “Beach Volley Ball, or Judo?”. Ah yes - the Olympics - that I will not be watching today because I have to sit and do fight with computer programming all day long.
Note to self : washing your hair with a cracked rib still hurts a week after you did it. You need to remember that, and not fall off the damn bike again any time soon.
Four more days before we go on holiday. Off to the hills of Cumbria. Off the radar. Away from the internet. Time to walk, to read books, to relax, to play with the children, and to switch off everybody and everything.