It’s a little after 10am, and I’m sitting at my desk, sipping coffee and trying to pry toast crumbs from between the keys on my keyboard.
I am not eating a mince pie, lounging on the sofa watching an 80s movie, or heading out for an adventure.
And I’m not with Flea.
Here’s the thing: I’m not one of those Mums who sighs with relief when the kids are back at school. A quiet house just feels empty, frankly, and Flea is my favourite person in the world to spend time with.
We had a brilliant Christmas break. There was food and family and presents and days out. But what I love most about the holidays is just getting to spend time with Flea. My endlessly enthusiastic, bonkers little friend.
It’s not that I don’t like working with Lindy, but the chances of her stripping naked and running through the house shouting, “Clothes just slow you down!” are (hopefully) very slim.
As are the chances of her deciding to name her intimate body parts after her favourite superhero (one assumes).
And I’m almost certain that Lindy doesn’t get dressed over her pyjamas so that she can quickly revert to having a Jammies Day after running errands.
Flea and I had the best fun this Christmas.
We topped it off yesterday with a trip to Bolton Abbey where we walked up hills, and took in the views, and Flea took her shoes and socks off because the words, “It’ll be freezing,” mean nothing to her. Nothing.
After a long walk up the hill and along the river and through the woods, we marked the end of the holidays with afternoon tea at Betty’s in Ilkley, which, I can report, serves the finest cheese on toast and blackberry crumble EVER. Apparently the chocolate milkshake is pretty good, too.
And then this morning we got up at 8am, got dressed, brushed hair and teeth, and went to school. It was grey and cold and entirely too early in the morning to be upright.
Roll on half-term.