I remember a time when Eliza had just been born and I was so desperately sleep deprived (something I am now, clearly, used to) that when I looked in the mirror I physically recoiled. I look as if I had been dug up, slapped round the face and then thrown back in the hole in the ground. Bloody awful. The bags under my eyes were steely grey, my face was steely grey, my hair was rapidly turning steely grey.
But I did I care?
And so this is now the problem. I have been working in central London freelancing in a rather lovely agency. The people are brilliant, the job is challenging, even the commute feels do-able on a less regular basis, so what’s my problem? The location. I am wham bam in the middle of one of the most alluring shopping areas in London. This is not good for the health of our family finances but bloody marvellous for my re-introduction to the world of being a functioning human being.
Wehey!