Saturday night was a blast; dinner with lovely friends, who I always want to describe as old friends, because it seems like we’ve known each other for years, although in fact it’s nothing like that long. We talked for too long, laughed too loudly and drank too much; in fact at one point I noticed that we were all talking at the same time, babbling away to our wine glasses. Ever since I first had children I have known that I cannot do hangovers any more; on Sunday morning I really truly knew it. So by Sunday evening, having spent a gentle pottering day, accompanied by the furies flying around in my head, I felt I deserved to have a long bath. So I had the longest, deepest, hottest bath ever. Alone. (If anyone else has read the Jill Murphy books about the Large family, my attempts to get in the bath without the children are broadly similar). The bathroom right at the top of our narrow cottage is perfect for a solitary soak, having a bath but no shower, the shower room downstairs being the hub of morning activity. Upstairs is more of an evening place, and I certainly turned my ‘quick bath – can you make sure the children are occupied/asleep/not bothering me’ – into a whole evening. If you twist yourself around at a bizarre angle, head at the uncomfortable tap end (I go for the mermaid look, but fear I’m more of a flounder), you can gaze through the uppermost window, to the treetops and beyond. I watched the birds swooping and diving in the vaulted sky until twilight slowly fell and the stars began to shine. My mind could take in nothing but sky and water, clouds and bubbles. If you keep your eyes trained heavenwards, your thoughts don’t get snagged by the sharp edges of earthly mess; the neighbour’s abandoned caravan, the pile of rubble from his extension, the neglected bit of our garden, all thorns and nettles, the pile of towels and clothes on the bathroom floor.

Peace is so fleeting; today youngest is poorly – pale and wan, she needs my full attention. Nothing like a conflict between my maternal instincts and my irritation at my child-free morning vanishing before my eyes. Back to reality.