There’s something nice about the way you start to feel human again during breaks from work. I woke up slowly this morning and finally hauled myself out of bed at the disgracefully late hour of 9am, to find the hubby and kids already up and getting on with the day downstairs.

No rushing. A bowl of porridge, a cup of tea and the ability to check my emails. No panic over lost school socks or mislaid projects; no dashing for the door. No marking books (I’m tactfully ignoring them until the weekend!)

We’re baking gingerbread men this morning and I’m going to write a bit of novel this afternoon - maybe meet up with some friends later.

Hang on - is this what they call having a life? I think I could get used to this.