Ah! The Summer holidays!
They start tomorrow.
I'll repeat that for those of you in England (or probably elsewhere) who may be reeling in disbelief. Yup, the Summer holidays, in this particular corner of Scotland, start at 3.15 tomorrow afternoon and don't end until Tuesday 21 August.
And, despite the fact that the weather is being accommodatingly very Summer-holiday-ish (although not swimsuits-outside-worthy quite yet), I am reminded of Nineteen Eighty-four.
No, not because that was (although it was, I'm sure) a particularly fine Summer holiday (we probably went to Frinton), nor because Summer holidays are my personal room 101 (far from it), but because of doublethink.
I find myself, as I contemplate the next six weeks, simultaneously thinking both:
Oh, hooray! The Summer holidays! Less than 24 hours to go! No alarm, no routine, no uniform, no dragging tired children out of bed or forcing them to do homework in a snatched hurry between bites of breakfast. Long lazy days of doing nothing and enjoying it. Hooray for the Summer holidays!
Oh help! That makes it 53 days. Or 1,272 hours. Or 76,320 minutes before I get five seconds of peace.
Why I'm Practicing for England
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