‘So how’s the old law career going?’ asks a friend.
‘Blimey, I don’t do law anymore,’ I reply. ‘I’ve started a Greek street food business instead…’
Oh dear. It sounds a little unlikely, even to me. I’m 48; I’m totally knacked out; I’m not even Greek. It’s ludicrous. Son 1’s started calling me ‘Hipster Mum’. Hip Replacement Mum, more like.
Weekdays are spent baking pitta bread – hundreds of the buggers each week. Radio 4 chortles quietly away in the background. While I always thought I was a closet hippy who’d travel the world with flowers in her hair, it turns out I like staying home with flour in my hair.
‘I’ll write a blog to document this lark!’ I thought. We’re a year in. It’s been a bit busy. I haven’t written the blog. I’ve got stuff to tell you though. I haven’t even mentioned the recovering punks yet, have I? I’ll get to that. I mentioned knackered though, yes?
Living the dream doesn’t, conversely, seem to involve getting much sleep…