I write this from a pub garden, where I’m wondering if it would be rude to paint my toenails. Having reached a stage of cabin fever thatwas verging dangerously close to despair, I followed my mother’s advice to buy myself a small treat. In this case, a nail polish in a shade called Cheer Up, Buttercup – without considering that I’d need to somehow find the time to put it on.
Time is something I’ve never had so little of before – 10 minutes to inhale a croissant, a moment to brush my teeth – nor have small snatches of it ever felt in such short supply. None of this is news, of course, but when people talk about parenting being hard perhaps what they are really talking about is how relentless a day feels without a small moment of rest.
