Meetings by the monkey bars, calls at the climbing frames, sales pitches on the swings — but no, we’re not in the office of a new Silicon Valley start-up; it’s just summer in London. For six weeks each year — plus the Christmas, Easter and half-term holidays — parents around the capital (and beyond) are left at sea, trying to keep their ship afloat until September comes. It’s easy to judge a parent with their nose in their phone, ignoring their child doing acrobatics and begging for attention; but if it’s July or August, the chances are they’re on the clock, struggling to survive between camps and childcare.
When I had my first child, school seemed like a tiny dot on the horizon. A small, faraway land to worry about another day. And then, before I knew it nursery came to loot me, and suddenly I longed for the respite of free schooling. But now, with my daughter starting in September, I’ve come to realise that there are holidays (lots of them) and there isn’t really any way through or around them without a small financial crisis or a bout of absolute mania.
