For the past quarter of a century or so, school holidays haven’t meant much to me.
The roads were a bit quieter in the morning, the streets a bit busier during the day ... but nothing I couldn’t handle.
All that’s changed now, however, and suddenly I’ve got seven weeks of childcare and seven weeks of activities to organise as Calum’s nursery teacher enjoys a well-earned break ... and we don’t.
Thankfully, family members have come to the rescue when in comes to the former but the latter has proved a bit of a headache.
It’s taken a fair bit of time scouring the Internet – and a fair bit of cash as well – but I think we’re finally there.
So now Calum’s got swimming lessons, ice-skating and mini gym classes to look forward to, all topped off with a trip to Alton Towers and – if I get my way – Cadbury World.
(I’m envisaging a real-life Willy Wonka factory, but fear I may be disappointed)
With everything booked and my wife’s spreadsheet completed (i’m joking, but only just) we can relax.
But all this made me wonder just how I mannaged to fill those long summmer holidays when I was a kid.
Playing football on the street seemed to take care of most of it, I recall.