Mrs. Fingers is off to start a computer course, tomorrow. Nothing remarkable in that, you say. Well, you would if you were reading this, but no-one does, so there. Mrs. F stopped working when we left Paris for Germany in 2001, started making people (with a little help from me) and hasn't been seen inside a place of work since. "Enough is enough" she cried recently, possibly in French, and will now abandon, at least for the next two weeks, two very well-adjusted and loving children to their father, who can't claim the same. Thanks to the vagaries of my work I have two weeks free, so it's all going to work out just fine, unless it doesn't. Racking my brains for things to do, I suddenly realised that my two daughters, aged five and two, know NEXT TO NOTHING either about British pubs or the UEFA Champions' League and that now would be the perfect time to fill in some gaps in their education. They're pretty shaky on French First Division football, too, and with the stadium just fifteen minutes' walk away there'll be the chance to catch up on a bit of homework.
Being a househusband, if only temporarily, is something I always fear but end up enjoying immensely. It's like reading the whole story instead of getting home tired at night and immediately having to act out the last three pages. Apart from November 20th, when all the staff at school are on strike, there'll be pockets of a few hours each day when I can get ready for going back to work. Maybe it'll make me more productive and efficient, too. Then Mrs. F will return, now an Office virtuoso, get snapped up by some wonderful company and we'll...pay more income tax. Every silver lining etc etc.