Caroline went away last Friday, leaving me alone with our four children for the weekend. Given that they’re aged eight and under, and I’d never been in sole charge before, it was something of a test. Could I cope?
I hadn’t realised quite how regimented my children’s weekends are until I sat down and digested the three pages of instructions Caroline had left. Saturday mornings, for instance, are parcelled out into 30-minute slots, with tennis lessons, karate lessons and God knows what else. If I was late for one appointment it would create a domino effect, throwing the whole schedule out of whack. There was no room for error.
Friday, by contrast, should have been a doddle. Caroline had arranged for Pippa, a mum she shares the school run with, to collect the children from school and meet me at the local sports club at 4 p.m. Piece of cake, right? I was leaving the house at 4.05
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