So what do you do during half-term? Are you one of those parents who has everything organised so well that Little Bob or Little Sheila is off to grandma’s before they could say “but Grandma’s blind and in a wheelchair”. Where you would promptly respond by handing them a bag of videos and told to “hush child before I beat you”. Or are you one of the many who spend the best part of the week rushing from NW to SE in a desperate bid, begging friends and family members to “could you do the Tuesday love, I’ll pay you in kind”

So there I was one year, thinking, I just don’t feel like doing the half-term thing this time. True to my decision, after the first day with the kids I made the stern decision to escape, leaving them with their father. I knew that if I did not disappear very soon, it would’ve been detrimental to my children’s health. So wishing their father good luck, adios, condolences and leaving no survival tips with him, I leapt off into the sunset to travel the 1 hour’s journey to North London. And as I went, I giggled insanely at thoughts of him trying to cope; visions of him trying to find his stress reliever, his bottle of Jack Daniels, or bottle of Prozac which I made sure I gave to next door’s cat before I left.

Over the years, whist doing the school holidays thing I have had to find means and ways of keeping myself intact and sane. Those violent tendencies, which try to surface once in a while, well more than a while now since the eldest one’s rampaging hormones have kicked in at the tender age of 13 (the teenaged years just isn’t funny when one is a parent) and the 8 year old thinks he’s a teenager – those violent tendencies have had to be suppressed with my dear friend “Prozac.” I have also upped the amount of time and the level of training I do at the gym. This therapy is what has proved to be a saviour. At times like these, I release so much aggression that were I not dedicated to working out several times a week, I would certainly react rather badly to my children, with a rope and a bag of bricks. (Well, in thought only, but sometimes peeps, they could take me there believe.)

So it was a novelty to spend “hush time” at my sisters’ home, not having to do all those routine things a mother normally has to do. So, there I was at my sisters’ house, living the life of a single person. If we felt like eating we ate. If we felt too idle and the effort to even put on a couple slices of toasts too taxing, we sat, watched tv, then so the pain didn’t kill us before the hunger did, we’d opt to go to bed early. This was also a rather pleasant time as I was privileged to venture out to the cinema, go out for meals and walks – with no-one in tow fighting or trying to beat the brains out of each other. I was also able to keep my hard earned cash where it belonged without someone trying to fleece me of it for things ranging from chocolate to playing cards. Neither did I do any laundry, washing, or ironing for a whole week – pure indulgence.

Therefore, my stress-levels behaved rather well, thank you very much. That was until the children decided that it was imperative and a matter of life or death to call me every hour on the hour. Their little voices constantly bleating “we miss you, come back, we promise to beeeeeehave”. And yes, I did feel sorry for them and I too missed them terribly. Therefore, as a result of these traumatic feelings, and the burden that now lay heavily upon my heart I decided to stay away for another week – and to enjoy a bit more of life’s pleasurable moments of freedom.

Therefore, in light of the above, I sent their father a book by the Dalai Lama, which captured the elements of peaceful living. As a token of goodwill I also sent a barrel full of Trazodone and Paxil (all anti-depressants) and a bottle of vodka – with a note stating “take yer pick” and “wish you were ere.”