A long day's journey into work in a happy dad's life
One of my earliest childhood memories is going to the kitchen on the morning of my sixth birthday where my parents were sitting at the table, dad in his suit ready for work, mum in her dressing grown, and on the table was my birthday present in a small box. It was a watch, a simple wind-up job that I kept going for years until its days were finally up.
I don't know why that memory has remained with me so long, more poignant now my own children, twins, are fast approaching their sixth birthdays and generations seem to be just rolling over in waves.
That's what time does. The difference all these years later is that my wife doesn't wear the dressing-gown, as she leaves the building every morning at 6.30 in the suit. I'm the one in the dressing-gown, around 7am, up to rouse the twins for school having got home from work myself most nights around midnight.