I feel as if I do this all the time.

‘All I ever doing is walk up the path to school. I blink, and I’m coming to pick you up, I blink, I fall asleep and I’m here again in the morning. It’s all I ever do.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘It feels like that. I am always here, walking along this path. I do nothing else.’

‘Yes you do.’

‘What?’

‘Thousands of things.’

‘Okay, name ten things I do every day other than walking along this path to school.’

‘You talk to me.’

‘Other than walking to school to take you in or pick you up and talking to you.’

‘You arrange for us to have friends over with the other mummies and daddies.’

‘Other than walking to school to take you in or pick you up and talking to you and arranging for you to have friends over with the other mummies and daddies.’

‘You feed the guinea pigs.’

Here I start counting it out on my fingers, we’re up to three, or is that four?

‘Other than walking to school to take you in or pick you up and talking to you and arranging for us to have friends over with the other mummies and daddies and feeding the guinea-pigs. What do I do?’

It’s turning into one of those songs you ding on long journeys, ‘One man went to mow …’

‘You cook us meals.’

‘Other than walking to school to take you in or pick you up, talking to you and arranging for you to have friends over with the other mummies and daddies and feeding the guinea-pigs and cooking meals.’

‘You talk to Mummy.’

Zozo struggles, I haven’t got up to five, or have I.

‘Other than walking to school to take you in or pick you up and talking to you and arranging for you to have friends over with the other mummies and daddies and feeding the guinea-pigs and cooking meals and talking to Mummy.’

‘You work.’

‘I don’t work, I write.’

(i.e. I don’t work. nor do I write. Not writing is what I do!)

‘You write.’

‘I don’t write.’

Zozo gives some a look of incomprehension.

‘Not writing is an activity.’

She doesn’t get it, I don’t try to explain, and I add it to the list. Not writing is my biggest activity of the day.

I run through my list; we are approaching school. TBT has run off with a friend, I narrowly miss walking into a lamppost.

‘Other than walking to school to take you in or pick you up, talking to you and arranging for you to have friends over with the other mummies and daddies and feeding the guinea-pigs and cooking meals and talking to mummy and ‘not’ writing. What do I do?’

Zozo runs out of things that I do

She must be thinking I lead a dull life. I remind her that I shop for food, that I swim and take them swimming and coach swimming; these are duly added to the list. I add that I watch TV and sleep too. With my help the list is made up to ten.

Just in time

A teacher rings the hand bell calling kids into class; the kids grab their things and make a dash for school. My day is over, next thing I know I’ll be walking back down this path to pick them up.