This is how my day typically starts: 7.30am; husband leaps out of bed, pulls
duvet off me to make sure I wake up. 8am — husband showers and barks at me
to get up. 8.10am — panic, get up, perplexed that I now have only 20 minutes
left to dress myself and the kids, get them to school and then set off for
the office. 8.30am — miraculously realise that I have time in hand. Sit and
read to them, relishing this small window of time then, lo and behold, I am
late again. Snap at children to grab their bags, perplexed that I have only
just made it to the school gates. 8.51am — rush for the Tube and vow that
this chaotic routine can continue no longer.
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