It's been a while. Autumn is getting underway - the season for 'wanting to get things done', with crisp, leafy mornings redolent of University learning and idealist purpose.
And now that my children are at a) school and b) playgroup, I have a few precious hours to myself each week. I am attempting to rattle through miscellaneous tasks: painting the dining room, getting my hair 'done', volunteering to laminate things in the school office.
And through it all, I'm dreaming about the possibility of 'real' working. Of course I've worked every hour with the children for nearly 5 years, but the idea of a new role and job, rewarded with pocket money and outwardly acknowledged status has a magnetic appeal.
Where do I start? What could I do? I shall think on.
My first ever job was as a Saturday shop assistant in the only clothes shop on Islay. I didn't want to ask customers, 'May I help you?' in case I was harassing them. I mean, really, a fourteen year old, in a Lopi jumper and a Princess Diana haircut. Harassed, you say?