It’s bad enough that I’m a middle-aged parent. The wrong side of 45. That I homeschool my kids and so therefore only get to speak to another adult when the farmer needs help shifting the cows.
It’s hard enough that I emigrated from a trendy, city chic lifestyle in the heart of Bath a decision that I have to justify to my kids every time I get the HP sauce out. An hour from the city lights by train. Yes. There were trains. Real ones. With buffet cars and everything. (more…)