Caravan guilt

THE conversation went something like this: “Hello daddy. Where are you?”

“Hello Harry, I'm on my way home from work.”

“Are you coming to the caravan?” “No, I can't Harry. Sorry.” “Why not? Are you missing me daddy?” “I am missing you Harry.” “Come here to the caravan then.”

And to a three-and-a-half-year-old, it made perfect sense; if I was missing him, why didn't I just go and see him?

The conversation happened earlier this week when Melissa took Harry and James to a caravan in Prestatyn for the week with her mum and dad.

As I didn't have any time off, I took them last weekend and returned home on Sunday, feeling guilty after the conversation with Harry I've just described. To be honest, I did think about staying in Prestatyn and commuting to work but because I would have arrived in Prestatyn at bedtime each evening, we decided it would be more trouble than it was worth.

So that left me rattling about the house on my own and one question that occurred to me several times during the course of the week was: what on earth did I do with all my time before we had children? Honestly, even getting in from work, going to the gym and catching up on the housework still left me twiddling my thumbs in the evening.

And the bit I was quite looking forward to – eight hours of uninterrupted sleep for an entire week – didn't materialise. Every night I woke up about 3am – probably because I'm used to waking up about that time with James – before waking again at 6am, when Harry usually bounds into our room like a mini tornado.

In fact, on one occasion this week, I found myself vacuuming the house at half six in the morning. Harry would have been proud of me.