Freeloading

Sometimes I wonder if some day a call will come to tell me that no, I don't get to have all this, and I have to go home to Dublin and do it the hard way, the real way, instead.

Because I'm sitting outside my house on a glorious May afternoon, on my Ikea bench with its stripy Ikea cushions, watching my children puttering around on various miniature vehicles, with or without light sabers, and it's leafy and blue-skied and the grass needs mowing. Every now and then a car comes up or down the street and the children scatter to the margins, but mostly it's quiet because we're on a cul-de-sac.

I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to deserve this. I really hope nobody notices.