I am working in Germany again this week. Sitting in a
spectacularly ugly bauhaus hotel room (now, I am being cruel, bauhaus can be lean and beautiful- just not in this hotel room), feeling lonely and confused.
The week had started reasonably well. I was enjoying the kind of unadulterated freedom which comes from waking up in the morning, and heading for a breakfast I did not even have to prepare, instead of having to change nappies, make three breakfasts, not have time to eat mine, sign a note from school that’s inevitably been forgotten, pack snacks and bags, check teeth are brushed, hair combed, feet socked, fingers gloved…
But as the week wears on, I wrestle with an increasing but hard-to-place feeling of discontent. I miss my children, but am not looking forward to going back home, to juggling too many balls at once, to making every single decision on my own, and forgetting to buy more bin bags. I feel tired, and in need of a solid shoulder to lay my head on again (damn Plaster Man for not having his head screwed on properly!).
Instead I got an eyeful of stuff I did not want to see when I tried to visit the hotel’s sauna: I had forgotten about the Germans’ habit of prancing around stark naked in their mixed saunas, and their unrivalled sense of humour (they all had a good laugh when they saw the look on my face). And I got a greasy dinner by myself, trying to understand bits and bobs of the news blaring from the TV set above my head… How much more cheerful can it get?
Anyway, I’m sure tomorrow will be another day.