In the dim cold light of early January, the post Christmas and New Year anxiety starts to kick in. My husband and I were currently short of money but had hatched a plan to move to the south of France to start a new life in just under two weeks. We were discussing: (a) banking our giant glass beer bottle of small change; (b) how to cash in my husband’s (Roman) pension; and (c) how to partner with Virgin Galatic to do yoga retreats in space. All foolproof plans!
The fact of the matter was it was all going to be absolutely fine. But when you are one week and four days away from moving your entire life, two little boys and cat to another country your brain starts to do funny things and we started to panic. Fast forward a week later and our life is strapped to the roof of the car, our cat is in a box on my lap (weeing all over me already…and we had two days’ travel to go!) and our boys are iPadded up in the back. I am sobbing into my neighbour’s chest who is trying to hold me at arm’s length because I am behaving in a slightly deranged way and covering him with snot.