Working Mum: It was just one of those days...
COMMENTBy Tabitha Ronson
It was one of those days. It started off badly, with the alarm failing to sound.
I woke in a state of pleasant rest so I knew something must be wrong. The clock read 2am but the light outside suggested otherwise.
I checked my wristwatch. Groan. 9am. And so the madness began. I shouted through to Master A to get up and moving.
"But it's the holidays, Mummy. I thought as you weren't up, we were having a surprise pyjama day."
Could I get away with it; throw a sickie? Yes, of course, my boss would really buy it, especially during half-term week.
I hit the accelerator. I dropped off a rather dishevelled looking Master A at Super Camp. Thank heavens for Boden PJs. One would never guess.
The spotty youth on the desk reminded me I had booked and paid for early bird drop-off. I smiled one of those fixed type ones that said "yes, thank you for that".
Back behind the wheel, I raced to the car park where I drop off my car before catching the Tube to work. Four times I circled, praying to the Parking Angel to deliver me a spot.
It was no use. At 8am it's tricky enough finding a space, with a lot of bumper nudging and cussing involved, at 10am, impossible.
I drove back home, resigned to the rain-soaked 40-minute walk to the nearest station that was ahead of me.
As I scurried along the pavement in my inappropriate footwear (I hadn't planned on completing a walkathon that morning), my foot buckled, the heel of my LK Bennett Avril ankle boot sent me flying along the kerb.
It was like everything was happening in slow motion as I fell hands first, face down into a filthy puddle that I'm sure was the size of a small country.
I lay there for a split second, wishing the day had never begun, before picking my sorry self up and making the call to my boss I should have made the moment I woke up.
It was my destiny.
Working Mum, promising to never again fight an uphill battle.