The Gate is terrifying. Imagine your worst nightmare, the one in which terrible demons force you back to school for an examination you've forgotten about and haven't revised for, upon which not only does your life depend, but the lives of everyone you care about? Well, there it is. The Gate. The place where you have to stand and make conversation with people with whom you have less than nothing in common. People who decide which children will get to see Santa at the school fair and who's going to get a place in after school art club. People who scrutinise your clothes and hair and timekeeping and your child's packed lunch, and get together to dissect it all. Are you reading, Constance Fish and the PTA committee? I know I've had the same clothes on three days in a row. I know my grey roots are showing. And I can't remember the last time I put makeup on either. But there's no need to say so. 'Oh, Clementine, you're so contented as a stay at home mum. It's lovely.'
Isn't it just? And as soon as I've been to the supermarket, taken Beatrice for her latest set of vaccinations, picked up Steven's suit from the cleaners, been to the builder's merchants, bought a present for the party Toby's going to at the weekend, taken Steven's smartphone back to the shop (long story involving Toby, Steven and a light saber app) and ascertained that it is physically impossible to buy pink shin pads, I'm going to stay at home and think about it.
And Toby likes his bananas a bit brown, so there.
