Six Weeks

The countdown to the six week holiday has begun!

In my younger days, the summer holiday meant bike rides and den building, junk food and day trips, Why Don’t You? and jumpers for goal posts.

It meant endless days of sunshine, paddling in creeks and being pulled up on to giant inflatable octopi by older kids at the swimming pool.

It meant running wild and free until dinner time, going in to overgrown places, hidden places, forbidden places.

It meant theme parks, birthday parties and going to bed while it was still light outside.

Now I’m grown up and back at school as a teacher.

And the summer holidays mean sleep and boxsets and holidays that aren’t quite as adventurous as the ones I’ve been day-dreaming about since September (one day, I’ll skip Dorset and travel Route 66).

It means staying up late and waking up even later, daytime telly, sitting in beer gardens and coffee shops, and catching up on the latest kids’ TV (Rasta Mouse? Really!?).

It means drinking in your pyjamas at 3 ‘o clock in the afternoon, getting through all the books you’ve been meaning to read for ages and having shop assistants stare at you wandering why you’re not at work.

And, do you know, I honestly can’t decide which set of summer holiday activities I prefer the most…

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