“I just thought I’d got away with it, I suppose”, I tell a friend. It’s been a week filled with vaguely emotional phone calls. I’m having this one on a bright, sunny sanity walk that heads in the direction of the park but takes me to the Turkish supermarket I’ve been frequenting for a decade now. I call her on the way out and I’m delighted that she picks up; it’s early on a Wednesday afternoon. I am grateful I have friends whose working hours are as porous as mine. We talk as I head out of the park, the long way to the supermarket - past the big houses with the pretty brickwork - and as I pick up bananas and chickpeas for the baby, find a bag of thin, small strands of pasta that I think he might like.

I thought I’d got away with the fact that I’m in a huge moment of flux. I’d been was so busy concentrating on having time to work that I’d sort of ignored the fact that I’d accidentally fallen into a full-time freelance writing job without any real consideration. Sometimes you spend so long thinking you want something that you fail to recognise it when it actually turns up.

The wise people in my life have advised going gently, advice I’m trying to take. January is proving to be far from the hibernation I’d imagined, but perhaps February might be. I’m thinking of filling my diary with reminders to block time out, rather than let it get filled up.

Other good things this week - and a reminder that if you’d like to make the most of the savour January discount, you’ve got 12 days left to use it.

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