Flux

It's now a month since my wife returned to full time work for the first time since the last century. I've teased her about how much things have changed, pointing out that they don't use floppy disks any more, but in fact she's made the transition with remarkable ease. After sixteen challenging years of motherhood, my wife is more than ready for a change.

But there is one new practice that has really bothered my wife: "Why are so many people now ending their emails with Kind Regards? It's nonsense."

My days follow a strict routine, beginning with a 25-mile round trip taking my sons to their respective schools. I then drive to work and deal with my book orders, which seem to be slowly diminishing. I usually have lunch at home, as the faint aroma of dead rats doesn't whet my appetite, then I clean the house, do the laundry and cook, before repeating the school run.

I'm bored silly by the whole thing, but it will only last for two years, hopefully. My main aim at the moment is to try not to go potty.

It feels as if I have spent the last month indoors, but these Instagram photos prove otherwise:

I heard yesterday that my old Greek Philosophy lecturer died a few days ago. He taught me two very important things that have served me well. First, he told me how bad my English was - I was educated during a period when good grammar and spelling were regarded as unacceptably elitist and my howlers were never corrected. Second, he taught me about the Heraclitan Doctrine of Flux: everything in the universe is constantly changing and you cannot step into the same river twice.

The Doctrine of Flux has been particularly comforting. Whenever I have moments of existential angst during the tedium of the school run, I can console myself with the knowledge that contrary to appearances, I am driving along a different road each time.

I was going to go out, but it appears to have started raining again. Perhaps there's some dusting that needs doing.