When we bought the place we are in at the moment, we didn't really have anything to do with children. Little ankle biters seemed years away and only for people who were sickeningly happy at losing sleep, their freedom and happiness. So where we bought was near bars, cafes, restaurants and it is a stone's throw from the city centre. Now as we look to move on to our next house, sooner rather than later, our search parameters have changed so much it's like we have turned into people who are sickeningly happy about losing sleep, freedom and happiness.
The Chancellor has learnt catchment areas for schools and we have read nearly all Ofsted reports for every school in the areas we want. Ofsted reports by the way are very very boring but apparently are important for the future development of the wee man, even though he is very bright and will be a high flier no matter which school he attends.
This time as we look for houses we are no longer looking for places near bars or gastro-pubs but places that come with tedious things like garages and utility rooms. Both spaces where I can hide my invisible tool box. How the mighty have fallen. But as we intend to move out to nearer the beach to a nice street or some cul-de-sac we are also moving quickly into the middle-class, middle-aged suburban life that had scared me for so many years. Will I be expected to mow the lawn every Saturday? Talk 'tool talk' with my neighbours? Will I have to go and buy a people carrier? I will try and fight off this image as long as possible or at the very least not engage my neighbours in 'tool talk'.
Maybe everyone succumbs to suburban life eventually and the grim reaper of the cul-de-sac has come calling for me. Maybe is started when I began shopping at M&S, maybe when I started wearing wool jumpers everyday. I can't be sure but there's a knock at the door and there's a hand leading me to suburbia.