August

The cake run 5: Old School Cake

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Friday 23 August 2024

Some days just have a pleasing symmetry …

Old school cake

I simply could not be in higher spirits as we stride out this morning. I took the big decision, several months ago, to move on from a school I’d worked at for over a decade but agreed, as usual, to run their examination results days. Yesterday was the final one of these, GCSEs and other vocational qualifications. As the young people leave with their envelopes of grades, the wave of relief that it is now someone else’s job: to analyse the data, to communicate the conclusions to various audiences and to set the priorities for the next academic year…well it washes over me like a tsunami of joy. I feet elated, I feel giddy…I feel free!

And today, I am still on cloud nine!

Our walk is a reverse of a previous route and possibly because we have trodden these paths before (albeit with a pleasing 180 rotation) or possibly because another benefit of walking, over running, is that you have far more time to observe and enjoy your surroundings … or possibly just because I am feeling on top of the world, I take in new details that I missed the first time around. My favourite are the NORI bricks!

NORI bricks? Well here is tale the of these ‘Accrington’ celebrities. The bricks are famed for their extreme hardness, allowed by the chemical make-up of the clay gathered from the neighbouring quarry. As for the name, well that originated when the word “iron”, denoting their strength, was painted upside down on the works chimney. The resulting misapprehension led to a joke which became a widely used nickname.

So the bricks are ‘back to front’ and our walk is also, by comparison to our previous hike, end to start. It all sees to fit!

As does the cake. Today’s exercise-reward is a generous slab of ‘Old School Cake’, this retro-wonder of confectionary so named because it evokes the classic cake often served with school dinners. For me, moving on from my most significant educational role, well what could be a more perfect choice? It is also delicious. Tasty, tasty, tasty cake that I polish off in quick time. As ever, I’ll confess to scraping away the icing and, with images of the school canteen of my childhood, find myself yearning for a bit of custard instead…just not the crazy pink stuff they sometimes poured out!

So some nostalgia for the past, genuine relief to be reducing my workload and optimism for the future. A decent bit of cake, plus a fine stretch of the legs. This was a good day …

A Level Results – for the third and final time!

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Thursday 15 August 2024

Very little sleep, a sick feeling in the stomach and trying to fight away the thought that the next, few, uncertain minutes hold a totally unfair sway over my son’s destination … it is A Level results day and time to log onto the UCAS site for Smallboy.

In my room, I hold my breath. As a parent, I never feel disappointment in any of my children. They work hard, they try their best, it is all that I ask and always more than enough. What I fear, what I dread, is their disappointment and despondency when results are not what they have hoped for. It can be unbearable.

I hear voices and I say quick prayer. Please let it be good news.

“Mum… mum, I’m in!”

Small boy has his first choice University. We are both overjoyed and so relieved that we dance around the house in our pyjamas, waving arms and singing at the tops of our voices.

Later, for our mum-Smallboy treat, we hop on the tram into town to eat noodles and buy jeans. Even later than that, my son and what seems like every 18-year-old on our estate, heads back into town to dance the night (and most of the next morning) away.

Which gives me time to pour myself a well-deserved whisky, raise a toast to my youngest child and think,

“Thank the Lord that’s the last time…”

Living the student life…

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8 August 2024

A bathroom brimming with Brazilian Bum Bum Cream and a kitchen well stocked with vodka and wine? Yes, I am not in my corner of the North West anymore…week 3 of the Summer holidays takes me to student land!

I am spending a few days with Prom-dress Daughter at her digs in the Scottish capital. Her flatmate is away and so we have the place to ourselves and … I love it.

It is not even an entirely social visit. We both have a fair bit of work to do but this just makes it feel even better. As if I actually live in this lovely vibrant spot, as opposed to just being a passing visitor. Mornings, afternoons and some of the evening we are buried in notes or calculations in our respective corners of the lounge. But in between, we pop out. To trendy cafes, or to sit in the sunny Meadows with deli sandwiches in brown paper bags or simply to step out for a stroll.

Yes, the best bit about my stay? Location, location location!

My middle child lives right in the heart of Edinburgh city. It is August, it is Festival time and it is sunny. The place just buzzes with life and excitement. Whereas a trip at home might be the weekly shop, or filling up the car with petrol, here it is to watch a street performer, or mooch around a vintage shop or listen to some live music, whilst sipping a cool drink.

It feels wonderful. Is it just a reminder of life I once lived and the girl I was, many many decades ago? Or is it time to be that girl again? Next week, Small Boy picks up his A Level results and hopefully the passport to his University life and future career.

Which means that I will be … an empty nester. Eek!

Emotional times for sure … but maybe also the chance to rediscover the old (pre-parenthood) me? Gracious, as I see that in black and white, it feels a little too momentous and overwhelming right now. Perhaps I’ll make a gentler start to a whole new life… by adding ‘Brazilian Bum Bum Cream’ to my Christmas list!

Cost of living and the long wet Summer …

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24 August 2023

Will it ever stop raining and how is it still a week until payday?

Nearly two years into our grim UK cost of living crisis, a brace of back-to-back 31 day months feels like a killer at the moment!

At least my offspring are older I think, as I lie awake doing the mental gymnastics of stretching my remaining August budget over looming costs and commitments. How on earth do parents with younger children cope? An added pressure must be the school holidays where we are told that families are supposed to be having fun? But in a Summer which has seen the “UK’s sixth wettest July on record”, according to the Met Office, this can feel like a costly and challenging venture. How are other single parents faring as prices continue to rise, existing ‘fixes’ come to an end… and rain continues to fall?

The research shows that they are struggling. With savings pots 20 times smaller than the average, a 2022 article in The Guardian find that “Single-parent families ‘most exposed’ to cost of living crisis in Great Britain.” And the widely quoted report “Single Parents in 2023” from the charity Gingerbread, builds a fuller picture of the impacts of this. It is an upsetting read. I’ll go further; for me, it is a disgraceful reflection on life for too many in a country with one of the largest world economies. Nearly half have cut back on, or gone without, food and meals for themselves. Almost as many made similar sacrifices with heating or electricity.

That said, this report is proactive and makes a number of recommendations on: welfare reform, debt management and employment support. And so I too resolve to draw up some ‘cost of living’ tips to keep myself on track. I look back to the past seven days for inspiration.

Tip#1: Buy fruit and vegetables from your local market

I chance upon this one in my role as ‘hostess with the most-est‘, entertaining several university friends last week. My hunt for fennel, to pep up a vegan paella, brings me to a stall in our huge local market close to closing time. The licorice livener is there but so too is this insane end of day offer, that is also straight into our tote bag:

“6 punnets of fruit…” (as in any mixture of, strawberries, raspberries, blue berries, watermelon, peaches etc’ ..” for £2“

What a steal! Delicious, healthy, unbelievable value… what’s not to love! I’m certainly making a regular date with my favourite fruitmonger!

Tip#2: Hang onto your NHS dentist!

I’ve messed this one up, alas. Missed too many appointments and was taken off the NHS list and thrown into the financial misery of private practice. This week, I trudge grudgingly off to pay (far too much of) my hard earned money for a simple filling. The NHS cap prices whereas in private land, they cumulate them. The results price differential is significant. So learn from my mistakes readers! Cherish those check-ups and hold onto your place in the world of affordable healthcare.

Tip#3: Manchester museums and galleries.

Aa many visitors come and go for us this week, I find myself on several days out in Manchester. And these sparkle with cultural delights from the large museums to smaller galleries. From LS Lowry’s matchstick men to ‘Julia and Axel‘ and thirty years of such iconic books as ‘The Gruffalo‘, ‘Room on the Broom’ and ‘The Smartest Giant in Town‘. From ‘Unpicking Couture‘ at the art gallery, to retracing Manchester’s proud textile history at MOSI and exploring culture, history and identity at Esea . The extra bonus readers ? It is all completely free!

So, three cheers for the What’s on’ guide, offering a wealth of culture for all on my doorstep!

Well, that’s it for my lessons learned this week. It’s a start I guess, but let’s be honest, only a drop in the ocean. For real change and fairness, we clearly need more fundamental action. Is that Gingerbread’s reforms? Is that a new government? Who knows but of this I am sure …roll on payday!

Birthday time in Edinburgh …

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Sunday 6 August 2023

I started my blog in 2019, with a ‘trio of teens, but I am now fast approaching the era of parenting only twenty-somethings, as this month sees Prom-dress daughter become our second vicenarian. As my middle child also lives (almost) permanently in the Scottish capital now, for birthday celebrations, the rest of us head north for a week …

Edinburgh, in August, is in full festival mode. It is hustle and bustle on every corner, with shows, markets, pop up bars and … people! And we have a great time.

One of our highlights is a fabulous Birthday meal at ‘Chez Jules’ in the New Town.

“Friends have told me it’s really good Mum” enthuses Prom dress daughter

“but … (and this bit makes this old quinquagenarian smile) ... you have to call up to get a table!”

Well, hold the front page, I have to actually speak to someone? I can’t just fire up my smart phone and press buttons to make a reservation? However did humankind cope, in the dark pre-iPhone age of the 20th Century?

Anyway, I manage the task of a phone call booking and it is a good job that I do, as at 7:30 prompt, when we descend the steps into the buzz of this popular French Bistro it is rammed. And it is easy to see why – fabulous food, plentiful red wine, brilliant atmosphere and friendly staff all combine to make an evening that is … magnifique!

On another day, we enjoy a first trip to Leith, by the sea. And (when we finally work out how to get out of the Ocean Terminal car park lift!) have a lovely time exploring the shops, cafes and harbour. Small boy wins our ‘Bargain Hunt’ £5 challenge with his (broken) silver cigarette lighter from the large Antiques Centre and we wait to see if it makes him a fortune!

And we round off our trip with the ‘Barbie’ movie, enjoying the film, with pink cocktails and snacks in the comfy armchairs an Everyman Cinema

It is a super fun-flick to finish our week away, with its light-hearted and humorous exploration of gender roles in society. My favourite character has to be ‘weird Barbie’, with her shorn hair and legs stuck permanently in the splits position. She instantly transports me back from the present, where my two sophisticated daughters sit with their Strawberry Daiquiris, to the time when, as under 10’s, they terrorised their own Barbies’, in particular those hairstyles with scissors and felt tip pens.

Gosh, much changes in a decade and, as we wave goodbye to our birthday girl and she moves from teens to twenties, I wonder what the next 10 years will bring…

Well done son!

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Thursday 25 August 2022

This Thursday, the gentle giant, affectionately know as Smallboy, collects his GCSE results … and they are cracking!

The entire squad bundles down to school for support, crammed into my Eldest’s 3-door car, (alas, Windsor is recovering from an encounter with a bollard in Bolton … a story for another day) because, that is what we do and because we get it. Get the pressure of high expectation from: school, friends, family. Everyone expecting you to have done well, to have ‘sailed through‘ to have ‘smashed it’. It is a lot to bear at the age of 16 and the car journey is pretty quiet.

Our phone clocks move to 09:00. The school doors open. Off he goes and, after 3 years of blessed GCSE respite, it is ‘welcome back’ to that tortuous wait in the car for me! Smallboy later tells me that,

I kind of knew it had gone well mum because as I went through the doors one of the teachers told me to ‘wait behind at the end for a photograph’

But there is none of this reassurance for those left outside. Stomach churning, I waive aside my daughters’ suggestions of ‘music‘ or ‘playing a game‘. I try some experimental ‘positive chanting’ but soon fall back upon the familiar and am completing my fourth decade of the rosary when we see him ambling across the carpark, giving us a shy thumbs up and hopping back into the front seat.

It is simply a super set of grades! He gives a modest shrug, his face breaks into a smile, I ruffle his curly locks and we head off for a Maccies breakfast to celebrate.

And so, as a parent, my encounter with GCSE examinations, revision and results days comes to an end. Three very different experiences, not so much with the results days but with the examination period itself. This final one, without doubt, the most laid back and … let me get down with the kids and say, ‘chilled’ ever. Few dramas and a very relaxed (which I found alarming on occasion) approach to revision. Typically, I’d arrive home and open with,

Have you started revision yet? You’ve got Chemistry tomorrow

To which my son would usually reply along the lines of,

Don’t stress mother, it’s only 7pm… plenty of time!

I did put my foot down about mid-week socialising but he still went out most weekends. I also supported the schools insistence on attendance and did not consent to my son’s pleas to ‘phone and ask for study leave’.

Did any of it make a jot of difference? I guess we shall never know. But, on supporting school policy, I was never going to budge. I am unspeakably grateful to our local high school for many things and this includes the knowledge, the love of learning and the encouragement to aim high that they have instilled in all three of my offspring. I cannot thank them enough for this because, as a single parent, life is a tough old trek and self-doubt always only a thought away. Their resolute input has, without question shielded my trio from my lone-mum fears of ‘daring to hope’ and contributed to them becoming just lovely young people, with amazing friends and bright futures. So rather than questioning any edicts over the years I have been happy to trust and that has certainly paid off.

So let’s finish this post where we started with the one and only Small boy. Enrolled at sixth-form and starting an exciting new chapter. Well done son, you enjoy this moment …

A soundtrack for the Summer…

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Monday 22 August 2022

Well, I may not have stepped onto a plane this August but I have certainly covered a few miles! Well done to Windsor, my trusty Toyota, for doing most of the work and hip hip hooray for ‘Heart 80s‘; pumping out nostalgic tunes from the car dashboard and providing the perfect soundtrack for the holiday season…

Heart 80s … why so perfect? Because, as I look back on the last 4 weeks, I realise that I have spent an awful lot of it with those I first met in… the 1980s! Just the sort of symmetry to make my mathematical mind happy and to inspire me to write this week’s post as an ode to some of my oldest pals…

First stop; dear university friends (known since the mid 80s) in the North East. Here we ‘make it a night to remember‘ in the pub quiz followed by a day of drinking ‘red red wine,’ and also sampling the fizzy, white and rose varieties at an organic wine tasting. We ‘walk this way‘ and that way and many miles through the glorious local countryside, where the fields of corn, barley and wheat just take my breath away. And finally, be it a ‘green door‘, brown door or even a solid steel fortification, nothing and I mean nothing, is stopping one very competitive friend from breaking it down in a determined quest to wrestle us out of an Escape Room within the allocated hour!

After several happy days, I head home whereupon, accompanied by a fellow classmate from sixth form (slightly earlier mid-80s) we go ‘running up that hill‘ and also wrapping ourselves in 4 sets of blankets to watch an exuberant but unspeakably chilly outdoor production of Midsummer Night’s Dream at a local riding centre. Whilst I would recommend the incredible Illyria theatre company without hesitation, I could almost swear I heard the Bard himself chuckle ‘Oh Lord what fools these mortal be!‘ as the wind freezes hands to the point where picnickers dare not even release them from the safety of rugs and jumpers to hold a glass of prosecco !

Thereafter however, comes the heat. Aside from a brief flit to Middlesborough (furniture drop for my Eldest) and a trip to sunny Stratford for Promdress daughter’s birthday, the ‘long hot summer‘ just passes us by, in a sweltering week of deckchair basking and ‘cool pool’ froth in the garden not-so-hot tub.

And before long, my next visitor arrives, a teacher training bestie from the late 80s. Now ‘girls just want to have fun‘ and that is exactly what we do. Courtesy of this sunniest of Summers we are able to sit out until late to drink and chat and also spend a delicious day in the bars and cafes of Manchester.

But then….‘C’mon‘ calls Windsor ‘It’s time for me to hit the road again!’

Indeed it is! Nicknamed a ‘long distance lorry driver‘ by one witty amigo, on account of my holiday travels, I find time to whirl along the motorway to deposit Small Boy in Wales and then set the satnav for ‘a town called ...‘ London! Yes; I drive to London – eek! I am terrified. I am bamboozled. I am ‘ultra low emission zone’ charged and navigationally challenged. I have nightmares about taking a wrong turn and seeing the monopoly board come to life from my car window.

But with the trains on strike it is the only way for me to catch-up with great uni friends, some of whom I have not seen for over 5 years. So I go for it, get there in one piece and then enjoy ….

I am a ‘west end girl‘ with lunch and a mini-reunion at the elegant Wolseley in Piccadilly plus a stroll around a (very brown) Green Park. Then it’s the cultural delights of the Southbank; ‘Surrealism Beyond Borders‘ at Tate Modern before an afternoon at the Globe for my second dose of Shakespeare this Summer.

My final day veers a little more off the beaten track at Trinity Buoy Wharf. We go primarily to hear the ‘Long Player‘ a 1000 year piece of music composed by Jem Finer, once of the Pogues. Not only did my friend and I see the Pogues (together) at Glastonbury back in 1986, but I further relish in coincidences, realising that, by utter chance, it was also a location used in the Netflix film, Rogue Agent, which I watched with the teens just 4 days earlier… spooky! The site is even more than Long Player too, with arty workshops, a museum honouring Faraday, who conducted experiments in electric lighting for lighthouses there in the nineteenth century, the Floodtide music installation plus one of the quirkiest cafes I’ve stopped at for quite some time. A terrific find.

And it is there that my August 2022 travels end. Windsor and I point the compass north and we duo of Wild Rovers speed merrily up the motorway home.

Great times, great company, great 80s soundtrack, great Summer …

Have I sold my soul … ?

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Wednesday 10 August 2022

“It is £30 for a check-up and we take payment in advance.”

I am momentarily frozen on the other end of the line. I am about to join a private dental practice and the immediate mention of cold, hard cash (well electronically transferred funds) brings home the reality that I am now paying for health care. Have I sold my soul to the devil?

This particular practice actually invited me in, after they met me as an emergency patient a few weeks ago. On this occasion, I had lost a filling and, co-incidentally, discovered to my dismay that I had also lost my place with the NHS dentist. After experimenting with home remedies, a work colleague suggested plugging the gap with chewing gum and I bunged in some gunk from the internet, I eventually resigned myself to taking an appointment with anyone who could help, waved my credit card at the smiling receptionist and left with a very secure (if expensive) new amalgam.

Thereafter, I resolved to find a new NHS practice and ‘re-join the dental system‘. And so when the private practitioners emailed me with an invite to ‘sign on’ to their books, I initially ignored it.

Alas, however, getting back into the national system proved trickier than I thought. Countless calls and google searches confirmed that nobody… but nobody is taking on new patients. And so for a while I just parked the issue and forgot about my teeth. Small boy, unlike me, had not been turfed out of the local practice. If he was okay, in true single parent fashion, I resolved to ‘just muddle on’.

‘Perhaps,’ I reason, ‘if there are no places and everyone seems happy to accept this, then dental care cannot be that important. Maybe the occasional emergency appointment is the way to go?‘

On Monday of this week, however the BBC report, ‘Full extent of NHS dentistry shortage revealed by far-reaching BBC research’, reveals, not only that 9 out of 10 NHS practices are not taking on new adult patients but also that this has lead to an alarming rise in ‘DIY dentistry‘. People pulling out their own teeth, restricting their diets to little more than soup and making improvised dentures. When I hear a man on the radio describing how he was forced to extract 2 teeth with pliers …. arghhhh…. I am forced to review my thoughts on dental care and I reluctantly re-read the email from the private practice.

I also review their costs because, let’s be clear, NHS dentistry is not ‘free‘ for adults, indeed free treatment ended in 1951, just three years after the NHS was formed, because it was deemed unaffordable, however the pricing is subsidised and pretty simple with only 3 charge bands.

Band 1: £23.80covers an examination, diagnosis, advice including x-rays, a scale and polish
Band 2: £62.50covers all treatment in band 1 plus additional treatments such as fillings, root canal and extractions
Band 3: £282.80covers all treatment in bands 1 and 2 , plus more complex procedures such as crowns, dentures and bridges
NHS Dental charges

I quickly discover that the private costs are a lot higher, in particular because there is no inclusion of previous costs in their pricing structure, so those bills just accumulate! Nonetheless, as I rattle around the kitchen this morning, I do come across a pair of pliers. It’s surely a sign. I need to spend some money on myself … just this once…

So I make the call and pay the examination fee.

At the end of much prodding and x-raying, I find that I do need a filling. As it is quite pricey, I elect to postpone treatment for a while, at least until my August pay check lands. It has been an expensive month for me with all 3 teens temporarily back at home. Doubtless though, at some point in the Autumn, I shall find the money and add yet more metal to my molars.

But I resent having to wait and I resent having to make health decision based not upon my wellbeing but upon my bank balance. The reasons for the current crisis I do not really fathom but I find incredibly sad. Is this, as the BBC report challenges, ‘The death of NHS Dentistry?’ It is certainly not the vision of national health care free that I hold dear.

For what of those who cannot pay at all? Worrying times …

Holidaying …without kids…

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Saturday 28 August 2021

On the heartwarming ‘Raising Boys’ blog, there is one article, ‘7 Rules for taking a Toddler on Holiday‘ that takes me on a poignant trip down memory lane and inspires this week’s post. For this year, I find myself emerging on the other side of this parental vacation voyage. In August 2021, I leave my kids at home and go holidaying with my friends again!

Yes, my friends and I have shared many holiday permutations over the years. In our student days, lots of adventurous travel. Booking a flight, packing a rucksack, a tube of travel wash and the iconic ‘Rough Guide to…. wherever‘ and simply setting off for a few weeks … occasionally months. Then marriage and settling down, lit up by the sociable toddler years, when our cheery, chubby offspring were only too happy to team up with any children in sight and so came with us on trips to see our pals. Built sandcastles together, shared tents together, giggled, laughed and probably cried on ‘long’ parent-led walks together. Alas, this harmony was soon to hit the challenge of the teenage era! Definitely a more barren time in terms of keeping in touch. Awkward adolescents are fare less keen, we discovered, to immediately bond and socialise with each other, simply because they are around the same age and, back in the 1980s, their parents became buddies at University! So our holiday meet-ups, regrettably, dwindled away … until this year.

With Small Boy joyfully driven to Wales to enjoy a seaside holiday with my Mum and his ‘caravan friends’, my girls more than keen to have the house to themselves for a week, I am free to head to the beautiful Northumberland Coast to join a house that ‘sleeps six’ with a group of university friends. And there is not an single child in sight!

And it is wonderful! Seven days of adult company and a full 180 degrees different from my usual life. A large G & T greets me upon arrival on arrival. We enjoy leisurely meals out and fantastic food in with wine, chat, laughter and no-one rushing to finish and get back to the x-box. Countryside and coastal walks are planned with pub or cafe stops … and without needing to resort to threats or bribery. The very civilised ‘Great Estuary Debate‘ aside, (to chance a wade across at low tide or play safe with a longer roadside route?’ … that was the question) there are also no arguments, no sulks, no squabbles. On the beach, some do swim and board, someone even brings a bucket and spade… but not me. After years of having to occupy, entertain and cart equipment for 3 children to the sand and sea … I just bring snacks, drinks and my kindle.

Of course, there are still some decisions to be made… just not ones you’d usually hear on a teen family vacation,

” I thought Yemeny pilaf for dinner tonight, or possibly salmon‘ calls one of my friends from the kitchen ” Any preference?”

Oooh – tough choices!

And we don’t forget about our children completely. We share parenting tales, we swap proud pictures and we call them most days. But predominantly, I find, I have a precious and refreshing week for me; afternoon and evening drinks, lazy morning lie-ins with a good book interchanged with occasional runs, convivial jigsaws but competitive board games, fresh air, stunning scenery, much tea, many biscuits, fun and friendship.

Do the kids miss us? Today I drive home and arrive at a house where the curtains are closed, the shed is full of uncollected Amazon parcels and there not a scrap of food to be found in fridge or cupboard. But those who are in welcome me back with hugs and smiles, so even if they haven’t missed me, even if they have had a lovely break from my ‘mum – nagging’, I think they are pretty pleased to have me back. My Eldest sends a text explaining that she is ‘out’ until later and Small Boy reminds me that he is heading to a gig in the local park at six. I resign myself to tea without milk, an afternoon of washing and conclude that whilst we have all had welcome change of pace and routine, that life will be ‘back to normal’ before I’ve even unpacked my bags.

Or maybe not; I fire up my laptop, start to type and escape back to holiday mode for an extra indulgent hour or two…

Making the call…

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Saturday 21 August 2021

The TV coverage from Afghanistan this week redefines the concept of ‘heartbreaking’ news, as the Taliban sweep back into power, following the decision, catalysed by US President Joe Biden, to withdraw troops from this volatile area of Central Asia. The chaos, the desperation, the scale of human tragedy play out on our screens so tangibly that I, for one, struggle to even compute how to start thinking about it all. The Foreign Office staff in Kabul, sound resolute, if strained and verging upon panic, about their mission in what seem to be the most impossible of situations and I am left in awe of their strength and leadership. But then comes the story we can all relate to, and it knocks away all my hope and trust in humanity in one devastating blow; Dominic Raab … and the phone call…

As reported widely in the national media, Raab our Foreign Secretary, holidaying in Crete as the Afghan capital falls, is advised to make a call, to expedite safe passage for the local interpreters, who have worked with the British Army over the last 2 decades. But this call is not made. And there is it. A simple narrative but one that defies belief and lands like the cruellest of stun grenades in our living room as we gather to hear the latest news bulletin.

Initially there is the shock that, at the height of a such a tense and dangerous crisis for many British citizens and vulnerable collaborators, the head of the Foreign Office is actually still on holiday at all, as opposed to being back at his desk at the centre of strategic decision making and emergency talks. Then come the waves of utter disgust and anger that whilst the highest standards of public leadership were clearly beyond him, so were the very least, the most minimal; a simple phone call for heaven sake!And not just any call. Not a diplomatic nicety. Not a general update. No; this call was about saving lives.

‘Doesn’t everyone deserve a holiday?‘ some of his supporters have argued, and Raab himself has commented that after a ‘gruelling two years‘, he deserved the break.

And no-one would deny him this. Indeed it is undoubtedly true that the rapid recent rise in remote working and technological advances much before this, that have often caused society to reflect upon the impact of blurring the lines between work and home and with this, work time and holiday time. In 2015, the charity Mind, in their article ‘A quarter of staff have been pestered by their boss while on holiday‘, reported worrying concerns about the proportions of people contacted by bosses during ‘vacations’ and out of working hours.

But even they, in tune with all legal advice on this issue, accept that there are times when it is both reasonable and necessary for an employee to be called. Further that this likelihood will increase with seniority. And there can be few amongst us who would not see the catastrophe developing in Afghanistan and the urgency to protect human life as a totally legitimate reason to summon any of us, let alone the privileged and powerful Foreign Secretary, from a sun-lounger on the beach.

Mr Raab has also said that ‘in retrospect‘, he wouldn’t have gone on holiday if he knew the ‘scale of the Taliban takeover‘, and has claimed that “Everyone was caught off-guard by the pace …of the Taliban takeover.” Equally many, in rushing to his defence, have claimed that the phone call would not have made any difference. But, for me, all of this skirts the issue. He chose not to interrupt his vacation to make the call. I said it was a simple narrative and I have a simple point to make. Human lives were at stake and this man did not care enough to try and save them.

What sort of person makes that decision? What sort of person do we have sitting one of the highest, most privileged roles in the cabinet? I feel as if the shutters have well and truly been lifted from my eyes and I am terrified of what I see. No care, no compassion, not a shred of human decency from the centre of our national government. Can this really be true? If so, for the British nation these are sad, dark and worrying times indeed ….