It might have something to do with approaching a large numbered birthday next year, but you find yourself having a bit of a mid life crisis with respect to the things you will never be able to do as a result of having thrown your lot in with B, your husband.
It is, perhaps, a bit late to be moaning about fundamental incompatabilities after ten years of marriage and an even longer time as partners, but the fact of the matter is that there are one or two things you never realised about him until relatively recently. Things you are finding hard to let go of.
The first is that he doesn’t like climbing mountains. What you want to do while on holiday, for example, is go somewhere remote and probably rainy, pull on jumpers and boots and yomp about the countryside, preferably upwards. What B wants to do is find a city and walk about the streets. If you do manage to get him on a hike, he will wear unsuitable shoes and you will end up walking along the nearest road he can find. It’s terrible, although not as terrible as the fact that his second choice for days out is the seaside, which at the moment means British beaches.
You hate beaches. They are hot and there is no shade, unless, of course, they are wet and there is nothing to do. Either way, the water is fucking freezing, although I will grant that you and the Star had fun in Brighton recently jumping waves as the tide came in. That was good, but it lasted all of twenty minutes and the rest of the day was, in your opinion, boring and uncomfortable.
Luckily both your children wilt tremendously in the full glare of the sun, and the Comet has developed an aversion to sand, so you are probably spared having to spend year after year on a package holiday in Marbaya or, more likely, Bournemouth for the sake of the kids.
Anyway, the second problem is related to the first. You have been thinking recently how nice it would be to move out of London and go and live in a town, a small town even, although right now your ideal home is at the top of a mountain with no neighbours for five miles in every direction. You are fed up of the constant traffic issues, the lack of a garden, the traffic, the fact that you have to travel for an hour to get away from the rows and rows of houses, how big and impersonal it all is, how difficult it is to get around even if you aren’t driving, and the traffic.
B, however, is a city boy through and through, and worse, a city boy from Moscow. There is almost nobody on this planet who looks down on people who are unlucky enough to come from a village, a small town or, god help us, a city which is not a capital more than your average Muscovite. In fact, whilst it is true that there are some sound practical reasons for living in London, the real reason is actually that B refuses to contemplate living anywhere that isn’t a capital city, if he is forced to live somewhere other than Moscow.
So if you are to continue living with B, you will be stuck in built up areas for the rest of your life. The rest. Of. Your. Life. Or his life, rather.
Clearly there is only one solution to this problem.
This family will have to move back to Moscow.
It’s a city but considerably smaller and more manageable than London, and even if driving is as hair-raising as they say, at least public transport mostly works. As long as you do not use a pushchair. Plus, land rich as Russia is, having a garden will not e a problem. It will, of course, be a hundred odd km away from your flat, but hey, at least you will be able to grow potatoes. And it has snow, which London with it’s monstrously warm weather system can almost never boast.
Yes, that’s it. Good, glad that’s sorted then.
OK, and just to prove that when you have been waiting hours for a bus then three come along at once, here is not one, not two but three extra curricular blogging activities.
One: my guest post for Bilingual Babes is up. What is the role of travel in bringing up children bilingually? Please excuse the typos, which are all mine. I must have been having a real proof reading fail day that day. I do love this blog. Tallulah has a real knack of finding interesting people and getting them to write about interesting people. Including me, of course.
Two: the Comet has written another Guide, this time to Holland Park in Kensington.
Three: I completely forgot that my latest post for the Foreigners in Russia blog for the BBC’s Russian Service went live last week. It’s a version of this post, but one where I asked readers to explain the differences between the British and Russian NHSs. Very interesting stuff. From the commenters, I mean. It’s in Russian, but hey, what is Google translate for if not this?