It’s natural and normal that our hopes and dreams change throughout our lives. At 14 I wanted to be the Artistic Director at the Royal Shakespeare Company. At 15, I’d reined it in to English teacher. By 17, like all good 17 year-olds, of course I was going to be a poet. When I was 18, I wanted to run my own business. At 24 I was going to be a stand-up comedian. And travel, oh, I was going to travel. The cherry blossom festival in Japan, Route 66 in the USA, let’s not rule out the possibility of space tourism.
Now, at the ripe old age of
37, some unspecified point in my mid-late thirties I have just one, one wish.
One night, by myself, in a Travelodge. In my home town.
That is it. No six star extravaganza with my own butler in Dubai. No. I want nice clean sheets, a double bed to do star shapes in, nobody shouting, “Mummy, there’s a Gruffalo in my bedroom” at 2 a.m.. Nobody needing to breastfeed. Nobody else snoring. Just me, in a Travelodge bed. Doing star shapes. By myself.
I wouldn’t be a dick about it. I would help TheBloke (TM) put the children to bed first. Perhaps we would have dinner together. Then I would get in the car and drive to our local Travelodge for the best night’s sleep I have had in literally four years.
I would return home promptly the next morning, possibly after their buffet breakfast (who am I kidding, of course I would have the buffet breakfast), and gladly resume my multiple roles as mother, wife, nurse, cook, cleaner, children’s entertainer, business manager, administrator.
But right now, if you gave me one wish… it would be one night, by myself, in a Travelodge. In my home town.
This post has not been sponsored by Travelodge. I would love it to be sponsored by Travelodge. Especially if they gave me a room. Sigh.