Our TV has broken. We have no signal. The freeview box is telling us to check the aerial. As a committed tubaholic, this should be sending me into fits of doom and panic but, you know, it's really quite lovely. I never watch TV on holiday, even if I'm in a Travelodge in the UK. I just have a domestic TV habit that reaches back to the endless TV-binges of my childhood summer holidays.
I love telly. I love films. I love dramas. I have loved soaps. I don't like TV cops or detectives or talk shows.
I am, however, enjoying the evening silence and the possibility that I might just read, or relax, or have a bath, or sleep without feeling that I really need to know about some celebrity's ancestors or Levi Roots' obsession with scotch bonnet peppers. And, while I'm on the subject, why, if he knows he is about to cook jerk chicken are his fingers festooned with an assortment of bling? You never have to watch Delia or Nigella or Ainsley take their rings off before they do a bit of culinary wotnot.
So...no TV. The kids aren't keen. They like to watch reruns of The Simpsons and Doctor Who just before they get into their rapidly shrinking pyjamas. I am seeking the advice of friends and neighbours who will be able to recommend an aerial guy, or rather a guy who knows about aerials.
It was the first day back at school today. One lost book bag and an out of date bus pass were our immediate concerns. I thought I'd been very efficient sorting out uniform and shoes at the beginning of the holidays but, yet again, there is a gap in my organisational skills on the domestic front. They both went to school and came home again having emptied the contents of their lunchboxes and neither looked traumatised. So far, so good. Everyone is happy.