I’m writing from the train once again. It’s 7:37am at the time of writing. I was up just before 6 - a luxury afforded by half term, and the children not requiring clothing, lunches, or breakfast ahead of the school run.

The guy sat opposite just blew his nose, then used the same tissue to clean the screen and keyboard of his laptop. Please excuse me while I laugh into my socks. The (lack of) personal hygeine exhibited by some people astonishes me.

An older lady just sat down opposite me, with a truly enormous handbag. I have a theory on this that I just baked up. I don’t think women ever throw anything away in their handbags - they slowly accumulate stuff over their life, and require bigger and bigger bags to contain it. By the time they reach 60 or 70, they need one of those tartan boxes on trolley wheels. It all makes sense now.

What else can I turn my intellect towards this morning ?  How about the dream I had last night, where my other half decided she didn’t like me any more and moved a replacement for me into the house (while I was still there). In an effort to win her back, I suggested we move to New Zealand - and she agreed immediately. I have the weirdest dreams.

On a more real note, the kids got up with me at 6 this morning and were downstairs watching cartoons as I packed my bags to leave for London. I sat down and had a quiet word with them…

“I heard that you two (pointing at little miss 4, and little miss 3) were naughty yesterday”

Little miss 7 pipes up with “Yes. They didn’t do as they were told all day!” (the look of incredulity on her face is a picture)

Little miss 3 - the chief perpetrator of procrastination at tidy-up-time started the discussion smiling at me  just for being Dad, and just for talking to her. After my opening salvo, she is frowning at me in the manner a young Voldemort might.

“Are you both going to try harder to be good for Mum today?”

Little miss 4 doesn’t say a word, and starts sucking her thumb - turning her head to continue watching the cartoon. That sank in then.

Back in the world of train-dom, we are just rolling into Slough, and the train is strangely empty today. Yesterday was packed to the rafters - today empty. Go figure.

All three of our children have been sick for the last few days - with various levels of fever, blocked noses, and sore throats - the product of a visit to a birthday party last weekend.

Our four year old was by far the worst afflicted - running huge temperatures, and waking in the night with nightmares and speculated hallucinations.

Monday night was broken by a little girl on the upstairs landing calling “Daddy” inbetween sucked breaths of air - I was of course on my way there before she called. Something told me the footsteps I heard from the other end of the house were not altogether right.

There were apparently spiders in her bed. After a thorough search in front of her, I kissed her forehead, tucked her in, and switched the lights off.

On Tuesday evening myself and Wendy were busy cleaning the kitchen when we heard screams. We both raced upstairs to find four year old and three year old screaming at the top of their voices in the dark.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a Lion!”

We switch on the lights and show them there is no lion, and both return to bed in immediate silence. The four year old is hot to touch.

Neither of them were awake at all on either occasion. It’s been the lesson of the last few days really - seeing an apparently awake child in front of you doesn’t mean they are awake at all.

Who knew that fever can conjure spiders, monsters and lions ?

The morning brought gentle questioning over cornflakes, and apparent non-recollection from the children. The eldest of course woke up during the screaming episode - and complained bitterly “why did they have to scream at something that they dreamed?” - I guess we’ll remind her when she has a nightmare.

I remember nightmares. I had them rarely, but I remember them clearly… all except the one I had as an adult a year or so ago. Wendy woke me in the middle of the night - I had been screaming with my mouth closed. Figure that one out. I had no memory of why I was screaming either.

Amongst the mayhem of preparing to return to work, and to visit my parents for the first time with the girls this weekend, we had perhaps my oldest friend come to stay with us from Oklahoma for a few days. Finding time to spend with her was difficult but I somehow managed it - and rediscovered why we were friends, why those relationships are so important, and a reminder to try that much harder to keep in touch over the coming years.

During the evening we escaped for a few hours, we walked the lamp lit streets and talked a lot about strength, faith, experiences and belief - the deep stuff. We talked about where we were coming from, where we thought we were, and where we might be going - we listened to each other. We laughed at stories, and shared hopes.

It was therapeutic in a way I had not anticipated. I will store it in a box of memories close to hand, and take it out from time to time. It will remind me to give the important people a call from time to time.