When Worlds Collide

You know you're grown up when school holidays are no longer a time of joy. When the summer break no longer means endless sunny days spent playing with your mates, but is instead an inconvenience to be got through as painlessly as possible.

Well ok, the sunny days disappeared a few years ago, but you get my drift. I'm essentially appealing here to all those in the same boat as myself - parents with school-age children.

In some ways, I have it pretty good compared to most. Working for myself at least removes the panic that sets in when you realise they're off for nearly seven weeks, the holiday club is only open for four and Grandma is off on a long-awaited Caribbean cruise for the other three.

Working from a home office makes life easier. It means I'm 'around' and can plan my schedule to suit. Even better, now that The Boy is old enough to babysit his younger sister, I can abuse my parental privileges and demand his availability should I need to schedule a meeting. (Or when the craving for a latte and a Fat Rascal at Bettys gets too strong.)

The downside is that I can't just 'get on' - put my head down and work - because there's always somebody demanding to know what we're having for lunch, when will that be exactly, and why won't I tell her brother to stop being mean and rescue the marbles trapped under the freezer?

This week, though, we've had a complication. Swine flu. The Boy felt a bit iffy on Tuesday night, and informed us that a friend he'd spent the previous weekend with had been diagnosed the previous day. By Wednesday, he was in full spate. Cue a 20-minute call to the new pandemic helpline and a mercy dash to the chemist for Tamiflu.

I have to say I was amazed at his recovery rate. On Thursday he felt well enough to eat, have a shower and get dressed, even if that did sap his energy for the rest of the day. And today he's almost back to normal.

I'm relieved to say the least. I know there was no reason to think he'd suffer any complications, but even though I work in the media and should know better than to believe everything I read, I still couldn't stop myself from imagining the worst.

It has meant cancelling a couple of business appointments. Partly because even I realise that leaving him in charge of The Princess when he's ill isn't good form, and partly because I have no wish to take whatever germs are flying around our house into the outside world and pass them on.

The lovely, helpful pandemic line lady told me there was no need to quarantine ourselves and to carry on as normal, just to be more aware of hand-washing and the like. But when you tell somebody that one of your nearest and dearest has swine flu, you realise what life must have been like for lepers in days gone by. There's that almost imperceptible holding of breath, a slight backing away and a sudden feeling that the conversation is very definitely over.

So, because I'm not technically on holiday yet, I've been practicing my quick-change act even more than usual. Look, I'm Florence Nightingale, dispensing pills.... now I'm Nicola Horlick, negotiating a business deal..... now I'm Nigella Lawson, whipping up a storm in the kitchen (I wish).... and let's finish with Mum, dishing out the Barbie plasters for a cut knee. I wonder when I get to be Me?