It is 5am on a Sunday morning. Previously I only ever saw this hour from the other end, the tail end of a night out, with fried chicken and a cup of tea in front of me, heels thrown off beside the sofa and my pillow calling me for a rather long lovely lie in (or at least six or seven hours of straight sleep if I had work the following afternoon, thank you Sunday opening hours). Now there is no fried chicken, no cup of tea and a child bouncing in an exersaucer pressing on the keys of the keyboard and questioning why he can’t do his remix of Old MacDonald, Jingle Bells and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a loop like he has been for the last week. Mammy needed her off button. It can work again when the sun is awake. Read More