One December evening I poured myself a glass of wine and started to dismantle the Christmas Tree. Hours before, my husband and son had stood proudly next to the tree, which they had managed to locate in the loft, to show me the efforts they had gone to with tinsel and baubles. And I had tried to live with it, I really had, but the fact remained that they had mixed in purple and silver with gold and red, the tinsel wasn't entirely even, and the baubles were just hanging wrong. So down it all came, and hours later it was redecorated correctly.
I have always thought that I am quite laid back, but slowly it is dawning on me that perhaps I am a bit of a control freak. I see each day as a timetable and my life as a task list, and I do not cope well with things that break the routine. When I discovered that my morning digestives were actually chocolate digestives I was sent into a severe stress that my normal routine had been changed. And the idea of putting mismatching pillowcases with the duvet, or eating with mismatching cutlery, just sends me over the edge.
In my defence, being in control is my way of dealing with a busy life with as little thought as possible. And with the routine taken care of, sometimes, just sometimes, I can concentrate on being spontaneous, escaping the routine, having an adventure. After all, when I get home from living a bit closer to the edge, I will know that we still have enough toilet roll in the house, food for packed lunches, and school uniform washed.
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