‘So how’s the old law career going?’ asks a friend.

‘Blimey, I don’t do law anymore,’ I reply.  ‘I’ve started a Greek street food business instead…’

Oh dear.  It sounds a little unlikely, even to me.  I’m 48; I’m totally knacked out; I’m not even Greek.  It’s ludicrous.  Son 1’s started calling me ‘Hipster Mum’.  Hip Replacement Mum, more like.

Weekdays are spent baking pitta bread – hundreds of the buggers each week.  Radio 4 chortles quietly away in the background.   While I always thought I was a closet hippy who’d travel the world with flowers in her hair, it turns out I like staying home with flour in my hair.

‘I’ll write a blog to document this lark!’ I thought.  We’re a year in.  It’s been a bit busy.  I haven’t written the blog.  I’ve got stuff to tell you though.   I haven’t even mentioned the recovering punks yet, have I?  I’ll get to that.  I mentioned knackered though, yes?

Living the dream doesn’t, conversely, seem to involve getting much sleep…