On Air

I think there is only one way that ensures one escapes the not-always-welcome demands of the domestic: travelling solo. I feel the need to specify that travelling should be undertaken on one’s own in order to be set free from the thankless rut that is getting up, tidying up, cleaning up, washing up and lots of other up-tasks which, in reality, have little to do with feeling on the up because travelling with the family is just another way of taking the rut elsewhere. There is nothing like a sinkful of dishes at the end of the day to kill my passion for anything other than hitting the sack. But once one is off on one’s own, the demands of the domestic vanish. I am currently sitting on a plane bound for Chicago and I have spent a good deal of time day-dreaming about my daily grind escaping the plane, trying to hang onto me, as I smirk and delight in the knowledge that all that awaits me for a good week is a hot tub at The Drake Hotel and a spin up and down the Mag Mile. Now that is domestic bliss.