Quiet please

I have a weakness for cheap philosophy, as in Joni Mitchell's Big Yellow Taxi. "You don't know what you've got till it's gone".  One of those phrases you can read in different ways: think unmentionable health problems, last job, friends, the lost fiver.

Our road closes to traffic: resurfacing after the cracks started to head towards the earth's innner crust and the W8 bus wobbled windows once too often. Suddenly it's a quiet and slow walking road and I love it more than the road of yesterday. People stop and talk to each other; small people run along the pavement in safety.

Our children screech off to school for the last day of term and the house goes quiet inside as well. I miss them immediately but at the same time I love having the place to myself.  Music of my choosing, coffee breaks at will.

My dear old mum phones early and asks me when I'm retiring. She's still working at 94 and it hasn't done her any harm. "The quiet life? Not likely", I say. And I look forward to another day of frenetic keystrokes, terse but diplomatic exchanges, short bursts of creativity, solution-focused planning, looming deadlines, political consternation and feeding a loud cat. Excitement, stress and adrenaline: it's how you know you're alive.  Wouldn't change it for the world.