Look! There she is again! The strange woman running down Whitehall in her silver ballet pumps, high heels and homework spilling out of one bag, the other aerodynamically tucked under her arm. Silver too, just for detail.
Trying hard not to trip over paving stones or tourists, get run-over by enthusiastic cyclists and ministerial convoys, or lose my sunglasses, I try and maintain a steady jog. Big Ben comes into sight but damn, it's already nearly 5pm.
I repeat in my mind my aerobic instructor's mantra, "it's your body, work it", as I pick up speed, appear in another tourist's skewed photo of Parliament, and knock into a free London paper man.
Running down escalators one side, then up again the next, the jog is back on as I wish myself nearer platform 16. Barely pausing to look where the train is going I stagger on, willing the doors shut and a sudden tgv speed to take hold.
My mantra now is "east dulwich, east dulwich, east dulwich, come ONNNNN!" (Also part of my aerobic instructor's motivational word pot).
From train to bus, then back on the run, I hardly notice the hail and thunder as I stumble down my destination road - on the last leg now, not quite 6pm, pant, pant, thud, thud...and I'm there.
A cool, calm and collected large man with a larger umbrella arrives just behind me, "I'm really quite wet" he says, looking very dry to me. "I'm...just....glad....to have...made it" I gasp; I look down and realise I'm actually dripping now. Rain? Sweat? Blood and tears??
The door opens and there she is - my little snotty jewel. Hellloooo Iris!! "Hallo" she says back, waving and crying at the same time. The nursery staff try and convince me she's settling in now, and even enjoyed her spaghetti hoops and sand play today. Iris and I back out into the rain, shaking and nodding our heads respectively...