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We’re lucky. We live in a shared house on a posh street. The teacher’s strikes have been tricky though. I’ve not been able to get any time off work, but a lady down the road has been looking after my youngest, Louise.
“Estelle never had telly. They just did playing.” Louise said excitedly thrusting a picture towards me. The picture was a face made out of a meal’s worth of dried pasta. “Tomorrow we’re going to do printing with potatoes.”
We put the picture on the fridge. It watched us while they ate, and I pretended I’d eaten at work.