At 69, I sold my house to travel around the world despite my children's protests — in Australia, a man invited me to his home for coffee, but when I walked into his living room, I froze.
I spent my whole life looking after other people.
Four children. A job. Grandchildren three days a week for nine years. And money, whenever anybody needed it, which was often.
And the strange part is that my children almost never looked after me.
They rang when they wanted a sitter, or a loan, or a favour. Hardly ever to ask how I was.
After Don died twelve years ago I spent about four years not being a person.
And then one morning I was sixty-nine, standing in a kitchen I had stood in since 1988, and I worked out that I had spent my entire life waiting for someday.
So I sold the house and booked a trip round the world.
