The only disadvantage of working at home on a Monday is that I end up being the one who has to take the daughter to her ballet lesson.
Yes, over 18 months on from when I had my last rant about ballet, she's still going, despite taking a break for a term because it had got boring.
Oh well, I thought, at least I might get the opportunity to nip to the supermarket for a few bits. I hastily arranged my daughter's hair into a bun as best I could - after twirling her pony tail back into the band and securing it with a few hair slides as per my wife's instructions, she still looked like Bjork in a wind tunnel, but I figured it best to quit while I was ahead - and got ready to make my escape.
It wasn't to be. Chairs had been put out in the dance hall. It was watching day for the parents.
'Great,' I said through slightly gritted teeth, but I reasoned that it was the half-termly opportunity to see what sort of training the daughter was getting for each four pounds per half hour session - look, it adds up, ok?
The girls opened with a dance in a circle performed with much enthusiasm, but all the grace of, well, you know when all those dinosaurs stampede in Jurassic Park.
The teacher got them to do it again and they were slightly lighter on their feet. Like wildebeest.
Next they were arranged in rows for a few of the more specialist ballet moves. One of the more pushy parents next to me huffed that her daughter was always being put at the back. Suddenly I realised, quite smugly, that my girl was at the front and tried not to smirk. I was beginning to get my money's worth here.
The moves went well and my daughter was quite good at copying the teacher's instructions. If she hadn't found it so boring for a term she might have been like the little girl who she got paired up with halfway through. She performed the moves almost perfectly. But so what. My little Bjork was enjoying herself and that's all that mattered.
Finally, came another set dance where they started at the back of the hall and leapt like Darcy Bussells to the front. Again any grace was largely absent. Forget Bjork. My daughter could have auditioned to be a member of Madness with her Nutty Boyesque leg-bounding.
I suppose a lesser parent might have been outraged that their little girl wasn't showing any more promise and how 200 quid over 18 months might have been better spent. But that is to miss the point.
Oh to be that age again when you can get involved in something and not be very good at it, but still have a great time, without feeling self-conscious or dejected.
Soon that time will be gone for my daughter. For now, as long as ballet keeps her smiling, they can keep taking the money.