I was made redundant last month.

Worry not. This isn’t a LinkedIn post about what I’ve learned since I ceased to be of use to my former employers.

Truth be told, I haven’t learned anything.

I don’t have to jump straight back into work. This is either a gift or a trap. I haven’t decided which.

I’m trying to relax (not going well), sleep (also not going well) and figure out if I want to be a trad wife (????).

I’ve made some flapjacks, organised the kitchen cupboards, made carbonara (or scrambled eggs and pasta, depending who you ask)… and can now see the bottom of the laundry basket.

So far, so boring…

But it does mean I can pick up where I left off four and a half years ago and share my musings while smoking.

Because yes, I’m smoking again…

And yes, I’m back in Northern Ireland.

And like my time off, Northern Ireland is both a gift and a curse.

We came home for family, better schools for the kids and a better quality of life for us all.

But some things haven’t changed.

Parades and politics with a small and a big P – and, worse still, pogroms – get in the way of all that is so good about this wee part of the world.

But that’s a post for another day.

We’ve been home just over a year.

The kids are picking up the accent. ‘Youse’uns’, ‘I done’ instead of ‘did’ and ‘how about ye?’ are now part of their lexicon.

They love it.

As do we.

Shame about the nonsense.

Still haven’t learned anything. 

But I’m writing again, which is something.