A cup of Sencha tea is projecting swirly steam patterns in the low winter sunshine on my desk while I settle down on my sheepskin covered stool. There is something very homely and grounding about brewing a hot drink before a new beginning.

A week ago my relatives were on a train to us in London. The kids were eagerly anticipating their collection from the station. The fridge was waiting to be fed with wholesome food. I had put some vases by the sink to be filled with inviting blooms. My nose was considering a welcoming aroma for the oil burner. And I had booked a waltz with the vacuum cleaner.

In my husband’s British family conversation is not the default. Apart from the occasional rustle of newspaper, my first breakfast at his parents’ house was consumed in silence. Of course I knew there would be cultural differences to learn to accept and celebrate, but this was a tough one to crack.

We are in the midst of the crazy run-up to school breaking up for summer. Our calendar is filled with summer fairs, goodbye parties, singing performances and art shows. We are seriously depleting our energy reserves before the official switch-off and – hopefully – recharge.

Meditation works for me. It grounds me. It offers me perspective. But I find it a challenge to convince my daughter that it is a good thing for her too when all she sees me doing is sit still.