08:42

On the Eurostar I have the freedom to move, to think, to work.... (deep inhale) to breathe. And so I have to ask myself, “Does a bird in a cage sing as sweetly as a bird who is free?”

Not my words, but those of the unlikeliest of footballers-turned-actors, Eric Cantona, singing the praises of the London to Paris fast-train service back in 1997. The very same Eric Cantona who was banned for a whole season following his infamous Kung-Fu kick, which connected squarely with a fan’s chest, then groin.

What work is Big Eric talking about? Does he pull a ball out of his suitcase at the mid-point of his Paris to London daily commute to do a few keep-ups? Of course not, he is pouring over scripts for another lucrative advertising contract, this time from Mike’s Taxis in Preston. And why is Kung-Fu Eric philosophising about birds in cages?

This is by-the-by. Big Eric may yet prove to have a point.

It is half term week, and I am delirious with the prospect of having a whole week at home with our still-fairly-new man. In fact, since returning to work from paternity leave and doing my best to go through the motions, while really wanting to be elsewhere, I have been counting down the days.

As with all holidays, time flies much faster than when at work. In the build up, I envisaged lazy mornings of pancake breakfasts, reading in bed, and gentle walks by the riverside with our son. I even had high hopes of maintaining some semblance of rigorous, manly activity in the afternoon during his nap time. I can say that a lot of this has happened, but it is never quite as idyllic as one imagines. There is always a basket of washing to be hung out, a sinkfull of dishes to be set to rights, or a nappy to be changed. Its hard to concentrate on the newspaper while the wife is running around doing these things.

Idyllic or otherwise, what has been special has been being at home, with the wife and the little boy.

On a normal day, I would be at work right now, dealing with a serial late-comer, a bejewelled teenager, or an errant shirt tail. But as it is, I’ve just finished changing the boy after his morning feed, and doing his aerobics session during free-bum time. This is not to say that he moves with perfect timing to loud dance music in a studio surrounded by floor to ceiling mirrors. By contrast, he is left on his changing mat with a naked bottom half, while I manipulate his arms and legs to the timing of a fictitious song-cum-story. He stares at me with big eyes throughout, and has just this last week started to break out in big, wide smiles. You can see it coming, his eyes glinting as he enjoys a particular movement, prompting the imminent arrival of the next wave of gurgles and grins.

As I reflect on the holiday so far, it would be easy to dwell on the little time available to do exciting things. But this misses the point.

It is time such as free-bum-time, and the many hours spent just being together, that has made this holiday so special. We don’t have to be doing anything, really.

So I suppose Big Eric was right: we do need to allow ourselves the time to think, (deep inhale) to breathe. As for the bird in the cage and the bird who is free? Well, I have noted a creative shift and newfound depth in my fictitious songs-cum-stories for Solomon, no doubt as a direct result of holiday time. Is this what you meant, Eric?