I’m still beavering away at the editing, but that’s not what I want to tell you about today. I heard about Empty Nest Syndrome, but it’s just hit me for the first time, when a pair of abandoned angel wings reduced me to a sobbing wreck. My children have come and gone over the years, dipping their toes in the property market etc, but now it feels so final. It’s not too bad during the day, when I’m working and have no time to think of anything other than mythical characters, but its when night come creeping that the ache sets in. I hate closing the bedrooms doors on rooms now devoid of scent and sound. If a floorboard creaks I know it’s just the house settling and not the tread of a loved ones foot. Even the sign on my office door, warning that I am working, is now redundant. I’m delighted that my children are happy, of course I am, but I just wasn’t prepared for the sense of loss.