Wendyl Nissen: Alone time

It was a bright Wednesday morning when our daughter left for school, full of excitement about seeing her friends after her six-week holiday.

We closed the door and looked at each other.

"Back to normal," he said with enthusiasm.

"Alone time," I gushed back.

"Just you and me," he grinned.

During that six-week period the ability to find time alone had been sorely tested as the three of us did a very good impression of an older couple accompanied by the maiden aunt.

Without realising it was happening, we acquired a companion for those long drives, movie nights, visiting friends and shopping expeditions.

And a very good companion she is, too.

Intelligent, inquiring, with an opinion on everything, she's interested in all aspects of modern life, keeps up to date with current events, and can even cook a meal if requested.

A fairly typical 11-year-old, in our experience. We raised four children before her but none became a fully integrated part of our relationship.

We've also never shared a caravan the size of our bathroom with a companion for two weeks.

"Gosh it's hot, you must really feel like a swim," I ventured one afternoon in desperate need of some alone time.

"I'll wait for you guys," she thoughtfully replied.

Before long, the lack of alone time manifested itself in rebellion as the two adults in the family started acting like teenagers talking to each other in smutty code.

"Gosh I'm hot."

"You can say that again."

"Can you pass me the pepper-shaker?"

"I'll shake your pepper if you don't watch out."

That sort of thing.

We received withering looks from our daughter as she peered over her Vogue magazine at the two giggling adolescents.

The night we had a few too many and were dancing suggestively to a Mika song was a turning point.

She went for a walk to the ablution block to give us a chance to "sort yourselves out".

"You're not amusing anyone with that behaviour," she said.

Things looked up briefly when my mother decided to teach our daughter how to play bridge.

"That should take at least two hours," I plotted.

"Only me," said my father as he peered into the caravan, making the most of the bridge lesson taking place to return some books we had lent him. Books any reasonable person would have taken a lot longer to read.

Finally we "suggested" that her grandparents might like to host her in their caravan for dinner and a Coronation Street viewing while we nipped into town for dinner at the pub.

"Why would you want to do that?" asked my mother.

She looked at my father, who looked at her. When you've had 20 years of alone time I guess you can't imagine missing it.

We went to the pub. We ate a meal.

"That was nice," he said weakly.

"We spent the whole time talking about how funny and gorgeous our daughter is," I pointed out.

"No, we didn't."

"Yes, we did."

"Will you two stop arguing?" interrupted our daughter.

"I'm going for a walk, I really need some time alone."