Every now and then, BigBear and I discuss the possibility of moving overseas. The idea of escaping the growing racism, intolerance, isolationism and false sense of superiority in this country. If I'm honest, the major reason for not upping sticks and leaving is my own anxiety, specifically my anxiety about my LittleBear and how he would cope with being uprooted. And if I'm really, really honest, I'm mostly certain that he would cope a great deal better than I would, but he's a handy peg to hang my neurotic hat on.
That is all somewhat by-the-by, however. The point of that preamble is that I was talking about the idea of moving to my colleagues. My young, naive colleagues. My young, naive colleagues who are young enough to be my children (if I'd started very early). I had mentioned that Germany and the Netherlands were the most obvious options given the combined linguistic skills and professional expertise of BigBear.
Their response to this idea flummoxed me.
They started to discuss in some detail how easy it would be for me work remotely, and perhaps "pop" back from time to time.
At no point did it seem to occur to them that emigration could equate to me resigning from my job. I am clearly such an immutable part of the company that their dear, fragile little minds were unable to conceive of the possibility that Mummy might leave one day.
I found this both profoundly endearing and utterly alarming at the same time.
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