Time is meant to be a constant. Sixty seconds in a minute. Sixty minutes in a hour. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. Each second is exactly the same in length as the last one and the next. That's what the head says. That's not how the heart feels it. A week at the beach with the family is not the same length as a week buried under a bundle of marking or spent spring cleaning - not even close. This last week was a perfect relaxed family get away. Walks on the sand, collecting shells, climbing the rocks with the dogs, three generations of my family floating in the sea, board games, fish and chips and all the best things in life. But I'd be lying if I said it all smelt like roses. In fact the dogs returned from their dune romp this afternoon smelling like sh*t - literally. IT was so overpowering it was hard to tell which one had rolled in what. I decided it was the dirty looking matted one who was the culprit so subjected him to a mega bath. He scrubbed up beautifully but the stench remained. It was the other one. Back to the bathing. I can assure you bath time did not fly. But you can't let the small matter of a pooch covered in poo come in the way of an otherwise delightful family holiday now can you?