No, I really am back now.
Hubby has finally legged it back to Afghanistan. I managed to speed his departure by becoming incredibly spotty, hormonal and getting a rather dreadful haircut in the week before he left. So with not much reason to hang around, the project out there became all of a sudden really rather urgent and he was off.
He has taken his special anti-insurgent mug with him, so I'm sure he'll be fine.
And I am now free to droog around the house of an evening wearing old pairs of his jogging pants and torn sweatshirts emblazoned with 'Bosnia Herzegovina 1996', hair scraped back and spotty chin slathered in nappy rash cream.
Oh and for supper this evening the kids and I had cake. Yes, just cake. Lovely big slabs of chocolate cake with buttons on donated by my fab neighbour (who as a result is now my best friend). Son timidly asked if he could have some fruit because that would be a bit healthier, mummy, but I told him no fruit until he'd eaten his chocolate cake. He didn't manage to finish it - it was rather a big slice.
Apart from Hubby's flit back to the war zone, not much to report this week. There was book club on Tuesday, which I went to because I had actually read the book for a change. Turns out I needn't have bothered as no-one was in the slightest bit interested in talking about anything more challenging than how much weight they'd put on over Christmas. We were of course discussing this theme whilst quaffing wine and tucking into breadsticks and dips. Hmm.
Even though I developed a bit of a passion for making chocolate fudge over Christmas (it was a Nigella Lawson recipe, so of course I made it wearing a velvet corset and plenty of lipgloss, whilst playfully flicking my glossy mane of hair - oh yes, this was before the haircut disaster), I have only put on a couple of kilos. And I'm sure my cake-for-supper diet will soon sort that out!