Alright? Feeling christmassy? I've been putting off doing a food shop so l can do a massive festive Lidl whilst Son is at karate tomorrow. And that's the reason why supper this evening was croissants, carrots and hot chocolate (oh give over, it's a perfectly well balanced meal, and anyway they all had Christmas dinners at school today).
Today l submitted my novel to the Richard & Judy bestseller competition, first prize fifty thousand pounds and guaranteed publication, woo hoo. l also re-worked my PhD application. Turns out it's not as simple as my potential tutor claimed; it's actually a bit of a pain in the bum. But I'm still going to give it a shot, just so long as the funding application doesn't get in the way of my super huge Xmas Lidl excursion!

l have unblocked a toilet, mopped a floor and wiped a bottom (not mine) and now l have just given up on today, really. Twins both seem to have some kind of tummy bug, and someone in their panic used the Forbidden Toilet (not to be confused with the Forbidden City, which is or was in China - l don't think the Forbidden City has anything to do with sausages stuck in the u-bend, although l may be wrong as my knowledge of ancient China is limited...look, if you're really that interested, google it).
l suspect l may also be fighting off their lurgy. Or l may just be in a bad mood - sometimes it's hard to tell...
Hope nobody has used your forbidden toilet recently.
I'm off for a grumpy sleep. Night xx

pies are nice and so are mice

Today I got three Iraqis, one Saudi, two Indonesians and a Hungarian singing 'Let it snow' (the Dean Martin version, which in my opinion way trumps the Frank Sinatra one) - result! It was my final final Monday morning class (the new teacher has promised she will come back after xmas, so I'm fairly hopeful that I really will stop teaching this one). We had mince pies, although half the class couldn't eat them because the mincemeat contained a splash of alcohol, and they are muslims (at least, that was their excuse - I didn't eat any either, because I can't bear all that fruity xmas nonsense, and I'm fasting today anyway). We also had a class photo, but again, half the class weren't in it, because apparently Allah doesn't approve of photographs. Hey ho. More xmas fun on Wednesday, when there'll be xmas parties during both my classes, and students are invited to bring in traditional snacks from their own countries so I shall spend the whole day eating things that are much nicer than mince pies, with any luck.
Bought some more chocolate decorations for our tree at home, following the mysterious disappearance of the last two packets. Can't trust myself to hang them up yet, though - I'm on a fasting day today, and the temptation might prove just too much....

Just realised that there were about a million typos in that last post - must stop writing on my mobile phone and get back to doing it on a decent sized screen, I guess.
So, how are things? Today the Twins went to Narnia (actually a thinly disguised Chatsworth House, but they had a blast) and Son demonstrated his model of how the intestine works. I taught lots of people  about the present perfect continuous (oh, yes, I've finally got the hang of it) and about Christmas customs in the UK. A very lovely woman from Sudan, asked me where the letters to Father Christmas actually go. I told her they go to the North Pole, because that's where he lives, with his magic elves, and  gravity-defying transport system, not to mention his luminous-nosed reindeer. I then went on to tell her about how a couple of years ago my dad left his spare set of false teeth in Santa's mince pie on xmas eve, as proof that Santa does exist (he must be real if he has real false teeth...) and how my children get letters from Father Christmas, and even emails and video messages. Finally I noticed the expression on her face and realised what a load of utter twaddle we tell our children. It's all just one enormous fib, from start to festive finish, isn't it? I still love it, though. We saw Santa at a party on Sunday, and this Saturday we'll be going on a walk with him - hope nobody remembers about the false teeth and asks any awkward questions! x

hiya! Apologies for being off radar again. However, l have excuses. Excuse number 1 is that Bertha has stopped working, so l have had to get off my bum and push the hoover about. Excuse number 2 is that l taught double my usual number of classes last week. l have also been helping out in school. And l had friends to stay at the weekend. And l had a gas leak today. Busy, busy!
l have also been spending a not inconsiderable amount of time bidding for Harry Potter playsets on ebay (Twin 2 had jolly well better be grateful come Xmas morning), but have finally got Hogwarts Great Hall for under fifty quid - you'd be surprised how competitive it gets, bidding for second hand toys. Still, there is a nice mini-endorphin rush when you win...hmm, and that's a bit of a sad indictment on the current state of my life - getting my thrills via the adrenalin hit that is winning an old toy in an online auction.
Still, things could be worse; I could be a primary teacher attempting to grapple with the current literacy curriculum. Which comes first, the predicate (nope not sure how you spell that) or  the relative clause? Hmm? No, don't tell me. l neither know nor care. And l have worked as a journalist, taught ESOL and have an MA in writing. The way teachers are forced to teach English to kids makes me want to cry; it just sucks the joy clean out f it.
Honestly, I'm so upset I may well need to go back online and get into a bidding war over a three inch plastic Ron Weasley, just to cheer myself up.

Hello. Alright? I'm feeling a little tired. This might be because l decided to have an alcoholic ginger beer just to help the old Sunday night ironing along. And then another one. Before you could say "middle aged lush" it was midnight and l was watching an old episode of Father Ted and trying not to think about lessons for my Monday class.
Yes, I'm back to teaching Monday morning s because my replacement got sucked into an alternate universe via a suspicious crack in her living room wall, poor thing. As l write, she is probably being beseiged by daleks. Well, that's my spin on it anyway. Because it couldn't possibly be that she was too useless and unprofessional to just fail to turn up to teach her class, could it?
So this morning we did 'shopping habits' and then in the afternoon l took the higher level students for a session in the art gallery, and jolly nice it was, too.
Just found out that funding application for working with students and schoolkid in the gallery has been rejected though, boo, so no money for me to continue having fun at the arts centre after Xmas. Double boo and sad face. Have l been too hasty in giving up Mondays?

Hello, how are things? I'm in bed, trying to ignore my grumbling stomach. Yes, it is a fast day, and although I'm feeling pretty good on four breakfast biscuits and a sugar free Werther's original, l do have food on my mind. The thing is, after the weekend l just had, l really do need this fast day, not least because of the detox necessary for continued liver function...l went to see my friend H, who is these days a respectable solicitor. However, this has not always been the case. We have been friends since we were both less than respectable law students, a very long time ago. Some things don't change though. Except we have swapped Lambrusco for prosecco. And the hangovers are a tad harder to handle.
Still, the good news is that in my weekend absence, my lovely husband persuaded my lovely kids to start doing the washing up on school nights. Wah hey! Which is why l suddenly find time to write to you. l know! It's a Wednesday as well! Smiley face

Twin 2 wrote a song to commemorate our morning in the dentist today, called 'I don't like dentists' (to the tune of Hedwig's theme from Harry Potter). To my mind this is a vast improvement on her last song, which was called 'I don't like Mummy'...
Not much going on at the moment, other than my wild early-christmas shopping sprees. We're all sorted for xmas day - yep, even stockings. It's a bit sad, I know, but I just get a bit too excited about it all. The only thing I haven't bought is a present for Hubby. It's impossible. If he wants something, he just blooming well buys it himself. Oh, apart from pants. Somehow I usually end up buying pants. Maybe that's what Santa can bring him this year, a nice big multi-pack of pants. That'll be festive.
Right then, yoga or telly, yoga or telly? Alright then, yoga it is, I suppose...cheerio x

Wednesday-ish

Hi, how are things? I'm feeling a bit Wednesday-ish. You know how people have 'that Monday morning feeling'? I have a Wednesday evening feeling. Wednesdays are generally a bit manic. This was today: It started with the usual morning stuff (Twin 2 having histrionics because she thought we were late - wish she'd never learnt to tell the time), took Twins to school, cycled in to work, taught until 12pm, then cycled to another centre and taught again from 12.30 until 2.30pm (all good really - thankfully I remembered my lesson plan today), then cycled back to pick Twins up (by this time it had started to rain, and my stomach was rumbling from existing on nothing but three cups of coffee and a breakfast biscuit), picked them up, walked home in the rain, made kids' tea (whilst lesson planning and doing class admin), at 5pm did Twin 2's physiotherapy, listened to Twin 1's guitar practice, reminded Son to get changed for Karate, and at quarter to six bundled everyone in the car to drop Son off at karate. Between six fifteen and six forty five I finished my lesson planning, listened to some more of Twin 2's guitar practice and checked Twin 1's spelling practice, then we went to pick up Son. In the five minutes whilst we waited for Son at the sports centre I finished off the online grocery shop...
So, we get back home.
Now, I aim to spend around half an hour with each of them on a one-to-one basis each school night, but tonight it was late, and I had some admin to do (letters for school, karate, etc.) so I asked them to get ready for bed. Of course it all ended up with Twin 2 in tears and toothpaste everywhere - I won't bore you with the details.
At bedtime I said that Wednesdays were getting a bit manic, so I would no longer be doing the special one-to-one time for all of them. However, I said, I would still spend time with Twin 2 because she always spends her half hour with me doing speech therapy and reading comprehension to help her at school (the other two just get to read/draw/chat with me).
Twin 1 then said in an extremely huffy voice. "Well that's not fair. Just because she's disabled. It's not fair that she has a disability and we don't."
I suppose she has a point...

I'm in trouble with my husband for flushing sausages down the toilet. And also for giving him a cricked neck because I made him go to sleep with his arm round me. And probably for many other things that have given him cause for irritation, of which I'm still unaware. But he's gone back down to London now, to fraternise with his London friends (Ross Kemp and Janet Street-Porter, and possibly Barbara Windsor, too, because as everyone knows, that's who you meet if you go to any old pub in London - not sure why I've added Janet Street-Porter there, never seen her in the Queen Vic), leaving us to suffer 'The Great Storm' all alone. Actually, I don't think the storm is going to be all that 'great' up here in the East Midlands. According to the really thin local weather lady (clearly BBC regional funding has been cut to such an extent that local news teams cannot afford to eat), winds here will only be about 60 mph. Not quite sure  what that really means, though. Does 60 mph mean a strong enough wind to knock your socks off, or just ruffle your eyebrows a bit? I've decided not to cycle into uni, just in case. Oh, yes, because I've got to go back and try to lasoe (? spelling?) a few more undergrads to join our rather brilliant volunteering opportunity. (Only one turned up on Friday, bummer.). I shall be selling it, in a windswept and fascinating way, and loads of them will want to join the project. Even if they don't, at least they won't tell me off for flushing sausages down the loo or giving them cricked necks, which will be an improvement on the weekend ;)

Hello lovelies, how has your half term been? Ours is skidding to a halt. I'm in work tomorrow and the kids are making treasure boxes at the gallery for the morning. I say 'work', but I'm going to be hanging about in the gallery cafe hoping that some enlightened second year English students turn up to get involved in volunteering. They would be mad not to, because where else would they get the chance to develop and lead creative writing workshops for schoolchildren in an art gallery, hmmm?  It is seriously quality work experience I am offering them. However, remembering what a lump of ditziness I was as a twenty year old, I will be pleasantly surprised if anyone turns up. Last Friday we had a school workshop and four of our current student volunteeers said they'd be running it. Two were ill, one had to go to London and it looked like I would have to run the session alone, but lo, one student did make it, even though she had lectures all day and was missing lunch in order to take part - restored my faith, she did.
The rest of half term has been busy with London and Devon (eight hour drive for Sunday lunch, sounds crazy, but in the words of Ross Kemp in East Enders at some point in the 1990s, 'It's abaaaht fahmleee, innit?'), and then back here to spend a few days with werewolves. Did I say werewolves? Yes, I did, because the Twins and their irritatingly large amount of little friends are obsessed by the CBBC programme 'Wolfblood' and spend quite a lot of time howling and running about with leaves in their hair. So for the last couple of days I have been organising wolf sleepovers, cooking wolf sausage and mash and getting the troll (Son) to hide the cobweb cake in the woods. So I'm feeling a bit like a kind of feral dinner lady at the moment. It might be a bit hard to get back into project co-ordinator role in the morning. Do you think the prospective student volunteers would be put off if I howled at them and offered them gravy and overcooked veg before sending them off on a cake hunt with the troll?
Right, anyway, going to sort my hair out now, or I really will look like one of the pack in the morning.
Take care xxx

Ah, quite nice to feel normal and happy again. I think I'm in the calm centre of the swirling hormonal typhoon that is my life these days - give it a week and everything will be hurtling about in the opposite direction, but in the meantime, I'm enjoying being un-witchy.
So, the good news is that the cleaner isn't leaving to become a dinner lady (well, she is becoming a dinner lady, but says she can still do the cleaning, phew). Also, I'm almost keeping to my schedule for the book revisions (almost, because my main character has been doing some unexpected things, so I've been doing a bit more writing than I planned) and I'm finished with teaching on Monday mornings (double hurrah). I've got a creative writing workshop in the gallery tomorrow with a group of year 4s, which I'm really looking forward to, and then we're all off to London to see Hubby. So, it's all good, really. Oh, and I'm back down to being the weight I was twenty years ago. Yes, smack my bum and call me Slinky McVelvet! (no, don't actually do that, I'd probably clock you one).
Bad news? Well, Twin 2 did really badly on her recent maths assessments and the teacher said that it's not because of her ability in maths, it's because of her reading problems, which means she can't understand the maths questions correctly. Damn that Mr Gove and his pesky educational requirements, why can't he just leave my daughter alone...
But apart from that, it's all good. Got a heap of washing up to do, though. Hope all's well with you xxx

l'm sorry... what have l been doing for the last week and a half? Oh, I've been teaching and writing and project planning and l had a viral thing that made me feel pretty pants and l dyed my hair and erm that's it. What l haven't done is any exercise, and l should really be doing a spot of yoga at the very least but l can't be arsed. l know, not very Zen, soz.  Anyway, just taught my last ever Monday ESOL class, hurrah - no more stressy Monday mornings for me! Have to go and be Tooth Fairy now (the Tooth Fairy forgot to come last night because after she finished the ironing she had two ciders whilst watching Downton Abbey and thenggot sucked into something interesting on BBC Four about childbirth in the MiddIe Ages and fell into bed at midnight without a thought about the whole bloody tooth/pound coin swap thing...bad, bad Tooth Fairy!) x

strike

The teacher's strike today was spent very productively by the kids, hawking apples from our tree round in an old doll's pram to the neighbours (yes, it was my idea - indeed I picked the apples for them). They made £3.00, which they'll be spending on sweets. I've demanded a cut, given that I'm the brains behind the outfit - hoping for a dark chocolate Bounty, at the very least. Whilst they were out I caught up on lesson planning, so as not to find myself in the same predicament as yesterday.
What happened yesterday?
Well, I thought I was only teaching half a lesson as I would be introducing the class to my replacement, but I found out just as I was leaving the house that my replacement had a cold and would not be turning up. Ho hum, I thought, I can probably spin out a one hour lesson into a two hour-ish one, with a bit of new vocabulary bingo and some peer correction and a following wind. But then, oh horror, not only did I arrive at the classroom with just minutes to spare due to a traffic jam en route, I opened my teacher's bag, which I'd packed before our weekend in London - or so I thought - to discover it empty of all teaching material. A bit like a Mother Hubbard version of ESOL. So, I taught two hours, with nothing planned and then went straight on to teach again in the afternoon at another location (and for some reason that class was packed and my boss had to turn potential students away at the door because we ran out of seats, which was in itself a bit scary). And I didn't even have any lunch, because I was fasting.
So tomorrow won't be like that, not on your nelly.
Anyhow, better go and get a bit of shut eye.
Hope your week so far has been less stressful than mine! xxx

un-friday feeling

I’m having the last cider in the fridge and watching the Big Bang Theory – feels like a Friday night even though it’s Thursday. Oh no, I’m not, telly’s going all funny. Bummer, no signal. Nooo, does that mean I have to watch Trevor McDonald visiting US women’s prisons instead? Oh, it doesn’t feel at all fun and weekendy now at all.

You see, tomorrow is Son’s school INSET day, so he’s off,  and the Twins have a dress-up day, too, so even though they are going to school, it feels like a Friday night and even though I should probably be doing some yoga/lesson planning or something I really, really want to watch some funny telly and drink cider. Is that so very wrong?

(Channel surfing and just seen the ad for the new ‘Werther’s original’ sweets – with a creamy filling, eww! Someone seriously needs to rebrand there…)

Righty-ho, I should probably give up on my planned evening of TV slobbing and do something useful instead. Might do a bit of scene planning for my romance sub-plot…oh, I’ll just finish off the cider first though ;)

Hiya, my husband has accused me of being yet another one of those closet middle-class alcoholics because of the atrocious spelling in the last post. I want to make it clear that I had nothing stronger than a soda water with lemon juice because I was on a fasting day. However, I was writing in bed, on my phone, using the handwriting function. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it (hic) ;)
Anyway, I have suddenly found myself with splat of spare time due to Twin 2 not wanting to do her physiotherapy in front of 'Tracey Beaker Returns', and my not having the energy to argue (she did physio at school today anyway, and she ran all the way home after school - so that'll just have to do).
Today I have been mostly planning my romance sub-plot. No, not the George Clooney one, sadly, the one in my novel. Oh, there are so many things getting in the way of them finally getting together and finding happiness, not least the small matter of our heroine's identity theft, and her man's life-threatening job in bomber command. I'm sure it will all end well...or will it? I have a plan for them now, at least.
I was wondering why it's taking me quite so long to finish writing this book, and it's not just down to rogue INSET days, teachers' strikes, an absent husband, housework and my three micro-jobs. No, it's because  the book is three-in-one. It's a love story, a tragedy and a coming-of-age novel all bound together in a pacey historical package. When I finally get the damn thing how I want it, whoever buys it will be getting a right bargain, a BOGOF plotline, if you will.
Tracey Beaker is getting all spooky and there is a whole sofa full of riveted kids over there. I'm going to take the opportunity of children frozen to the spot in fright to make a nice cuppa, without fear of being interrupted by someone asking for a biscuit/roll of sellotape/IT support for confusing homework website.
Hope you had a productive day too xx

It is eleven o' clock. Already? How did that happen?

Could it be that l was having so much fun printing out pics of Sunderland for Wednesday's class on regional accents, or finally washing the breakfast plates, or making jam from the last of the blackberries, or perhaps finding the CD of Twin 2s MRI to take in for her school topic on brains, or even because l was putting washing in the machine or taking washing out of the dryer or making Son a packed Iunch for his school trip, or feeding the rat, or putting homework up on my class facebook page, or writing out the dinner money cheque or ensuring that the tooth fairy remembered to visit Twin 1,  that the evening just flitted past without so much as a backward glance?

Or could it be that I've just lost myself in hours of passion with George Clooney
who turned up out of the blue with a bottle of champagne and a note from my husband to say that he was prepared to overlook a marital transgession in this particular instance?

Nope, it was the first one.

Hello my lovely! What have you been up to today? Mine started with Twin 1 having a huff - can't remember why but l am fairly sure it was something to do with my being mean and evil and not nice like other peoples' mums. Anyway l lacked the energy for a confrontation, instead choosing to tell her l loved her and blow kisses all the way to school. Hah! l win, and l didn't even shout. yay me. My halo slipped a bit after school though when she started Huff number two (a bit like mambo number five, but not as tuneful, and with lyrics about evil mothers instead of Latino girls - oh alright, not at all like Mambo number five), which largely dealt with my heinous crime in allowing her to buy a Turkish Delight bar from Tesco after school, which turned out to be yukky. Maybe l should have warned her? l suppose it's common knowledge that Turkish Delight is, well, a bit of a poor relation in the confectionary aisle. To my mind, Turkish Delight is to a nice bar of Galaxy what Jordan is to Scarlett Johanson, or something. But l beleive that my children should learn their own life lessons, and l did not share my cocoa-based confectionery wisdom with her. Perhaps l should have. She was bitterly disappointed, as you can imagine.
Apart from huffs 1 & 2 it has been a good day. l have been mostly beefing up the romance. No, not in my marriage, in the novel - the most romantic thing that happens in our marriage is if one of us suggests going to bed before the 10 o'clock news, and that will hardly fill a chapter, will it?
Sorry, l'm rambling. Better get some sleep in readiness for tomorrow's huff xx

So that's done then. I'll now only be teaching one full day a week after half term, instead of two. My boss didn't look overjoyed at my decision, but she has a good five weeks to find my replacement. Which means I'll have more time to work on my other two jobs (workshop leader and literacy project co-ordinator) and also edit my manuscript. So it's all good, really. Oh, and I've already lost all the weight I put on in the summer hols, hurrah.
Today, whilst the cleaner was doing her amazing job, I went to a cafe and re-read my manuscript and did lots of scribbling in red pen, whilst drinking lattes. When I got home the house was spanking clean and I felt like I'd got a plan for my revisions. It was great, almost like being back in Nepal - almost (minus the sunshine and the lovely people to cook my supper and mow my lawn and do my ironing, obviously).
My husband has come back home this week more tired than a big slice of tired pie and has beaten the kids to bed. They're all watching a re-run of Doctor Who and I'm drinking a spare can of Magner's I just discovered in the fridge.
I was supposed to be doing a sailing course this weekend, but the weather is looking a trifle glum, so I have accidentally-on-purpose forgotten all about it. We have an exciting tax return to do, and a visit from my sister-in-law, in any case, so bobbing about in a small boat on the river Trent in the rain will just have to wait.
Twin 2 has decided to go to bed now, so I'd better go (can't say I blame her, Dr Who is getting a little scary).
Have a fab weekend x

Right, this is the third time l have started this post and this time l am determined not to be interrupted by phone/kids. Hello! How the devil are you today? l had a Meeting with my boss and a dental appointment earlier on. There was a link: the dentist said l am getting fractured molars due to grinding my teeth, probably due to stress. Afterwards l met my boss and told her l need to cut down the amount of classes l teach. l know it sounds a bit wussy, especially as l have a cleaner now, but hopefully it will stall my decline into a stressy toothless harridan.
At the moment l have half the street in the house, playing some complicated Vers ion of "Narnia", involving purple eyeshadow and quite a bit of screaming.
Which reminds me...
A man opened up his wardrobe one morning and discovered an enormous lion inside. "What are you doing in my wardrobe?" he said. To which the lion replied: "Narnia business!"
geddit? x

hi, how are you today? I'm waiting for the dentist and planning how to tell my boss l want to drop half...

hiya, how was your day? Mine started mellow but is turning a tad manic - not sure why de-lousing the Twins' hair has turned them into whirling dervishes. Maybe the nit lotion is made from blue smarties?...

New term and new ESOL students: Maria from Bulgaria and Sana from lraq. l was a tiny bit nervous about going back, but armed with a nice new notepad and hairstyle (one should always begin the academic year with a new hairstyle and notebook, don't you think?), it all went quite well, really. As well as being back to school, I'm back to fasting. l have one apple left to eat...It's the legacy of a three week holiday in the South West. Cream teas, fish and chips, ice cream - not to mention the odd pint of cider. Talking of which, l went to the village pub with my husband, what a treat! Looking forward to turning into a right old lush when the kids eventually disappear.
So, the hols are properly over now, which is a little bit sad (yes, l did blub the morning Son started 'big school'). However, now l can get back to the novel. This week I'm entering a competition with Mslexia, a magazine for women writers (mylast novel got longlisted so fingers crossed this time round) and I'm going to try my first agent. No expectations at this stage really, but given that l can expect, oh, about a billion rejections before someone finally recognises my talent, l guess l should get off my arse and get on with it.
Right, need to do Twin 2s physio and take Son to karate and ...Oh no l don't have to do the downstairs bathroom because l have finally got a cleaner (who has OCD, which in my opinion is quite a useful attribute for a professional domestic) Got to go xx

Woo hoo

Woo hoo! l have finally figured out how to write this on my phone. A good thing, because hopefully l will get back into the habit of blogging, instead of eating biscuits and watching repeats of "Not Going Out" on Dave. But now l really have to finish doing a hairy thing (oh, it's a cross between straightening and tonging, not scary at all) or l shall start the new term looking like Hagrid's angry little sister. TTFN

I'm back...ish

Oh, I'm sorry. Yes, I'm still here, sort of. Well, I've been away for a bit. If Devon and Dorset count as 'away' ('away with the fairies' maybe, especially Totnes-twinned-with-Narnia). I'm just wondering whether to carry on with this blog or embrace the future and start tweeting instead? What do you think? I just always seem to forget to blog, and then it's ages with nothing and all I can remember about the intervening weeks is that I've done a lot of washing and ironing and that the only reason my children look happy in photos is because they are laughing in my face at the utterly ridiculous concept of tidying their respective rooms. Right. It's 11.30 now, so I must go to bed and have happy dreams. In the meantime, let me know if you'd rather this blog changed to a tweet xxx

Paper plates again for supper. And the ironing is finished. And I've cleared up the random mess in the other room (well, shoved it in a drawer, which amounts to the same thing). And Bertha can do most of the hoovering. So I'm almost ready to pack for the hols, hurrah. It will be sunny next week in Devon, yes it will...Just had a look on the National Trust website and there are loads of places to visit for free if it does rain (and I'm sure they won't mind if I just stop over and kip on a random eighteenth century chaise longue, to avoid sodden tents - if the rain does come), and I've bought myself a pac-a-mac just in case. Just the small issue of how to manage the whole 'camping hair' phenomenon...

No, I haven't been drinking cider all this time (if only!)...I have, however, succumbed to the two-year itch. I am so used to moving every couple of years that I get an urge to do a spot of life laundry, which this year has manifested itself in revamping the kids' rooms, having a good old chuck out,  and getting lots of old furniture and picture frames out of the garage and painting them white (which took a whole day, and doesn't bear close inspection - shabby chic for the myopic, if you will). I subsequently realised that I used the wrong sort of paint, so it may well all flake off again - don't think Kirsty Alsopp will be out of a job any time soon!
I did have vague plans about doing a bit of manuscript editing in the evenings, but I think I was being optimistic. I seem to still be washing up/ironing at ten o'clock at night, at which point I just think 'sack it' and slump on the sofa with a chocolate milkshake. In fact, yesterday I didn't even get as far as doing the washing up, and it was all waiting for me at breakfast time today. I made the kids use paper plates when they invited a friend over for lunch. Environmentally unsound, I know, but not quite as bad as driving out for a Happy Meal, which was my plan B.
Right now I have just finished the ironing and the paper plates are in the bin and the kids have gone over to their little friend G's house (except for Son, who is upstairs pretending to sort his room out, but actually making Lego spaceships). Yes, there is still the hoovering, and putting away the random mess in the other room, but maybe I'll have a cup of tea in front of Kirsty & Phil first. Oooh, living the dream!

sorry, sorry, busy! I'll write more in a bit, honest (maybe after I finish this tasty pint of cider...)

ps

I was going to be very good and do yoga tonight, but it's already ten o'clock and I'm still in crisis mode. Wine or yoga? Wine or yoga? Oh alright, wine it is!

A whole week has passed. A week in which...we have played naked football in the back garden (well, the Twins were naked, Son and I wore dresses), the children have had their school reports, we've all had a bit of an emotional crisis, and it's been hot, hot, hot.
The nice thing about school reports were that the kids got to write their own evaluation of the school year. Twin 1's own school feedback sheet began like this: 'The best thing this year was when Holly ran into a chair leg...'
As a result of super-dooper reports they all got sweets and to have a Happy Meal for tea. I know, bad Mum, giving junk food  as a reward. But I'm a bit good-mum'd out at the moment. Which brings me to the day of crisis (yesterday). Twin 2 had a really lovely report, but, bless her, she hasn't really made any academic progress. And I know that this is because of a raft of other things (visual perception issues, problems with fine motor skills, inability to concentrate for long periods of time, etc.)  because of her cerebral palsy. However, she's in the mainstream system, and we've got to deal with that somehow. So...I realised that next year I will have to offer her more support in order to help her begin to catch up with her peers, which would be fine if it weren't the case that I have two other children, and two jobs and I'm a de facto single parent at the moment. So this is where the beginnings of the crisis started. Twin 1 gets very huffy when she considers Twin 2 is getting more attention, for starters. Hmmm. So, I had a serious  chat with Twin 1 and we made an agreement that in return for me spending more time with Twin 2, she would get to play football with her dad at weekends (an easy deal to make on his behalf, as he's still in Iceland and couldn't disagree). But then, later on, Twin 1 got all upset, because of course her dad isn't here very much and it's not fair because he's the only one who understands her and her sister gets all the attention because she's disabled etc. etc. So we had another long chat. A long chat during which I was not cleaning the bathroom, hanging out the washing, or preparing for my Monday morning ESOL class. But, you know, it's important to give these things the time they need. So, her sobs had finally subsided as I'd agreed to try harder to give her the attention she needs, and she'd just gone off to do her teeth when Son came in, also tearful, feeling neglected because I've been spending so much time with the girls that our evening games of cards/chess have slipped. We had a long and tearful chat and I agreed to try harder to be a better mother to him as well. So he went off to do his teeth and then I heard Twin 2's sobs from the bedroom because she'd been waiting all this time for me to say goodnight and now I'd spent so much time listening to the other two that I'd entirely messed up her bedtime routine, which is very important to her. Good grief.
So...I have pencilled in half an hour's one-to-one time with each of them every school night. I've done more than pencil it in, in fact. I have added it into my electronic calendar. Which means that between seven and eight thirty Monday to Friday I have to focus entirely on my children and not sneakily try to brush the odd toilet bowl or fold up bed linen or search for interesting grammar lessons online. Which is what a good mother should do, but...
Yes, now they've all had their crisis sorted out by me, I have my own crisis.
I have texted the cleaner. She is deep cleaning my kitchen on Monday and starting a regular weekly clean after the holidays. Hoo-blooming-rah.
I feel like I'm almost clawing back some control. Almost...but not really, because I realised this afternoon that Son had some leavers' thing on after school. I thought it was just a class disco, and let him wear his choice of clothes (old ripped trousers and his favourite long sleeved t-shirt). When we went to pick him up it turned out it was a Leavers Ball, and all the other kids were in shirts & ties or posh frocks. There was a red carpet and everything (bad mother, bad, bad mother). Son was the only not dressed up to the nines - luckily he didn't care. And now, I've just found out that it's the leavers' assembly on Monday morning, which clashes with my Monday ESOL class...what to do?
The crisis continues.
Roll on the hols!

chapter 1...

Just to give you a taster. If you happen to know any agents/publishers looking for a New Adult historical fiction debut by an emerging talent, then do waft them in my direction!

Chapter 1

When it happened, it felt like the end. As it turned out, it was just the beginning, but how could she have known that, on that cold November afternoon in 1941?

She was almost home when she saw a swish of blue-grey as the airman rushed towards her up Western Way. The wind whipped a strand of hair across her face. It caught on her mouth and she spat it out.

He was barrelling towards her, arms outstretched, mouth wide. He was shouting something, but the wind took his words and hurled them down the street, towards London, the Thames and away.

Then she heard him: “Get down! Get down!” The airman hurled himself at her, rugby tackling her, pinning her down.

She began to scream, but before the sound escaped her mouth, the explosion lifted them both off the ground, tangling their limbs before throwing them back down. Sudden and hard: her skull whipped back against the pavement. His knee was in her groin. The buttons on his uniform dug into her cheek, her breast. In her mouth the damp-cloth-sweat smell of his clothes. The juddering weight of him on top of her and the sound: deep, loud, painful.

And then it was over.

Colours blurred and separated. She tried to breathe, couldn’t, choked, shoved at the smoke-coloured weight on top of her. They rolled together, slow motion wrestlers in the settling dust. Then they pulled apart, limbs dragging against each other.

He sat up. She looked up at him. There were patches of grit and mud on his uniform and a cut on his cheekbone, spilling blood.

“Are you all right?” he mouthed. She couldn’t hear him properly, her ears filled with a dull ringing.

“Fine, I think,” she said, her voice sounding far away. She pushed herself into a seated position and rubbed the back of her head.

The pavement was cracked, slabs ripped apart to reveal tree roots and dry earth. The air smelled metallic, dark, burnt.

He staggered slightly, getting up, then he held out a hand for her. She took it and struggled upright, bare legs scraping the broken ground.

“You’re hurt,” she said, pointing at the cut on his face. He put a hand up to check.

“It’s nothing,” he said, feeling the wound and then, as he brushed a lock of dark Brylcreemed hair away and rubbed the grit out of his eyes, he noticed that his RAF cap was missing and turned to search for it.

She watched him, the blue-grey figure, searching for his cap by the unravelled kerb. Her eyes followed him find it, pick it up, brush it off and shift it onto the correct position on his head – the missing piece of the jigsaw puzzle found and slotted in.

There was dust up her nose and in her mouth. She wiped her lips on the sleeve of her coat, but succeeded only in pushing more grit into her mouth and leaving a smear of red on the beige wool.

As he began to walk back towards her, brushing the dust from his jacket, she looked beyond him, at the place the bomb had struck.

“Well, we were lucky, weren’t we?” said the airman, as he drew level. “I don’t hold out much hope for the poor blighters at number thirty-two, though,” he continued, following her gaze.

She looked past him to the smoking pile. It was like a giant’s game of spillikins, a mess of sticks and rubble. She could hear the sound of the belated air-raid siren starting its slow wail.

“You’re a bit shaken up, I can see that. I’m not too chipper myself, to be honest. Let’s get you home. You’ll feel better after a cup of tea,” he said. He touched her lightly on the forearm. She turned to face him. “Now, where is it you live?” he said.

There were specks of gravel on his cheeks, and the livid slash of blood. His eyes were blue and round, like a child’s.

“I live at number thirty-two,” she said.

yay!

Just finished the first draft of my novel 100K words, in time for the summer hols, too. Of course, there are bits that need monkeying around with. Especially the romance sub-plot. I'm just not good at romance - ask my husband. But, it's all there, on the Mac, on the cloud and printed out. Phew! Now I need to go to the gym and go to see Son being a splendid scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, so no time for  laurel-resting.
Now, just the small matter of tidying it up, finding and agent and selling it to a publisher...

ps

yes, I have just apologised to the kids for being so grumpy...

Dobby

I'm contemplating renaming myself Dobby. Because I am effectively just a house elf. Ten O'levels, four  A' levels, an honours degree and a masters, and how do I spend my days? Picking hair bobbles off the floor so they don't get tangled up in the hoover and thinking about the best way to hang an item of clothing on the line so that it won't need much ironing. Being well again sucks. There's just a backlog of housework and an extra couple of inches on my waistline from 72 hours of jam-on-toast-in-bed. Anyway, I can't sit here chatting all night, have you seen the size of the ironing pile? cheerio x

pineapple upside down cake with Julian Clary

I'm nearly better. Exciting, no? Well, it is for me, anyway (although I suspect that the large bottle of cider I've just quaffed may have something to do with my sudden feelings of wellbeing). I spent most of  the day in bed, again, although I wasn't utterly unproductive, because I wrote all about one character having the final showdown with her mother and also getting killed - nooo, just when she's finally about to get everything she's ever dreamt of, oh the irony). I had a break for chicken soup and lunch with 'Gino & Mel', who were making pineapple upside down cake with Julian Clary, which was the highlight of my sickbed day (I'm contemplating putting Gino & Mel into my fantasy street. Obviously Kirsty & Phil will live on the street, as well as Hugh Fearnly-Whittingstall, and probably Katherine Tate, too, so I might find room for Gino & Mel, but they will have to be further down the far end somewhere). Anyway, I felt well enough to walk to school to pick the kids up, take them all to the sailing club this evening and even mop the kitchen floor...by golly, I feel like a veritable Boudicca! I have fought the wierd summer virus thing and triumphed! My white blood cells are strong, they are fiesty, and they are full of french cider, too...in fact, I'm feeling so good that I may even have another bottle (oh, stop it, it's Friday night). Chin chin xxx

being ill is boring

So very bored of feeling ill now. I felt rubbish all day yesterday, but battled through my cheery lessons on 'Dorset Life' (students were listening for gist, listening for specific information, listening to the teacher doing her comedy 'yokel' accent and pretending to find her funny, etc.). Next week I've decided to do a lesson on 'Neighbours', and yes, I have chosen it mainly because then I get to play the 'Neighbours' theme tune and talk about Scott and Charlene's wedding. But anyway, the point is, I taught all day and felt utterly rubbish by the end of it all, which necessitated lots of brufen and tea and toast on the sofa (yes, the fasting day went out of the window) and no housework and I thought that by giving myself a night off I'd feel better today, but no. I still feel pants. Twin 1 was feeling ill too, today, so she was off school, so I couldn't have a morning of tea and toast in front of Phil & Holly, because Twin 1's need for Scooby Doo took precedence. I just had to go back to bed. I got up for lunch (chicken soup, natch) and then went back to bed until school pick up time (and by then Twin 1 was better, and was out on the trampoline in a ball dress and wooly tights, which she assured me was a perfect way to convalesce). After school, I made the kids watch a DVD with me and banished other children from the house (I don't like other people's children when I'm ill - do you?). It was 'We bought a zoo'. I cried, Son played on his tablet most of the way through, and the Twins got bored at the emotional bits, and put on their ball dresses to go out on the trampoline. I continued to blub, alone on the sofa, wishing Hubby was there for tea and sympathy (although in reality, if he were here, he'd be calling me a malingering tart by now, because I'm not allowed to be ill for more than twenty four hours).
I know, I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I'm going to stop bleating on and make myself some tea and toast to have in front of the telly now. And you know what, the washing up can blooming well wait until tomorrow!
Maudlin-ly yours xxx

nameless

I know, I ought to be doing yoga or meditation or cleaning the bathroom or something useful. But I feel like I've been ignoring you recently, so I'm taking time to write. Although it is nearly 10.30 so I can only give you a couple of moments because I do actually want to go to bed. Today was a good day. I wasn't fasting, so I ate lots of homemade  toast and jam and sushi and putanesca sauce and chocolate milkshake and hot chocolate and...blimey, when I write it all down I realise why I need to do fasting days twice a week. I wrote another chapter of the book, took delivery of a cabin bed and had half the street round the house for a play date after school (didn't really mind, except  when the pesky girls stole all the sugar-free gum I'd been saving for my fasting day tomorrow, the minxes). Nameless-the-rat got abandoned on the sofa whilst Son went off on his bike with the new boy next door. She was staring with her red eyes and wiggling her large furry bottom as if she was about to contemplate jumping off the sofa and escaping, but she didn't fool me. She would never be bothered to actually escape; she's just not that sort of rat. If she was a woman, she'd be a baggy-football-shirt and open tub of Ben & Jerry's type of girl, if you know what I mean. Anyway, she's back in her cage now, snoring happily, after another big meal. Okay, well, bedtime now, and two two-hour ESOL lessons and a mere five hundred calories to look forward to tomorrow...

Sorry, ten days have suddenly zipped by and it's almost July. What's been going on? Well, my lovely boss had a word with the Russian student, and in the last lesson she was as charming as you fancy. Not only did she smile and engage with the class, she told me I looked like Princess Kate. In response,  I told her that she was my new best friend. Obviously, we were both lying, but hey.

What else? Twins got to sing Abba songs at a 'music festival' at a local school last weekend: lots of people desperately trying to have a good time despite the rain, wind, and overpriced beverages (much like other music festivals, I guess - apart from Glastonbury, which has suddenly become a national treasure, like a sort of festival version of Barbara Windsor).

Son has been practising hard for his role in the school play. He's going to be the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. He gets to sing 'If I only had a brain'  - casting perhaps a little ironic. Anyway, all three of them are watching the 1939 version, again, and I'm letting them get on with it even though it's past bedtime and it's a Sunday night...oh no, Twin 2 has just been in and berated me for not remembering to do her speech therapy session. Well, I'm not doing it now. No siree, Bob.

Hubby has gone to Iceland. Almost. He's skippering a yacht there for a couple of weeks, but we won't see him until the end of July. He was getting a bit glum about it, mainly because it'll be all cold and cloudy up there, apparently - not all that much different to here - and I can't help thinking what did he expect? It's the arctic blooming circle for goodness sakes! In any case, the trip was entirely his choice so I have no sympathy (and I shall have even less sympathy when he goes back to the Caribbean next year - unless we all get presents, in which case I may have a small change of heart).

Right, I really ought to do my motherly duty and send the kids to bed. It's a school day tomorrow, you know! xxx

Today I had quite possibly the rudest student ever in my class. She was a Russian, with all the charm and wit that you'd associate with Vladimir Putin. And before you accuse me of libel (well, actually you can't, because you don't know who she is), let me tell you what happened.
Now, admittedly, I don't particularly like teaching grammar, and not just because we never did no grammar nor nuffink when I was at school. There are perfectly good grammar apps you can get for your phone, or websites you can look at. The emphasis on the lessons I do is speaking and listening in order to better integrate into British life, and I try to make the lessons as engaging and fun as I can. So today's lesson was themed around love (cue late 80s jazz-funk riff from 'Lessons in love' by that group whose name escapes me...I'll remember it in a bit). As a warm up, all the students had been trying to think of a definition for love, by completing the sentence 'Love is...', and we'd written up ideas on the board. It was just a bit of an ice-breaker, but there were some lovely sentences, such as 'Love is how I smile when I see you' or 'Love is an ocean of trust'. We were going through them and voting, so that we could get a class definition of what love is, and I was mid-sentence when Vlad-the-ESOL-student interrupted. "This is not interesting," she said. "It is not interesting for us."
Not only did she interrupt to tell me I was boring, she also felt she could speak on behalf of the whole class. Later I overheard her talking to my boss, and explaining how she needs to improve her English because she wants to work with children and nobody will employ her at the moment.
I have a sneaking suspicion that her inability to find work isn't entirely down to her English level.
Anyway, off to mop kitchen floor now xxx
ps - Level 42! I knew it would come to me eventually...

Well, we weren't abducted by aliens on the way to the water park, which was lucky, as otherwise that would have been a waste of sixty quid. It wasn't as good as Atlantis in Dubai, but, hey, Staffordshire isn't the UAE, and it was a lot cheaper. The kids had a blast. Today, however, the fun is over, and I'm back to looking after an ill child (Twin 2, yet again) and feeling pretty rubbish myself. I think I must be fighting off the same lurgy, and also still aching from all those 'sumo squats' I was forced to do in a gym class on Saturday (Major Bumsaw, indeed). But the good news is that I have cleaned the downstairs bathroom. Yes, I know! It only took about a minute as well - can't think why I always make such a fuss about it. Also, whilst Twin 2 was being very ill under her quilt in front of the telly, I made chicken soup, banana flapjacks and typed up another chapter of my book (the denoument beckons...), so today hasn't been totally wasted. I could do with going to bed right now now now, though. A couple of things I keep meaning to mention first:
1. Twin 1 has named her freckles. They are all called Bob (Bob the first, Bob the second and so on).
2. Hubby says I look like an angry Russian prostitute (a worrying observation for two reasons: firstly that I look like an angry Russian prozzie, obviously, but secondly that he knows what an angry Russian prostitute looks like...probably best not to dwell on that one).
3. Hubby owes Twin 2 eight years worth of apologies for giving her a hard time for things she can't help (we've just had the results of a test that shows that although there's nothing wrong with her sight, there are some problems with the way her brain interprets what she sees...so for all the times he's said 'for goodness sakes, surely you could see that coming!', nope, she couldn't, because her brain hadn't had a chance to catch up). I said if I was her I'd ask for something sparkly, but she seems happy just to forgive him.
Right, supper's ready, and then only a few hours until bed, can't wait...xxx

Everyone's better (almost) and Hubby is on his way home and we're all off to the water park tomorrow, woo hoo (no, we're not making the kids bunk off school - heaven forfend - they've got an inset day). I am very excited: far too excited to clean the upstairs bathroom, that's for sure. Instead I'm going to watch something on channel 4 about alien abductees (and looking at the hair and clothing styles of the 'abductees' I think I believe them - after all, there must be something to explain how so many people can be sartorially stuck in an early 80s timewarp). And they are all gathering in Nottingham...nooo, hope we don't get zapped on the way to the water park...

I'm sandy-eyed and fuzzy-headed because it's been a bit of a sleepless week, due to toothache (twin 1) and cough (twin 2) and also staying up late doing meditation (yep, I do see the irony in getting tired and stressed because of meditation). As a result of ill kids and emergency doctors/dentist appointments, I haven't been able to do much outdoor exercise. Oh, alright, none. But, I have discovered funky yoga. Thanks to my weekend with bendy friends in Rome, plus online nagging from my ex-yoga teacher on Facebook, I have been feeling that I really should do something stretchy, as I am rather embarrassingly - erm - inelastic. The problem is, I do find traditional yoga a teensy bit boring. So the other night I put my newly-downloaded Ministry of Sound running trax mash up full blast through the headphones and set about a full thirty minutes of sun salutations. Then, I followed it with half an hour of yoga nidra from an app on my phone (with a backtrack of forest, ocean or rain sounds). This made me feel relaxed-yet-alert, which I guess is the point, but not entirely helpful at eleven o'clock at night, especially not when followed by a night of dishing out inhalers, Calpol and inviting sad little girls into the other side of the bed. Oh well, I'm exhausted but with stretchier hamstrings and a sense of wellbeing, so that has to be good I guess. I'm sold on the whole funky yoga thing, though - I've done it already tonight (the ill girls joined in, but soon ditched yoga poses for general prancing around the room), so all I've got  left to do is the meditation, which means I might be in with a fighting chance of getting to sleep before midnight. But first I have to do the kitchen floor. Yes, I do, because if it's still in this state tomorrow, you will tut and say bitchy things about my lack of cleanliness to my next door neighbours, and you know what they're like...

I'm feeling smug: the washing up is done; the washing is done; the bin is out; there's a huge batch of homemade putanesca sauce in the freezer; the upstairs bathroom is clean (ish - I mean I didn't mop the floor or do the mould-squirter, and no I haven't done the downstairs bathroom, will you please stop going on about it?); I've written another chapter for the book; I've done my lesson plan for monday's class; I've downloaded a meditation app for my phone; my legs are shaved and my toenails are painted. And it's only nine thirty! I know, I must have forgotten something. Surely I cannot be this organised on a Thursday night? Perhaps I have turned a corner. Perhaps being forty three has made me remarkably better at time management and household admin? It's all a bit scary...I think I shall have to go upstairs and count my children to make sure they're all here (the absence of one of the three children would surely help explain the fact that I'm ready for bed a full hour earlier than usual)...

I'm really excited about writing my book for the next few weeks; it's getting close to that catharsis moment, when everything comes together/falls apart. Wish I had more time to write it, but hey. Tomorrow is a writing day, but I also have to take the car to the garage, and then Thursday is a writing day but I'm expecting a shopping delivery and a bed delivery and I have an inclusion support meeting for Twin 2 at school. I wish I'd known, back in the days when I used to nurse my hangover in front of This Morning (with Richard & Judy), quite how precious time is. I have just made an early start on my writing day by beginning to type up the next chapter after the kids went to bed - which does mean that the downstairs bathroom has yet again forfeited its weekly clean. But, honestly, we've hardly been here (we were away in London for three days out of the past seven), so it can't have got all that filthy since last week, can it?
I'm feeling happy and positive today, mainly due to the sunshine (woo hoo). I love England when the sun shines. I know I shouldn't get my hopes up. I know that the British weather is like a dreadful boyfriend I once had: charming and sunny one minute, raining all over your parade the next. (It took me a good two years to realise the dreadful boyfriend was never going to give me the Indian summer I deserved. Since then I have always carried a metaphorical umbrella.) I want to trust the sunshine. I want to start planning camping trips and bike rides and maybe even barbequeues (no, maybe not that, especially as I can't even spell it), but the weather is like an emotionally abusive boyfriend: not to be trusted. Ever.
Right. Better get some sleep. I've got to write the dead-sister's-evil-fiance-comes-back scene in the morning...
Nightie night xxx

Did I mention that our house was haunted? Apparently it was built on the site of an old pond and is now stalked by the ghost of George, the unpleasant terrapin (according to Son, who is an expert on amphibians from the other side...hang on, are terrapins amphibians?). Apparently one of the reasons he's quite such an unpleasant ghostly terrapin is that nobody ever takes him seriously, which enrages him. He'd like to be scary, but succeeds only in looking like a disgruntled pebble.
Which may not explain things that go bump in the night, but may explain things that sound like an irate slow scuttle.

Hiya, sorry I've been silent for a bit. I've been away on two city breaks, one in London with my lovely husband and one in Rome with two lovely friends, and now I'm home and the house is wierdly silent because the Twins have gone off for a sleepover with their friend G and Son has decided to sleep in the tent in the garden (in the rain). So to console myself for the kids giving me a taste of my own medicine, I've just had the largest chocolate milkshake ever. It's important to keep my calcium intake up to prevent osteoporosis  - spelling?- in later life, honestly, that's what my friend O was telling me, and I believe her. I'm sure there's loads of calcium in the chocolate biscuits I've had, too...

Hiya, how are you? I'm not starving today. I ought to be, but I'm not working because of my very ill daughter (I'm sure her tummy ache has nothing whatsoever to do with her dreaded science test today), and I just can't bring myself to fast when I'm at home and there's a nice Thai curry made by one of my Monday morning ESOL students in the fridge (I've heard about people bringing in apples for their teachers, but Thai curry is something else, and something else very tasty, too). So, Twin 1 is in the other room, watching endless hours of CBBC and clutching her tummy. I think the problem may well be the same as her 'suspected appendicitis' the other week (ie. a big poo), but we'll see. In the meantime, I have taken the opportunity to mop the kitchen floor and sort the washing, which means that tonight I shall be free of housework and able to write up the scene where she breaks it off with her fiance, and it looks like all is lost (don't worry, it will all end happily).
What else? Oh, I had a lovely curry and three pints on Saturday. It has been so long since I did that kind of thing. Nom nom indeed. And I'm so unused to drinking that the third and final pint made me feel quite squiffy - we watched Big Bang when we got in and I fell off the sofa, that's how squiffy.
And now I'm 43. Yikes.

enflaming? inflaming? No idea which. I am the worst ESOL teacher/writer ever, sorry.

Call me spoilt, but I do begrudge having to do housework after 9pm. However, Bertha is a bit off-colour, so I had to bring in Jim, the other hoover, who needs someone to push him round. And then the kitchen floor won't mop itself (if only). I'm feeling a bit martyrish about it all. If Hubby were here he'd cheer me up. When I was mowing the lawn this weekend (I know, mowing, it's the first time ever) he said he quite fancied me. Must be a bit of a Felicity Kendall thing - too many episodes of 'The Good Life' during his formative years perhaps - or possibly because I am a lawn mowing virgin, and the surprising thought of me being virginal at anything made him see me in a whole new light. To be honest I saw myself in a new light. Or at least I did for about forty minutes, until I cut my finger when pulling the string-thing to start the engine, and gave up and went back inside. For a cup of tea and a flapjack.
I suppose the other thing to be said for all this tedious mowing/hoovering/mopping stuff (apart from enflaming the loins of my husband) is that it burns calories, which has to be a good thing, doesn't it? Yes, I'm doing the fasting day again today, and apart from the inevitable grumpiness between five and eight pm, it's not been too bad, really. The jury is out as to whether the new regime is working though, because Hubby decided this weekend that our bathroom scales are broken. He replaced them with new ones that make me two kilos heavier. Do I go with the old scales and rejoice, even though I secretly know they don't work properly, or do I start noting down my weight on the new ones and get depressed as I'm far more of a lard-arse than I realised? Not sure. Might just give up on weighing completely and go back to hanging about in the ice cream aisle at Tesco when I want to feel slim and lovely. Yes, that does work. Apparently people here in the East Midlands are the most obese in England (it said so on the Gem 106 news this evening, so it must be true), and, judging by our local Tesco there is some truth to that statistic. So if you happen to see me loitering near the Ben & Jerry's it's only because our bathroom scales are unreliable, honest.
Hmmm, so there were some other things I've been meaning to tell you, but to be honest all I can think about at the moment is the night out at the curry house we have booked for Saturday night. I haven't been out for a meal with my husband for ages and ages and I haven't had a decent curry for ages either. I'm thinking possibly lamb bhuna, bhajis, mango chutney, mint raita, and a naan bread big enough to double up as a spare mattress, all washed down with a nice pint, because the curry place is close enough to walk to. Cannot blooming wait!
Right, better go to bed because I've got an illegal wartime abortion to write about tomorrow (up to eighty six thousand words now, and it's all getting quite serious), which I won't be up to if I'm fuzzy headed from staying up all night writing to you about the delights of asian cuisine.
Night then xxx

Just realised that I only seem to write this when I'm starving hungry these days. So, yes, it is a fast day and I am starving hungry, even more so today because I did my first session of the 'Insanity' workout at the gym earlier on (it's a 60-day intensive fitness programme, and today was day 1). So it may well be a bacon buttie for breakfast tomorrow.
What else? We took the kids sailing on Friday evening. Or, rather, we took them to the sailing club and a really nice instructor took them out in a dinghy whilst Hubby and I sat in the clubhouse and had tea and chocolate biscuits. It was pretty enjoyable, until Twin 2 turned up in tears because she'd been let off the boat to go to the loo and had got lost and fallen down some steps. Luckily she bounces well. I think it's going to become a regular Friday night thing (the sailing, but hopefully not the falling down steps). We only had Hubby here for one night as he had to go back to London to see his friend off at Heathrow, but no matter, because the rest of us were invited over to a BBQ at someone's house on Sunday. Yes, brrr, I wore my very thick jumper just in case, but luckily only the actual BBQ-ing took place outside; I spent most of the afternoon sat on my bum indoors, eating, whilst children ran about playing hide & seek, so we barely missed Hubby at all. Twin 2 told everyone that she'd got engaged to Harry Styles (from One Direction  - not sure about spelling?) and that because he'd kissed her and given her a ring, they had to get married straight away. Not sure if the delusion has anything to do with falling down at the sailing club and delayed concussion, but maybe someone should warn Harry...Right, I think I need to find some diet Coke or sugar-free gum or something, just a pretence of calorific intake will do. And then I'm going to have a really long think about my perfect breakfast. Bye xxx

I'm fantasizing about breakfast. If I get up as soon as my alarm goes off, then it's only 8 hours - and if I get up that early, I might even have time for something exciting like fried eggs. Or, if I stay awake for another hour and a half, then technically it will be tomorrow already, and I could just raid the fridge. Yes, I'm on another 'fast' day... other than not eating, what else has been going on? Hmmm, no dead pets so far this week, so that's good. We got a very nice consolation card from the vet reassuring us that we absolutely did what was best for the undead (no longer) dog and the rat with kidney failure. Ah, I shall almost miss my monthly visits there with sick animals (almost).
Today I have been mostly teaching the present perfect and introducing the present perfect continuous and hoping nobody asks me when you use one instead of the other (because I didn't get as far as reading that page when I was lesson planning). Of course someone did ask, so I just said the difference was very subtle and not to worry about it too much at this stage. Really, I should be a politician, my fudging skills are wasted in the classroom (and I'd probably make a better MP than ESOL teacher - I bet nobody ever asks Harriet Harman difficult grammar questions).
In between teaching grammar reluctantly (Monday & Weds) I have been trying to write the novel. I went to a cafe yesterday to write a scene where my poor heroine goes back to the place it all began. The problem was it's all a bit upsetting (for her, and also for me as I write it), felt a bit tearful, which is slightly embarrassing in the cafe-next-to-Lidl on a Tuesday afternoon, to come over all unnecessary. Anyway, my heroine only got as far as the pub, she's using delaying tactics, and who can blame her? Facing the past will be painful, poor lamb. I will have to get straight down to it tomorrow, and finally get her the closure she needs. But not until I've had fried egg on toast, and possibly the remains of the birthday cakes...(oh, I forgot to say, it was the Twins' birthday at the weekend. They managed to have the longest ever birthday party; it lasted a full twenty three hours. Okay, they only invited two friends, but still. Next year I might suggest something other than a sleepover, that possibly doesn't involve hearing various children shouting/crying on the trampoline and spending all of Sunday afternoon tidying up. I'm thinking cinema or show - something quiet and dark that only lasts two hours tops).
Right, well, the quicker I sleep, the sooner it'll be fried egg time.
Goodnight! xxxx

ps. I was just having a look to see who (if anyone reads this). Of course some people find their way here by a google search, and one poor woman was directed to this blog by putting this in her search engine (I'm not sure she will have found the answer to her query anywhere here, but I like to think I might have been some small comfort...) : "ocado blinis child throw up" 

It's been an eventful week. One of the rats ended up in the rodent version of intensive care on Wednesday. She was looking very poorly so we took her to the vet, who suggested overnight hospitalisation. Then it was the inevitable roller-coaster ride of emotion: would she make it through the night? (yes!) Would she recover fully from whatever was wrong with her by after school time? (no!) Would she be so ill that, despite expensive medical intervention we would still have to give her the lethal injection? (yes!) Would we have been better leaving her in her cage to die quietly (and cheaply) overnight? (quite probably).
So now Rattus Rattus (for that was her name) is buried in a cardboard coffin near the flowering something-or-other (gardening not my strong point), surrounded by some Everyday Value fruit 'n' nut mix to see her on her journey to the afterlife. I have also placed a large potted rose bush over the top of the grave, just so Son doesn't wake up to the aftermath of some frenzied grave-digging fox's carrion feast one morning.
Luckily the vet took pity on us and only charged half price on the rodent intensive care/euthenasia combo (a cynical person might think that this is because he'd already made a fortune on us out of undead Dog's longevity), but I'm still too embarrassed to 'fess up to you how much it actually was.
I think we should just stick to Barbie dolls and imaginary friends in this family as we are clearly not to be trusted with anything with a heart beat.
Cheerio xx

Hello, how are you? I'm hungry, and jittery and full of nervous energy. This is due to me having just started the 'fast' diet. Hubby says I mustn't think of it as a 'diet' but as a new regime, so this is a 'regime change' (there certainly are some violent rumblings, so he may be right). In case you haven't heard of it, the diet - ahem, regime - involves eating normally for five days of the week, but severely restricting your calorie intake on the other two. So today I've had four apples, a couple of slices of ham and oh, about a million cups of coffee - which probably explains the jitteryness. Anyway, the good thing is that because I'm having to use diversionary tactics to stop me thinking about a nice plate of tacos smothered in sour cream and salsa ....mmmm, yummy (no, no, stop that!)...I'm being quite productive (although of course not quite so productive that I've done the downstairs bathroom yet) and I've done all the washing and the washing up and the meter reading and booked the car in for an MOT and all my lesson planning and washed my hair and it's still hours until bedtime and even more hours until breakfast time (I probably will end up cleaning the downstairs bathroom, although there's a reasonable chance I'll end up eating toilet roll smothered in cleaning products and pretending it's tacos smothered in sour cream and salsa...mmm, yummy....no, no, NO!)
I was listening to something on the radio about self-publishing this morning on the way back from my lovely ESOL class, and it reminded me of a conversation I had with my sister-in-law the other week about my book (of which I haven't written a word since before the Easter hols). I was talking about how I'm a bit addicted to writing now, and no longer really care whether or not my manuscript gets picked up by an agent. She said: "Well, I suppose when you create something, it's like a gift that you're giving...but how do you know if it's a gift people want to receive?" Indeed. I now have an image of my magnum opus as an unwanted jar of bath salts, or perhaps a foot spa, with the gift tags still attached. Think I need to do some neuro-linguistic programming on myself and see it instead as a gift people do want to receive (George Clooney smothered in sour cream and salsa, anyone?).
TTFN xxxx

Help! I'm stuck in the silver-haired NIMBY ghetto with no way out!

Yep, I've taken the kids to Devon to see the parents.

I know, but I came prepared (or so I thought) by bringing my teeth-bleaching kit. Because in the evenings, if I have my bleaching mouthguard in, then I can't get sucked into late night 'discusssions' over a glass of red about wind farms/solar panels/the legality of the Iraq war, etc. Or so I thought. What I failed to factor in was that there would be a huge power cut shortly after we arrived, so in a bid to stay warm and keep the kids entertained, I took Dad up on his offer to take us with him on his trip to Mole Valley Farmers (first mistake: we should all have just stayed behind in the cold house with no TV). It's about a twenty minute drive. I asked Dad about his voluntary work, because he kept mentioning how very busy he was. That was my second mistake, because of course he's really busy campaigning against wind farms. However, I looked out of the window and pretended I already had my mouthguard in so as not to make any NIMBY accusations and get drawn into a pointless argument. Then, to fill the silence, he gestured out of the window at a solar farm in the distance and started to talk about the ruination of the Devon countryside. That's when I made mistake number three:
Him: Look at that! Ruining the Devon countryside, and there's fields more over there!
Me: We really can't talk about this because I think our opinions may differ on this one. Let's find something else to talk about.
Him: Well, you say opinion, but I say fact; it's a fact that...
Me: No, we really can't discuss this, because I don't want to fall out with you.
Him: Well, let's just see what your opinion is in ten years time when...
Me: We can't discuss this, Dad, really.
Him: But have you considered that...
Me: I mean it. If you carry on talking about this, I will go mental and we will fall out. We have to talk about something else.

Silence for a bit. Me fuming.

Him (in a voice that suggests I'm all hormonal and irrational): Well, I suppose I'd better be quiet until we get to the main road then.

I know. I know I should just have kept quiet and let him rant on about wind and solar power being a blot on the landscape. What to do? Wear a mouthguard during the day as well?

I'm having an early night tonight. And I'm off to visit my sister first thing tomorrow, before my father has a chance to start up any more interesting 'discussions', but in the meantime, if anyone reading this happens to be anywhere in the South Hams, please come and rescue me!

Hiya, I know, I've been a bit absent. I've been down in Ye Olde London Town with the family and the Undead Dog. We did the British Museum and the Maritime Museum (with the added bonus of seeing my favourite 'Horrible Histories' actor in the cafe - never has naval history been quite so exciting), as well as Camden market, where we all made a point of buying something, just so that if anyone asked us where we got that earring/handbag/pocket watch/hairslide we could say "Oh, this? I just picked it up in Camden market" (all apart from Hubby, who works nearby and wasn't quite as city-struck as the rest of us). Had a lovely lunch at a Japanese restaurant in Camden, too, which made me have fond nostalgic thoughts of Cafe U in Kathmandu. Also did  a pink zone/blue zone thing: girls and I did the museum of childhood whilst the boys did London Dungeon. And we also managed to fit in a shopping trip and a day trip to Weymouth to see the in-laws. So, it was busy, and now we're back home again (and skint). Tomorrow we're taking Undead Dog for his final visit to the vet. Today we had a roast chicken, so that Dog could have his last supper of chicken skin and gravy (his favourite). I have banned discussion of puppies called Richard Hammond and shall not be wearing mascara tomorrow...

Sorry, been a bit rubbish at keeping in touch. All you've missed is Twin 1's 'suspected appendicitis' - she had a whole day off school, but it turned out just to be a big poo. Am feeling a little dejected for various reasons, but I'm sure it's nothing that the imminent chocolate fest won't sort out - yesterday my sister came over and brought a kilo bag of mini eggs. Yes, I have just eaten the last one (oh, it wasn't that bad, the kids ate most of them, honest). I've been doing easter egg hunts in my English classes - to revise prepositions of place, you understand, not just because I can't whip up the energy to teach a new grammatical structure and would rather have a bit of fun. Hmmm, what other news? Finally fished out the old child-rearing bible and stopped shouting at Twin 1 today. She's now decided to write a journal for herself describing her behaviour issues and giving herself top tips on dealing with her anger. All her idea, and not mine. Phew. That book is just magic on paper, it really is - should really use some of the techniques on myself (and should really have used it on the hairy professor the other week, too, might have stopped me going into meltdown).... xxx

Hello you, how are things? It's all good here. Dog is still teetering on the brink, but managing to cling grimly on to life. Clearly his diet of Tesco Everyday Value horse mince suits his constitution (the vet thinks the bute might be adding value to his medication cocktail). Kids are madly excited about science dress up day on Friday. Last year it was all a bit last-minute, but I managed to get away with dressing the Twins in matching outfits and labelling them as genetic clones. Not sure I'll get away with it for a second year running, though, so have just ordered some tinsel from Amazon because the three of them have decided to go jointly as an atom (Twins as proton & neutron, Son as electron). Twin 2 was a bit sad that she couldn't go as Queen Elizabeth, but was persuaded by Son that she wasn't a scientific queen and also that protons could be pink, with red tinsel, so it's all good to go now. But what I want to know is why schools can't just do easy dress up days with things you actually have in the house? Why not a leggings-and-fleece dress up day? Why not? Oh well, we might be able to salvage some of the tinsel and keep it for Christmas, I suppose.
What else? I've started cycling to work. Well, cycling on one of the days, if it's not raining, and I feel like it. Oh, alright, I've done it once. And I might not do it tomorrow because apparently there's a fifty per cent chance of rain, and I've got to be at school for a meeting about Twin 2 in the afternoon, and I don't want to turn up wet, breathless, dishevelled, and late. So, actually, I suppose I should just say that I went for a cycle ride, last week. Still, it totally justified all those chocolate chip cookies at the weekend.
And, I'm finally getting paid a little bit for the voluntary work job, hurrah. Although it means I do have to turn up on time and be professional about it now - not that I wasn't before, you understand, but it does make me think I might have to be a bit more organised about it all.
We still see Hubby from time to time, most weekends, really - although he does turn up looking like sleep is an unaffordable luxury.
And talking of unaffordable luxuries - what am I going to do when my Protect & Perfect serum runs out. Since I've rid myself of evil Rumplestiltskin and his spinning-straw-into-gold job, I've realised that, well, I can't really justify the whole anti-ageing skincare thing. Any ideas? I've heard lard is good...(and Tesco does an Everyday Value horse version, I'm sure).

Hi, 'Sup? (I'm morphing into an American because I'm watching so many episodes of 'The Big Bang Theory').
Anyway, I'm fine. Which comes as quite a surprise, given my mini-meltdown last week. It turns out that my life is not falling apart and everything is pretty much as it should be, which is good. Phew. Apart from being less hormonal this week, I have also jettisoned one of my three micro-jobs. I would tell you more about 'Rumplestiltskin' and my 1am  decision to press send on the email handing in my notice. But it wouldn't do to get libellous, would it?
So, today, instead of attempting to spin straw into gold, I finished writing a chapter for my book, planned my lessons for tomorrow, went for a nice walk in the sunshine, didn't have to panic when I got a call from school to come in because Twin 2 was complaining about toothache, made a batch of cinnamon rolls and helped Twin 2 with her physio. Life is back to normal again, hurrah.
I'm not ruling out the possibility of another wierd oestrogen-induced blip in the not-too-distant future, but at least it won't be exacerbated by having to work for an evil fairy-tale character.
Hope you're not trapped in your own fairy tale (or if you are, it's not one that involves angry little bearded men).
Take care xxx
ps - did you know that, statistically six out of seven dwarfs aren't happy?

Turns out the 'day five dip' was postponed until day seven. Damn those pesky hormones - spent a not inconsiderable amount of the weekend sighing, crying and apologising to the kids (Hubby was away with work, conveniently for him). I also totally OD'd on St John's Wort in order to try to herbalise my way out of the hole it (looks like the year's supply of St John's Wort I just bought will barely last four months, at this rate) and ate my body weight in toffees and cinnamon rolls. I do feel normal again now, and there don't appear to be any side effects - will let you know if I suddenly develop a green tongue or purple wee or anything - other than massive weight gain.
Perhaps one of the reasons I'm feeling less depressed today is the weather: sunshine, flowers, happy faces - spring is in the air (the PTI at the gym said we will be having a heatwave next week, although when I asked for clarification he bellowed, "It'll be sixteen degrees!", which hardly counts as a heatwave in my book, but is admittedly about twenty degrees hotter than it's been recently).
And in the lovely, bright, lemony early spring sunshine today, I saw unequivocal evidence that I do in fact have nits, again. So I had to spend sixteen quid and the best part of the afternoon de-lousing myself and the Twins. I can think of better things to spend sixteen quid on (like another year's supply of St John's Wort and a supersized bag of toffees, for starters), but hey-ho, at least I'm vermin-free in time for my hairdresser's appointment on Wednesday with lovely M at the salon (she's the one with gorgeous black hair but a strange yellow complexion: wrong shade of foundation or chronic jaundice, not sure which). I'm hoping she will banish my greys and turn me into the gorgeous L'oreal advert I know I am, somewhere inside (on the days when I have no nits and am not crying my eyes out through a hormonal crisis).
Right then, washing up and downstairs bathroom now, can't wait...

I'm pretending the washing and the washing up don't exist. Or the upstairs bathroom (no, I still haven't done the downstairs one, either, and you can't make me!) because I'd rather talk to you. I ought to be being sociable tonight and going to book club, but I was expecting to have my 'day 5 dip' and be on the verge of tears for most of today, so I decided to make my excuses. However, as it happens, I'm perky as you fancy, so I could have gone after all, without fear of emotional outpourings. Ho hum, too late to get a babysitter now, and anyway, I'm already in my PJs, so I shall just have to drink wine and talk about books to myself until midnight (no change there, then).
News of the day: twins are learning a One Direction song in choir. I thought we might have avoided the whole One Direction palaver, but now it's being foisted on us by school. Thanks for that, Mrs W. Twin 2 has now decided she is their biggest fan and made me find their videos on youtube for her. Once I'd clicked 'play' she made me leave the room - she wanted to be alone with those boys with the silly haircuts.
And so it begins...

Hiya, how the devil are you? I'm treating myself to a G&T and a sit down because I've done all my chores (oh, alright, not the downstairs bathroom or the hoovering - don't be unreasonable about it) and New Girl is on the telly and I went to circuits today for the first time in two weeks so I'm aching a bit and because it's gone nine and I bally well feel like it, alright? Blimey, give a girl a break!
So, yet another exciting/exhausting weekend in the big smoke just gone - I've just bought myself some herbal stress-relief tablets from Tesco, to cope with the whole reverse-commute-with-three-kids-and-an-undead-dog, which I suspect has been causing me the strange chest-pains-that-aren't-cardiac-arrest things. Apparently you're not supposed to take them with alcohol, though, so I'm not sure what will happen once the G&T has gone down though...still, I'm feeling pretty good right now...

I'm too scared to go upstairs. Big H and small G have come for a sleepover with the twins. Son is hiding down here with me. When the squeaking and thudding stops I may think about going up. I'm in quite a nervy mood. You know the type when you eat lots of chocolate and behave in a manic/shouty way. Yes, you know what I'm talking about...You may think that inviting other people's children for a sleepover when you're in that kind of mood is a bit silly, but you'd be wrong. Firstly, because Big H and Small G are very nice children, but also because when they're around I'm largely redundant Someone has to cook the pasta and hand out the creme eggs, obviously, but apart from that, I've been free to sew cushion covers in front of 'A place in the sun: home or away' (it's always away, in my experience - you get jack for your money in this country).
Did I mention that I was sewing a cushion cover? Oh yes, and I repainted a table and a mirror frame yesterday, all the better to turn the Twins' room from an undersea kingdom to a shabby chic boudoir. The transformation is almost complete (and for a mere £23 as well - I'm less domestic goddess, more domestic skinflint), but I don't trust myself with a drill and screwdriver in my present mood (or ever, in fact), so I'm afraid Hubby might get spammed with putting up the polka dot blinds.
It's still thumping and whooping upstairs. Son has fallen asleep on the sofa. I think it might turn into a long night...
take care xxx

So, my dad's on telly and I'm feeling embarrassed. But not in a good way. Not in a oh-look-at-the-tanked-up-old-coot-entering-the-worm-charming-competition-at-the-local-pub way. No, the reactionary NIMBY has been protesting against community-supported renewable energy schemes. He doesn't want any wind turbines on the hill near his home, thank you very much, and he's happy to go on television to say so. It's not just that it feels like he's happy to mortgage his grandchildrens' futures for the sake of his view, it's just downright embarrassing to be associated with someone who holds those kind of opinions. Sigh.
Anyway, I think I may just be on a slight downer because I have had a less than great start to Valentine's Day (not that I was expecting anything from anyone, you understand), because I was up all night with a vomiting Twin 2 (Twin 1 was momentarily jealous and said that it wasn't fair that her sister got the day off school - then I reminded her that if she stayed off school herself, she would miss spending Valentine's Day with Samuel, and she suddenly stopped feeling aggrieved). The poor thing is now lying on the sofa in front of Scooby Doo looking wan. I've had to cancel my thing at uni this morning and am looking forward to spending the day washing vomit-soaked sheets/towels etc. I have a fairly critical meeting to kick off my new job this afternoon, which I haven't backed out of yet - still hoping that Twin 2 will feel well enough to sit in a cafe for an hour playing angry birds whilst I talk to people about ways of showing that a specific art exhibition has broad cultural impact. Hmmmm. Fifty-fifty chance of making it, I think.
Anyway, Happy Valentine's you! xxxxx

ps - now several hours later and yes, she is still vomming, poor thing!

Twin 1 has got her first ever Valentine's. It's from a boy called Samuel. They had a date at the school disco on Friday and she gave him a card and now he's reciprocated. It's a nice big glossy one, too, much nicer than the 50p one she gave him (because I was too tight to buy anything more expensive for her). But now she's in a bad mood  because I won't invite him over for supper on Valentine's day. I think she feels super proud of the fact that she's ensnared Samuel, because apparently Sophia and Olivia were also after him, and last year he went out with Katie for the whole year but they had a row and split up and the whole school knew about it (according to Katie's mum, who's a dinner lady, and knows about such things).
So well done her for getting the class 'catch'.
She's seven, by the way...

And the award for worst mother goes to….

Yep, me.

Here’s what happened: we’ve just had a weekend in London, tramping round the National History Museum and eating overpriced sandwiches in the rain. The only problem with the whole weekend flat thing is that I barely sleep there. I have no idea why – perhaps it’s the muffled sounds of sirens and muggers footsteps echoing outside, or perhaps it’s the weird memory foam pillows on Hubby’s bed. Anyhow, I always come back exhausted and mildly stressed. This morning we were up early with Twin 2 crying because nobody believed she was ill, and Twin 1 crying because she had to wear the ‘horrible’ school cardigan (no, I have no idea what’s wrong with it – it’s exactly the same as all the other school cardigans). I had to teach this morning, which was fine, but I was slightly distracted by the chest pains I had throughout the lesson. When I got home I phoned NHS who reassured me (again) that I’m not having a cardiac arrest, and then I thought that maybe, instead of going to circuits and doing my lesson planning, maybe today, just for once, I could have a teensy little nap.

I woke up at 3.40. School finishes at 3.20.

The school probably now have me on a list of possible drug users/alcoholics/generally unfit mothers. I am expecting a call from social services any time now.

What’s worse is that because I’m rubbish at lying, I didn’t even claim to have been at the hospital or stuck in traffic, I just ‘fessed up to sleeping through school pick up time.

Yours in embarrassment and utter mortification xxx