Hello, how are things? Thought I’d try to get one last post in before January ends. I know, I’ve been a bit lax about blogging, but my kitchen floor is gleaming and all the sheets are washed (we won’t talk about the mould on the windowsills or the frankly parlous state of the wii room – yes, we do call it a wii room, because it’s got the wii in it, and the rats, and the sofa bed, and the robotic hoover…so I s’pose we could call it the wii, rat, sofa bed & robotic hoover room, but it’s a bit of a mouthful).

I’ve just got back from book club. I only stayed a bit, because I didn’t have a baby sitter, I just went armed with a walkie-talkie and a ten-year-old baby monitor and the knowledge that if the house started to burn down, the kids would know to run in the vague direction of Georgie & Harriet’s house.

I love going to other people’s houses; they have scented candles and snacks that haven’t come out of a Tesco Everyday Value packet (yes, I managed quite a few smoked salmon blinis, thanks). The problem is, I always get a bit too passionate and nerdy about the books, and I’m sure that nobody likes me for it – I don’t think anyone else really goes to book club to discuss the book.

Anyway, nice as it is to fraternise with the neighbours, I can’t continue to go to book club. Why? Because at some point someone will say “Who’s hosting it next month? Who hasn’t hosted yet?” and all eyes will rest on me, and I will have to ‘fess up to the state of the wii room and the rats and only buying Tesco Everyday Value snacks (no, Waitrose isn’t cheaper, it really isn’t, and neither is Ocado, unless your husband is a brigadier or something and you are beyond thinking about supermarket bills). Sadly I am the hostess with the leastess – unless your idea of a good time is sharing your party space with two rats and eating Everyday Value crab sticks with balsamic vinegar (my snack of choice at the moment). I think I can get away with another two months and then I’ll have to make myself scarce, and spend book club nights on my own, eating crab sticks in my rat-wii-hoover room and talking to myself about books. Oh, no, writing that has given me a sudden image of what I’m going to be like in old age – and the unnerving realisation that it’s not quite as far into the future as I thought. Anyhow, time to let the undead Dog back in and set Bertha off now. Enjoy your February! xxxx