2010 - That's all folks

Whilst my mother-in-law christmased with us her house was visited by a mouse, Dangermouse. He ate the lagging to the pipework in her attic and caused water to cascade through her entire house - think floating furniture. She cleverly got a plumber and has loss adjusters on standby. Poor mother-in-law, but it makes more interesting news than my flu which, incidentally, is still with us.

Oh Goodness Me, it's the last day of the year and here I am moaning on. I would like to greet next year feeling as fit as a flea; I feel like a flea with bubonic plague who is a bit too fatigued to pass it on.

Now let's look at my great achievments of 2010:-
Um er. Yeah. I walked across the country. I became cupcake queen. I learned to salsa. I learnt to make stained glass windows. I swam a mile. I did some cooking. That'll do. Some of those are achievements of which I am quite proud.

After much deliberation of what to call next year's blog it's: www.mrssmithin2011.blogspot.com. See you all there.

Have a nice day - don't you dare.

I had a most satisfactory morning shouting at people and making things go my way. I took myself to Kingston and took back stupid, actually ridiculous, salad servers given to us by mother-in-law. No wonder they weren't much cop, she didn't spend much.

I bought myself some superior chopping boards with plastic labels hinting what you must chop on each one. They come in a smart steel holder and look frightfully professional. We can't understand all the pictures and so will subversively chop meat on the vegetable one and cross contaminate away like we have been doing for the last 50 years. They were marked with the wrong price so I made the assistant go and check and bring me the right ones at the right price. That's better. Good heavens, what are assistants for if not to assist and put up with me being horrible to them?

I moaned in Gap that the slippers Mr Smith bought me were stupidly small. Apparently they are American sizes and my British feet are much too large. I got a bigger size; I'm not sure I like them all that much any more but Thank you nice assistant in Gap for being the only person not to irritate me all morning.

I shouted at the man who washed my car because he insisted on using wax when I asked him not to. They charge extra and I didn't want to pay it. He then had no change. I paid him a few pounds and wished him a rotten New Year. I'm in that sort of mood. I took delight in making the idiot girl ring up my purchases in Whitestuff then changing my mind and paying cash thus rendering a till inoperable for the rest of the day. I refused to touch the fishmonger's smelly plastic bag handle and got him to place my purchases in my own bag without touching anything - I gave him the exact money along with a withering look. I tried on a coat that was much too small (the same one as earlier in the week in a different branch). I nearly wrenched off the button - woops. I pointed out the "faulty" button and told the girl to mend it. There was a dreadful mess on the floor of the dustpan and brush department of John Lewis. They told me they couldn't clear it up because it wasn't their job; they had to send for a cleaner. I asked the young man exactly how fucking idle you have to be to work in John Lewis?

I can't think of anyone else to whom I was beastly but the day is but young. Actually, if this cough doesn't improve I may be dead by the end of it.

Slippery moments

I have cleaned our kitchen and nobody can ever enter it again. There was an unfortunate incident with some salad dressing and my Prada shoes. I now have a kitchen floor on which you could ice skate and very shiny shoes with a faint whiff of vinegar about them. Oh well, at least it looks less like Baghdad.

I still feel very unwell; so does Mr Smith. It's probably his turn as he has been rather good throughout Christmas. I have now used up my entire energy walking the dog and performing household tasks and feel my bed beckoning; move over Mr Smith. We're down to the last Lemsip. Maybe we will just cancel New Year.

Sleeping soundly

Since my return from my ill advised shopping trip, which really made me feel very unwell, I have done nothing but sleep. Perhaps I have narcolepsy; perhaps I am just worn out by Christmas and this awful flu germ I have been battling with day after day. Oh how I hate being ill because it's so boring. The only interesting thing is my horrific cough and the strange rasping noise my chest makes as I exhale. I want to create things and take my dog for a long walk. I want to cook exciting things for New Year. I want to have fun with my children. I need some sea air but my flat is let to other people enjoying the sea air. I just need some energy.

My mother-in-law leaves today and, although I will miss her when she's gone, I am quite looking forward to it just being us again. The dog gets back his space on the sofa and all formality of meals will be instantly relaxed. She is very nice and I am lucky to have such a dear mother-in-law but she could win the Uriah Heap award for obsequiousness which becomes maddeningly irritating after a while. So I am quite looking forward to her taking her ever such humble arse back to Yorkshire.

To all of you who have done your September dot to dots on your calendars, have you coloured in your Junes? Next Year I think all months will be d.i.y. More fun.

Sailing to the Sales

Best Christmas present: New kitchen knives from my mother - with which to stab members of my family.
Worst: It's a toss up between the Coronation Street teapot and a pair of very beautiful white slippers in completely the wrong size..


Still feeling pretty unwell with a gloriously awful hacking cough that sounds like consumption, I was a bit fed up with staring at the four walls and an ugly teapot. Therefore I thought an outing for me and mother-in-law to the Sales was a grand idea. Mr Smith started with "There will be no bus service" followed by "The crowds will be insufferable" then "Nothing will be open before 12." Oh I am so pleased I never listen to a word he says. A bus arrived in a few minutes to whisk us to Westfield which opened at ten. We shopped spaciously with very few people, watched the ice skating, bought some bargains and tried on a tiny weeny beautiful red coat but it was just too small, got proper slippers to replace the cinderella sized ones Mr Smith had bought me and looked at all the expensive shops such as Gucci, Prada, Tiffany and Dior. We had a thoroughly excellent outing and didn't have to put up with any tutting or sighing from Mr Smith. I did feel pretty exhausted by the time we got home and I really did not aid my recovery from this awful germ by trudging round Shepherd's Bush on such a freezing cold day. However, I had a lovely time and proved Mr Smith wrong - Oh so happy.

Happy Boxing Day

Many people spend Boxing Day performing healthy pursuits such as hunting or walking or running up hills. Not us. Oh No Sir; we do Christmas all over again with more people and presents and food and wine and merriment. We like to celebrate Christmas over two days. Actually, we really like to prolong it for about five then, when completely saturated by the whole thing, we stagger into New Year and have a repeat performance. Well, we cannot be accused of not knowing how to enjoy ourselves.

It's my turn for cooking today. Sensible Alison really did a good show yesterday and I thought I would never eat again but, suddenly, I am feeling quite hungry and in need of a gift (and not another stupid teapot). My parents are gracing us with a visit. Although my mother is definitely barmy and can be extremely nasty, she's not a bad present giver. My father is just quietly charming. They don't tend to stay for very long as they are positively Ant and Bee in their buzzing around and I am sure will be going on to annoy another family member for tea after us. So it's a case of "What have you got us? OK you can stay for lunch. Now go." That's how family Christmas visits should be. Mr Smith's mother seems to have moved in.

It's Christmas at last

Happy Christmas one and all. What did your stocking produce? Father Christmas does have appalling taste; he brought me a Rovers Return teapot with matching mug. I despair. If anyone had bought me a bottle of sloe gin or port I would have had a glass by now for my breakfast... but they didn't.

In a moment of extreme folly last night I gave the boys indoor fireworks. They have burnt the house down so we all have to go to church to take refuge. Then we're off for Christmas lunch with Sensible Alison and Unpresuming Ed and their four bolshy children who are all just that bit viler than ours.

We're mostly ill. I am getting better but very slowly with dreadful bits of dying with the most awful hacking cough between the few hours of feeling almost reasonable. The Apprentice's cough is even worse than mine. Mr Smith is trying to be ill but really his flu jab seems to have done the trick. The student suffers from such malaise at all times we don't know if he's well or not. Mother-in-law is not allowed to be ill or I'll shout at her.

I'm dreaming of a well Christmas

I didn't die in the night though there was a point at which I thought I might and another where I wished I could. Oh, how beastly is this vile flu. I need a t-shirt bearing the logo "I heart Lemsip" though people might misread it and think I mean Lembit who I don't fancy at all; does anyone?

I have absolutely no idea what anyone in this house is going to eat over the next few days except ham. A tangerine perhaps - and would you like a slice of ham with that? I think the Christmas ham is growing larger not diminishing - a bit like me.

I am going to make mince pies - delicate little ones with filo pastry and germs, then hang up my stocking and dream of wellness.

Laid up ... with gifts

I didn't think I could feel much iller but I am now considerably worse. There isn't any of me that doesn't ache and oh how it hurts. I can't stay in bed as I have a student to slap and a mother-in-law to entertain. The Apprentice seems to be getting better but Mr Smith is now complaining of not feeling great. He was so gloating about having had a flu jab, it serves him right.

My mother-in-law has left my Christmas present behind. She said it was Mr Smith's fault as he didn't bring all her packages when he collected her. Mr Smith couldn't care less. If I wasn't feeling quite so ghastly, I'd probably mind.

Yesterday Mad Carina came round with a glorious haul of pressies for me, some of which were purchased at the Priory gift shop during her last incarceration. I gave her a few tasteless gems of Christmas tat including some very beautiful white suede slippers and a mug declaring her Queen of Everything along with the statutory apron and calendar. She gave me some gorgeous flowery bathroom scales which make me almost not mind that I'm so heavy, a very groovy bath hat and an empty book entitled "Write your own novel". Ooooh I can hardly wait to get started. Brill friend.

Dying swan

Mrs Smith has flu. Mr Smith doesn't and, although he's kind and delivers lemsips, is inclined to shout at her with one of his Christmas rants. Mrs Smith has retired to bed with the pillow over her head where she will stay until Christmas morning.

Mumsie

I have looked in my diary today and found the page completely blank which implies I can enjoy a day of absolute idle procrastination with an afternoon film for light relief. I doubt it. I will be nursing the poor ailing Apprentice who is gravely ill, with a slight cough. Remember I am his Mother. The Student is home with trousers at half mast and a declaration that the dog is "Well fat". And I paid well good for wot his ejucashun cost an all - innit. He'll be on the sick list next as he's quite good at volunteering for anything going around. In the meantime I will send him off to do his Christmas shopping and try to get on better with him. Just in case you believe in our judicial system, I'd like you all to know he's been called for jury service in the Spring for the third time and can no longer postpone it.

Two burly men have just heaved an enormous box over the doorstep. Oh my God. It's the Christmas ham. What was Mr Smith thinking of? Has he invited several other tribes of starving people for Christmas? Who on earth is going to eat all this pig? Oh probably me.

And now I will clean my house then mess it all up again.

Festive Cheer

Mr Smith's mood doesn't improve much. Today's rant was about the airport being snowed up; not because he had a wonderful surprise Christmas holiday booked for us, I hasten to add. His brother is off to Turkey for Christmas to play golf but of course he isn't actually as he is at Heathrow under a bit of silver foil with everyone else, trying to rebook his tee-off time. Oh how my mother-in-law will be fretting. She will also by now be quite worn to a frazzle by her sleepless nights worrying if she will make it down Sowf to stay with us. Our Christmas ham hasn't arrived; I'll give her that to worry about too whilst I trudge through the snow to perform physical jerks at the gym and release endorphins and smile all day without a care in the world.

The Apprentice is unwell; he has a chill. I like the term "a chill" as opposed to flu or a cold - it sounds more Jane Austen with a slight hint of gravity if you are very poor or old. With Benylin and lemsip he'll soldier through. And, if things go according to plan, the Student will come home today then I will feel like a proper mother with both her boys safely in the nest. I'll make mince pies and sing carols loudly and out of tune and then walk the dog in the snow whilst the boys regress to 5 and 8 years old and have a snowball fight followed by an evening of rubbish telly.

I absolutely love Christmas.

My dog eats yellow snow

I have just read that Christmas lunch is about 3,500 calories. Actually, mine is probably more. The good thing about it being lunch is you might have time to make a start on the 14 hours of brisk exercise required to burn it off before bedtime; opening presents with extra vigour? Anyway, as practice for the forthcoming feasting, Mr Smith took me out for a wonderful lunch after which I took the dog for a snowy waddle up Rabbit Hill. Wimbledon Common resembles Val D'Isere with about the same number of braying Brits in skisuits including my neighbours who looked like Christmas elves in red salopettes they must have got down from the loft.

I am still too full for a cup of tea.

Snow fights

Today began with a row about brussels sprouts. How I hate the little horrors. However, Mr Smith is rather partial to them and considers them the only required vegetable from November to March. I was trying to send him out to shop for some cauliflower, brocolli and other veg of the sort I like. It was when I got to celeriac he threw a tantrum then he made it snow, massively, so no vegetable hunting could take place for the rest of the day; in fact probably not until late February.

Oh it's so deep and so white and so pretty. The council estate suddenly looks like Switzerland where vicious dogs frolic charmingly alongside their crack cocaine dealer owners. The charity shops have tinselled windows and all the stolen cars are bedecked in white mantles. All right, I was reduced to shopping locally and am trying to make the best of it.

Mr Smith's temper was not at it's very best due to golf being snowed off. I have a nasty feeling this is merely the start of his grumpiness and it will accelerate throughout Christmas trying my patience to New Year. The usual referee, mother-in-law, might not make the Christmas fixture as she lives in the very snowy north. I have yet to suggest to Mr Smith he goes up the M1 to get her; I'll wait til he's in a better mood.

Christmas orders

Most of my on-line Christmas shopping has arrived but I am beginning to feel a little anxious about those things that haven't and what about all the presents to ME? My mother-in-law told me a woeful tale of her husband one year declaring before Christmas that he hadn't bought her anything. She, quite naturally, thought the present must be a Ferrari or something as he couldn't possibly be so unappreciative of the woman who did absolutely everything for him and his four children all year as well as slave away over Christmas. When Christmas morning came and he declared in his Yorkshire tones "I told thee woman, I've bought you nowt" she was a trifle disappointed. She divorced him.

There is an enormous parcel under the tree for Mr Smith. He thinks it's a ride on mower; it's actually a goat. No, it is something quite boring as I am trying to discourage so much golf and promote more G is for Gardening. I have also bought him a new Times Atlas of the World as ours has become so yesteryear with countries such as Yugoslavia or the USSR all being one thing. Maybe we will find ourselves an exotic holiday destination - East Wittering.

The Lovely Claudia is coming to play and I will skip exercise class and finish icing her cupcakes and wrap her pressie. Then we will chat and laugh and smoke and be bad mad girls.

B for lamb

For those of you who now have your 2011 Mrs Smith calendar, enjoy defacing it with many squiggly lines or the odd appointment and consider yourself on my top 10 best friends list or related to me. Those of you who don't have one it's either because I haven't delivered them all or because I hate you.

Got back from the sea absolutely ravenously starving and ate some rather delicious lamb thingy I found. It appears Mr Smith had cooked it for dinner tonight as a welcome home for me. Oh dear. I'd better whizz to the butcher and buy more lamb and try to replicate whatever it was.

The general standard of Christmas card through our letterbox is pretty shoddy this year. The best so far is a large moose from the vet and the worst the W-Bs who boastfully sent a photograph of themselves with billions of orfspring. Someone please tell them this isn't quite the done thing; a robin in aid of cancer says it so much better. Well done to I D Jane who made her cards herself but actually has done them so well you would be convinced they were shop.

Production lines

I have been marvellously productive recently. My 2011 calendars are nearly finished. The last month is August which has gone a bit wrong quite apart from you thinking the last month should be December. Some of them have holocaustic disasters with tsunamis of paint sweeping across the days where I've had a little accident with messy paint on sleeve and upset the water jar. Gives them that home-made look.

I waded through a pile of ironing up to the ceiling and ironed it. When I'd finished, I found a whole clotheshorseful squirrelled away by Mr Smith in the guest bedroom. How dull. He can iron it. Well, he could if he could get to the ironing board but it's part of my slightly rubbish apron factory. My Christmas aprons would be so much better if I could sew straight.

Mad Carina bought me a little book of Christmas cupcakes. I feel wreaths and sparkly star cakes coming on. The wreaths could double up for wakes.

Off to swim a mile again today. David Walliams eat your heart out. Or, on second thoughts, I might just do fat aqua zumba - more fun and less knackering. Then I will grace the seaside with my presence and take in sea air putting roses back into my cheeks.

Tick tock

Mrs Smith has a new watch and it is quite lovely. Please remember to ask me the time at repeated intervals.

In/out and about

Mrs Smith's top places to be this week:

The gym - My woeful overindulgence of the past few days requires urgent attention. I went to loads of parties and must have accidentally eaten some of the guests.

Selfridge's fabulous shoe department - Mr Smith watched Mary Portas's review of it on tv recently and they had a close up of my mouse shoes ... along with the price. Oh no. I told him they were a marv barg, not £230.

My bedroom - divinely immaculate as I cleaned it and recycled all the old books and clothes and threw out a mountain of rubbish. Mr Smith has set up a little camp with his easy chair and reading light. I suppose it is his room too, unlike the seaside.

The watch shop, any watch shop. I want a watch. Mr Smith has cleverly spied a Longines by which I could be tempted but it is a bit terribly expensive.

Richmond Park - those deer are getting into training for their forthcoming sleigh pulling. Maybe we'll have venison on Christmas Eve.

West Sussex - I feel the lure of the sea.

My amazing dream

A couple of nights ago I had a dream that was actually quite funny and I know other people's dreams are more boring that football scores or hearing about the achievements of their children BUT ......

I met a beautiful man and I was so so tempted to kiss him (etc.) but an angel appeared and told me that if I did I would have a monster hangover, a real head splitter, for days after. Mmmm was it worth it? Not really, but I really liked the man and I really wanted the man. No, I just didn't want the after effects. So I was about to back away when the devil appeared and gave me two extra strength nurofen.
After all, this was my dream, starring me, and it had to have a happy ending ... and no hangover.

Weighty issues

I went to three parties yesterday and ate far too much; maybe I will explode. People talk about their television viewing at parties "Who's going to win X Factor? Well, it's either Molly or Ashley but they're both dead. Anne Widicombe stands a good chance." Has this information been Wikileaked? At this point I tend to wander off in search of another drink or a student to slap.

I find it very odd being greeted by people I don't know very well with "Gosh, haven't you lost weight!" This implies that I was vastly fat before - well I was actually but not so so so vastly. Personally, I would just quietly seethe at their success with envy and hatred unless they were a real mate in which case I'd give them cupcakes. Anyway, with the amount of food I tucked away yesterday I think there might be a bit of a comments shortage from now on.

To those of you who greeted me with "You look good. Are you having an affair?"
Nice idea but Mr Smith might not approve.

I am stuck in an apron factory today. Sorry if you don't get one for Christmas; this is Jane's fault for hosting such an excellent party last night which has given me a bit of a hangover and hampered production considerably. Then there are my calendars; there will be no summer in 2011. You will jump from May straight to September thus making the year much easier to manage. Sorry if your birthday falls at this time - choose another one.

Claudia, I gave your Christmas cupcakes, complete with sparkle and tiny sugar holly, to Jane whose mother hasn't broken her arm. This is because I am a bitch. OK, I'll make you some more.

Invisible Tree

This year we have opted for an invisible Christmas tree. It is a spiral of lights with a star on top suspended from the ceiling. We have added the odd silver glass ball and it is quite breathtakingly spectacular. No prickles. Mr Smith thoroughly approves; he's got what he's always wanted - a plastic tree.

I declare today my Day of Achievement. Already this morning I have conquered two major tasks: I have done all our Christmas cards and I have swum a mile. I have been gradually building up my lengths and today I did it!

Cup cake of sympathy goes to the Lovely Claudia whose mother broke her arm yesterday and poor Claudia is having to run round looking after her and can't come to Coven meeting on Monday. Mad Carina and I will cast you a Happy Christmas spell and eat your lunch for you.

Internet dating Jane is having a party tonight. She sent out blank invitations that we have to decorate and bring to the party - Fridge Art. I haven't done mine yet so better dash and produce something original. Perhaps I'll just sit Mr Smith down with glitter and glue - I jest.

My Cooking Day by me

Well, I have to say the Cookery School was amazing with a billion gleaming pots and pans and sauciers and thingumiwhatsits and every bit of le Creuset ever made but where were the spoons, the tea-towels, the oven gloves, the chopping boards, the scales and aprons? It was a treasure hunt. I found a kitchen porter to help us but it was his first day so, like me, he was about to burst into tears too. I asked for a hand held whizzer but was given something that looked like a cement mixer. I didn't use it. Also the ovens required a comprehensive knowledge of state of the art oven operation - I learnt and then taught it on to my fellow five cooks. Something about a boarding school education was helpful here - sharing Latin homework and games kit.

Just when things started to get tricky and I was beginning to panic about my cranberry sauce with stolen port from another cook, along came team after team of people who fired horrid difficult to answer questions at me. They grilled me on all sorts of foody things and about how and when and where and why I cook, shop and feed people. I was trying to concentrate on my cooking; I was nice to the first two groups but by the third or fourth I was becoming tetchy and beginning to tell terrible lies.

By some miracle and good organisation on my part, it all came together; then the gannets descended. In these groups there is always one young chap who is a bit crap at his job, takes no notes, asks no questions, probably has a bit of a hangover and tags along hoping nobody will notice him and he is terribly greedy. There were several of him and they all came back for seconds. All my pheasant en croute with cranberry and port sauce disappeared in a trice. The pudding, a meringue roulade, hit the spot and, as I had it done quite early, managed to be filmed and photographed ostentatiously.

Then came the eating. Armed with forks we charged round the kitchen trying each others' delicious dishes which were just amazing. I felt I only had a teeny bit of this and a little bit of that but it probably accumulated into a vast buffet in my stomach and I was so full I wanted to lie down rather than have yet another Q&A session.

When I got home, completely shattered, I emptied all my leftovers onto a layer of pastry, rolled it up and served it to the next team of critics, Mr Smith and the Apprentice. "A bit dry, isn't there a sauce? What's for pudding?" By that time I was fast asleep.

Hey good looking, what you got cooking?

Today is Cooking Day when I poison North London with my culinary expertise. I, and my fellow cooks, are cooking at a Cookery School performing for panels of tasters and teams of market researchers to show them what and how the average posh shopper cooks at this time of year. Personally, I find a takeaway does the trick but I don't quite think that's what they have in mind. Thank you everyone for your messages of good luck and I will tell you all about it on my return until you can no longer bear to hear another whisk or stir of kitchen drama. In a few hours it will all be over but right now I feel as though I am about to face the Dragons. Then when I get home I have to face Mr Smith with his usual "What's for dinner?"

Embarrassing moments

I met my mother on the bus on the way back from the RA. She is certifiably insane, completely barking, self obsessed and very odd. Please don't let me turn into her, just let the bus squash me.

Workaholic

Suddenly it's raining work. Lovely. Keeps me occupied and stops me getting too excited about Christmas which will start in the Smith household next week when I will put pen to robin and dispatch good cheer to all whilst Mr Smith starts bahhumbugging.

My calendars are coming along nicely. I jumped forward to December leaving the summer and autumn for my next and painted little partridges that look like vultures in pear trees whilst a man from the Oven Cleaning Co broke my cooker knobs. However, the cooker does look gleamy and I don't really want to mess it up by ever cooking anything ever again. I suppose he will send me new cooker knobs soon before we all waste away.

Off to the Royal Academy today. Hopefully I will find some Christmas cards on my travels in aid of starving artists or something.

My next job involves drinking lots of wine and making a drunken film - what a hardship. I'm thinking "Sideways" here (a film I greatly recommend unless you are a Merlot drinker) but I think a short video diary of my slurps is what will be required. Mr Smith, sommelier in chief, is taking this all rather seriously and getting out bottles of Petrus and Chateau Lafite whilst hiding all the Majestic and Sainsburys bargain buys. I'm just getting drunk.

Blackberry crumble

Exciting day today as the cooker gets it annual clean from the Professional Oven Cleaning Company and, boy oh boy, have they got their work cut out. I did book some extra time as I know what a mighty task it is. I do undertake it myself from time to time but why when you can get a man in? And they make it all look like new rather than a bit smeary with Mr Smith pointing out missed bits.

It seemed a great Christmas idea to make calendars ... when I started. I have got as far as June and the novelty has definitely left the building. Last year they were such a hit and so many people were moany about not getting one that I upped the output this year to ten. Only ten? I hear you cry. Yes, but that is 10 x 12 months which is 120 little pictures ... fairly dreadful little pictures ... getting worse.

My blackberry phone, which I have never quite mastered, has gone horribly wrong. It loses the signal frequently, refuses to get up and recharge its batteries and calls all the wrong numbers including deleted ones. I have abandoned it. So sorry if you're calling my mobile or receiving missed calls or very odd messages; we're not getting on very nicely at all.

Soppy Sunday

I had a big fat disappointment over the weekend which I am surprised I mind about ... but I do. However, thanks to my family who are so brilliant sometimes, I feel far cheerier now. I came back from walking the dog and sat down in front of a soppy film starring Hugh Grant with very girly hair. I found a box of Turkish Delight that I ate until my jaw ached. The film made me cry. In the evening the Apprentice and Mr Smith cooked me dinner with no moaning, well not much, and I felt undeserving of their kindness.

I have a painting on the go but somehow my heart is no longer in it. I will scribble all over it and think of it as a cathartic exercise.

This is working week. I have work every day except Wednesday when I am meeting my mother-in-law and sister-in-law at the Royal Academy for a bit o'culture. Today I have an hour with the government which sounds frightfully grand but I can assure you isn't. However, I will be paid and it's probably about time I did a spot of lucrative employment. Mr Smith is rubbing his hands together - must be cold, poor dear.

Blue Sea

The loo seat fitted, the fixings were perfect and I felt celebratory at my magnificent handiness. I danced round the village uttering little hoorays of joy at a task well done. Unfortunately, nobody else seemed the least bit interested in my brilliance so, feeling dejected, I drank a bottle of wine with some friends then sobered up at Al's birthday bash where a horrible lad stole my cigarettes. He didn't steal the packet but took about ten and put them in his pocket when he thought I wasn't looking. I made him apologise although I never want to smoke again so I let him keep his pickings. Actually, that was about the nicest thing that happened to me all evening. Oh I remember kidnapping Julie from her flat and taking her to the party and saving Atlanta from the horrible cigarette thief. Then I went to bed feeling lonely and slightly angry.

When I woke up this morning it was sunny o'er the sea which always puts me in a good frame of mind. I felt much happier and, after testing out the loo seat (still perfect), I drove back to London listening to the Lighthouse Family and felt lifted ... lifted ... la la la.

Super Mario Me

Alleluia we have a loo seat. I will wrestle it into place later today ... pray for me. It must fit - oh please, gods of all that is lavatory, make it be the right thing.

Today is Botox inspection day when I have my follow up appointment. I have to say, now that the bruising has disappeared, it is pretty good and my forehead lines are greatly diminished and crows feet almost non existent. Not being able to look surprised is an interesting experience even at the hideous price of having a frozen face.

Making a snowmanager

Stevie Smith once wrote "Cleaning your house whilst your kids are still growing is like shovelling the walk before it's stopped snowing." Actually it was Phyllis Diller but it sounds Smithish.


Things I have discovered about snow:-

Apparently, it's white in other places too.

It prevents deliveries - still waiting for my loo seat despite having paid extra for next day delivery to which I notice they have added a little waiver on the website with a refusal to refund special delivery charges which I think is a bit mean.

The dog goes all bobbly and brings huge balls of snows into the house as attachments. They must be very heavy.

It's a great contraceptive - Mr Smith just doesn't find my nightwear of overcoat and bobblehat remotely attractive.

It makes you fat as you have to eat lots to keep warm and stay huddled for much of the day.

I absolutely love it.

Not today

I waited in all yesterday morning for the arrival of my "Guaranteed Delivery before 12 Next Day" to no avail. The downloaded loo seat and fixings never came. I did all the Aprils on my calendars. Mays today.

I was so swimmy in the afternoon and nearly conquered a mile of swimming pool but at length 50 or thereabouts (I lost count) I remembered I was going out so, as I didn't want to fall asleep in my dinner, I stopped. I will have another bash at it another day but it certainly won't be today as I have the hangover from hell and would probably drown.

Inclement weather, no loo seat and not feeling my very best have all contributed to my decision to cancel today. Sorry any of you who want to play; I'm staying in bed with the dog and the crossword watching the snow make our compost heap look picturesque.

Bogged down with incompetence

The loo seat at the seaside is broken. Actually, it is now non existent as the useless plumber simply took it away rather than fix anything which makes things extremely uncomfortable, especially for us ladies who have to remain seated during the entire performance. I have searched high and low for the correct fixing and now, in desperation, have downloaded something from the internet. Well, it should arrive today or tomorrow then I can go back to the sea, in the snow, and weep o'er the bowl as yet another seat doesn't fit. Mr Smith is praying I get it fixed as he is so bored of hearing about it.

Tonight I am being taken out for dinner by a very attractive man, although he is bringing along six other people. I shall simply blot them out of my vision and stare at him all evening. Actually, if I'm being critical he has crooked teeth which is definitely detrimental to his otherwise beautiful visage. He's still better looking than James Bond. Sadly, this is all irrelevant as he is a big boss with big money for whom I am working next week. Will reveal all in my next.

Snow mink

Wandsworth Council had the massive good sense to grit the High Street in anticipation of this swirling snow; I had the massive good sense to leave my wellies at the sea.

It is sub arctic in this house. I am in bed wrapped in Granny's mink coat, inside out for fear of animal activists breaking into my bedroom and threatening me with an invitation to a rally on anti-vivisection. Mr Smith is in his nice warm office in nice warm Richmond.

This is the week I was going to swim a mile (in one go) but looking at the weather, the large white blob outside that I think is my car, the road being closed, no wellingtons - only Jimmy Choos, I think this will end up on my unachieved goals list. However, it might be warm there. I could sit in the steam room - but it's a bit boring because your book goes all crinkly and it's tricky to see the writing through the steam and specs are, obviously, useless. Maybe I should try the sauna then I could run out into the snow and roll around on the tennis court. Maybe not, the Club Committee would no doubt find some rule in the little rule book that covers such misdemeanours and I would, once again, cause Mr Smith deep embarrassment.

What a bummer!

Spent far too long at the seaside which made coming back to London a bit of a wrench especially as it was the most glorious morning with the view somehow even more magnificent than ever. I really love it there.

A mile a day

I met some ladies at swimming this morning who told me they like to swim a mile as their exercise - A MILE ... you must be joking. I just about pass out at the end of my 20 hippo lengths. I worked it out to be 64 ups and downs which would take me 40 minutes. Well, that would be OK. Admittedly I've never done anything like it before but then I'm the woman who walked across Britain in June. My new regime? Well, I'll give it a go next week when I'm feeling energetic.

The Lovely Claudia is coming to play this morning. She can admire my face, shoes and calendars (so far) and talk about Christmas. I absolutely love Claudia. I don't even mind that she's elegant, thin and a bit better at everything than me.

Mad day today with hardly a chink in the wall of happenings. If things go according to plan I will get to see Juliet, who is an amazingly brilliant artist, at her show in Wimbledon then go on to nurture the Student who is in desperate need of love and support. I have to squeeze a dog walk in between before nightfall and eventually end up at the seaside in need of a glass of wine.

Owch

Awoke this morning with a blinding headache ... maybe it's the Botox working. Oh goody, but oh baddy if I have to hold my head to stop it splitting open for the next three months. I saw Thin Jenny yesterday who asked me if Mr Smith and I were getting on OK. I thought this was a bit odd but then realised it was in reference to the bruising on my forehead and under my left eye. Glad she noticed and it's not just me exaggerating it for dramatic purposes, as can sometimes be my wont. Actually, Mr Smith is behaving quite well these days and hasn't gone off his trolly about the Botox ... yet. This is because I haven't told him how much it cost; he probably would be able to think up a less expensive way to get a black eye.

Yesterday's painting class went well. Andrea brought along some photos and we painted her daughter with boyfriend. My representation of Zoe was somewhat wide of the mark and she had an awful squint whereas Andrea's boyfriend effort was pretty damned good. How annoying!

Internet Dating Jane and I stirred beautifully and made two Christmas puddings. I don't think mine will ever be eaten as nobody likes it much and we go elsewhere for Christmas lunch anyway. However, I am going to repeat the procedure with a Christmas cake today. Oh well, it's all about keeping traditions alive and not forgetting to overeat until you explode at Christmas.

Off to restock pillows for seaside and replace broken glasses due to the smashems I seem to have every time I go there. It beats washing up. I'll brave Ikea.

Arty party

There was a replacement teacher at Zumba yesterday, a beautiful tall black man, who really taught us how to dance. It was an enormous relief to receive instruction rather than flounder around to the ever changing routines of our usual mad taskmaster. However, I did not feel fully worked out to the core; in fact I did not even get to glow so I went for a hard swim to work those fat bits and thought of my forthcoming holiday to .... East Wittering.

Internet Dating Jane and I went dog walking and inspected my forehead - no change! She's coming over this afternoon to play Stir-up Tuesday. We are making our Christmas puddings which were a great success last year due to us behaving like a couple of teenagers raiding their parents' drinks cupboard. In it all went, as no doubt it will today.

Andrea is coming for a second art lesson - a glutton for punishment. We talk about our husbands, our children and anything else that pops into our tiny brains then apply a teeny dollop of paint to the canvas and call it an art session. But it's fun. Portraiture today. I'll find a suitable photo of Mr Smith then do something Picasso with it.

Help the Aged

On my journey to return clothes in ridiculously optimistic sizes to shops, a nice young man offered me his seat on the tube. I was surprised as this hasn't happened to me before. I immediately thought I must look old, terribly old, ancient, haggard - I knew that Botox was a waste of money. It has made me look a bit tired and bruised so I probably resembled a battered wife making her way back to her refuge. Or maybe I just looked pregnant - I suspect the diet isn't really having much effect. Or perhaps he was just a lovely chap with good manners whose Mum should be proud of him.

I picked up my new mouse shoes from Selfridges then met my goddaughter, Selena, at the bus stop. We chatted and she admired my shoes and stroked their whiskers. To top off my self improvement for this week I had my eyebrows threaded and my nails done which are now an elegant shade of plum (nails not eyebrows).

My calendars arrived and I have completed my Januarys. My Februarys look a bit dreary, not that I care as Mr Smith and I will be whooping it up in the Caribbean fighting mosquitoes and getting sunburnt during Feb. However, I will redesign them to stop everyone topping themselves before Spring.

When the going gets tough .....

Arty Antonia was busy loving her children unconditionally, as one does, and working through some issues (one who wants to be homeless and a younger one who probably does too), when, in her time of need of support, her man buggered off. So she's going it alone. Well, she has before and she's good and strong and totally wonderful and I think she needs a cupcake. (Rooting for you, Rolls).

The Botox has still made no marked improvement to my lovely visage. I now have a black eye and bruises on my forehead that even Mr Smith pointed out. This was after he and the Apprentice had stopped laughing at me ... loudly. I was going to cry but it's only day two and it takes 4 days to work so maybe, just maybe, something less colourful will appear soon.

Lots of people came to the art exhibition and admired my paintings. They really did admire my pictures loudly, above all others, not even knowing they were by me which was jolly nice. But they didn't buy them. The thing ends today and Mr Smith is saving me the humiliation of my lack of sales by collecting them for me, then everyone can think he bought them.

Mirror mirror on the Wall

I know you will all think me completely mad as I do myself; yesterday I had Botox. Well, I am fed up of looking in the mirror and seeing my mother staring back at me. I like being me but I would like a few less lines on my forehead. What's it like? It's a bit like a few angry bees landing on on your face for a stinging contest. It is very expensive. So far I can see absolutely no difference whatsoever except a small bruise and a slight lump under one of the stings and a small red spot beside my left eye. Apparently it takes a few days to take effect. Of course I am absolutely obsessed with my reflection and have to check it every three minutes. I still seem to have full movement of all scowl and frown muscles with every crater and crevice still horribly visible. I'll keep you posted - hourly bulletins.

Last night Mr Smith and I went to visit our friend Andrea who was doing her thing at a charity Christmas fair. As those sort of things go it wasn't bad. Mr Smith bought me some earrings for Christmas and I bought a beautiful glass dollop for the seaside.

Today, I am refereeing at the bunfight as hundreds of people come to admire and buy my paintings. In reality I will sit lonely as a cloud in a room full of awful art waiting for Mr Smith to come and rescue me. I'll take the crossword ... and my mirror.

Michelin Stars for Me

The trial dinner went well. I cooked, they ate, I ate a bit too. It was good. It could be a teeny bit better with little additions/submissions such as greener pudding, browner main. With a bit of tweaking I reckon I have an edible meal that a panel of tasters will be able to taste and discard (too sad) and I will become Masterchef and rule the World. Oh, sorry, I was getting a bit carried away there.

I now have beautiful hair with tiny copper streaked highlights - all part of the femme fatale look. Mr Smith couldn't see them. Oh well, I tried.

Went to stir the cauldron with Mad Carina who is just so consistently lovely. She even rang me later for a bit more chat - such a brilliant mate. It's a shame she's about to electrocute herself with 15 kitchen appliances all plugged into one plug. I suppose she hasn't so far and that's what an rcb is for but I'd so hate her and Johnny to fry with Polly, their bolshy teenage daughter, fanning the flames. I would really miss her.

Selfish friend

I was very good at the dentist so thoroughly deserved a present. I bought outrageous clothes to match my new femme fatale mode. I'll probably take them all back next week when I realise what a fright I look.

I love Thursdays because they are my non-exercise days when I blob about and do things housholdy and sometimes go to the seaside. Today I am cooking. Tonight I am trying out a few culinary experiments so a few of my friends have been summoned as guinea pigs. Of course everything is stupidly complicated. I can smell the pudding burning but it hasn't yet had its prescribed time in the oven. This is all practice for my forthcoming supermarket cooking day in December when I have to cook a meal for 4 and be paid heaps of money for the privilege. I have been selected as "a typical Posh Supermarket customer" which is a bit odd as I am a Sainsburys girl but I will pretend. It should be good fun and I'm up for fun - you know me.

Internet Dating Jane got fired from her job which I am considerably more thrilled about than her as we can now play. In order to cheer her up I thought we could go and collect logs for her wood burner. We took the kids' car as it has a big boot but it also has gears. I am not familiar with gears and we both had a nightmare locating reverse. Somehow, we kangarooed to the Wimbledon Common log pile and filled the boot to the point where it no longer closed but we shoved a bit. We then had to unload all the sodden logs at her house in the rain. I did moan which, as I had volunteered for this task, wasn't very kind to Jane. I am so looking forward to toasting my feet in front of her roaring fire throughout the winter months seeking sanctuary from Mr Smith and the tribe. I so hope she doesn't find any suitable employment for many a month; it's great having her around.

Some day my prince will come

In a bid to look a bit femme fatale I have taken up wearing very red lipstick (think Jenny Eclair or Snow White) with uncomfortable high heels. The result is something along the lines of a drunk tart. Oh well, I tried.

Off to the dentist today. I'd rather give birth but receeding gums are not pretty so needs must. Hair tomorrow. Is there no end to my self improvement? It's not as though Mr Smith even notices but then I don't suppose "Your teeth look magnificent" is on my top ten list of most sought after compliments. "Your arse looks much smaller" is the one I'm really striving for and, on that note, I'm off to swim it into better shape.

You can't curry love

I had a brainwave of an idea - I do sometimes. I am going to make arty calendars for Christmas, as I did last year - only, I'll do more and better ones this year. So to order the calendars. Firstly, I couldn't find the website as it kept telling me it was closed or dead or something. Then I had no internet connection. Then my computer would only do a blank screen. Then, when I eventually did find it, there were no calendars of the sort I liked. I had to order skinny ones .... three times as I didn't have a password but did, apparently, have an account. I ordered a new password, replaced the order, then couldn't pay because it wouldn't take my credit card. So I have now cancelled 2011. It seemed the only sensible thing to do.

I made chicken curry last night and they moaned. It was a delicious korma but according to Mr Smith and the Apprentice, my ever appreciative audience, it was too mild. I added nuts and cream and everything. I think they prefer a cook-in sauce, the Philistines. I shall scour the shelves of Waitrose for a Bangalore Phal sauce and add a few extra chillies then watch Mr Smith turn purple.

Good morning Inuit People

Hello dear blog readers who I now know exist as I have found the bit on this site that tells you how many people are reading your drivel. I suspect they are all automatic sites that hone in on certain words in order to compile world stats such as how many people on-line moan about diets, shoes, bras etc. It gives you a world map showing the vague location of your readers. Firstly, thank you all so much for bothering especially those of you in Alaska and West Sussex. Secondly, I now feel an urge to make it all less boring which is a bit tricky because my life is actually woefully dull and, without telling enormous lies, I can't think how to make it much more entertaining.

So I am now off to go shopping with Cheryl Cole after my makeover with Gok followed by my tour of the Royal Academy with David Hockney. Mr Smith has a wonderful evening lined up for us with dinner at the Ivy followed by ... yeah yeah yeah. OK I'd better get my fat body to Zumba class then clean my house and go to stained glass class and walk dogs, think about dinner and do the crossword before shouting all the wrong answers over the right ones on University Challenge. I think I quite like my life just as it is.

New horizons

I met a possible buyer for my paintings yesterday. I am sure he wouldn't actually have bought them but he designs hotels and is always on the lookout for fun art. Anyway, we went to the exhibition to find it was closed. How useless exactly are these people? I despair.

I have a new painting brewing. It's a Noah's Ark with the animals descending Mount Ararat, "going forth to multiply" if I remember correctly. This is of course an excuse to paint a jungle and lots of teeny things like spiders and ladybirds with the big stuff in the background.

Internet Dating Jane and Ryanair (her lovely internet date) will be motoring down from Scotland today after a long weekend away of which, even if they spent the entire time bickering and staring at the drenching rain whilst stuck in a traffic jam, I am unashamedly jealous. No, knowing them they probably climbed into the back seat to pass away the time. Mr Smith is rather tall for such activities and my car, though not cramped, is of the snug variety.

Beautiful shoes make you beautiful friends

My new Jimmy Choos are so lovely and so comfortable and a truly great investment. They make me feel bold and clever and terribly extravagant; not to mention a bit of a tart. I wore them to the pub quiz, actually forgetting I was wearing them (they are that comfy). They made me not only answer all the art and literature questions correctly but even know the area of Wales. My friends are so envious, except Designer Susan who thought they were a little too logo emblazened and wanted to remove the little gold tags from the backs. NO NO NO. However, she had to try them on.

Well, off I go to swim a billion lengths of swimming pool, then meet Mr Smith after his golfy morning and visit my paintings at their crappy exhibition. Busy me.

Tempestuous seas

The seaside was so stunningly wonderful. I arrived in glorious sunshine then watched it change as a treacherous storm blew in with high seas and fearsome winds followed by driving rain. I stayed for almost three days until I could bear no more then wrenched myself back to reality.

I have now returned to the bosom of my family who seem overly pleased to see me. "What's for dinner? Have you paid the paper bill? When are you going to put up my trousers and do the ironing? The dog needs a walk. And by the way the hoover is broken." I do love them but my homecoming just doesn't involve the little band and bunting I have in mind. The dog seems pleased to see me although he is soggy from his wet walk which makes him far less therapeutic to stroke.

Now what shall I cook for dinner? Why can't they all eat dog food and do their own ironing? You simply have to empty the hoover occasionally then it works like a dream.

I feel a painting coming on. That'll keep me occupied.

Shoe shopping

Yesterday I bought new shoes and tarty underwear. The shoes fit.

Selfridges came around to my way of thinking and I have more shoes on order, mouse shoes; they're divine. I then rang the Lovely Claudia, who was performing jury service, to ask her advice on a pair of to-die-for red Jimmy Choos. The case was adjourned whilst I described their lovely gold buckles, red crocodile finish and little metal jimmy choo tags on the backs - "Buy them" she said. So I did. Imelda eat your heart out.

It's so sunny today. I think I'll totter off to the seaside and watch a storm come in. Maybe I'll plan a new painting - something deluvian.

Mother Christmas

My demanding mother rang last night. Do I want to go Christmas shopping with her? Do I want to bore through my finger nails into my fingers with sharp drill bits? Why on earth would I want to do that? Apparently, so I can choose gifts for my brother and his family - oh lucky me! I firmly said "No". Look, I've got my own Christmas shopping to do which I will think about in December and not a day before. The bloody woman just makes me want to cancel Christmas altogether which would be a shame because I love Christmas.

A few weeks ago I bought a very expensive pair of shoes in Selfridges that don't actually fit. I thought I would take them back today but I have found, in the small print on the receipt, a 14 day exchange notice. Oh dear, it's way past 14 days. Oh well, I will go ready for battle and let's see who wins.

And, later today, I am visiting my mother to arrange a date for Christmas shopping.

Mrs Picasso does her stuff

I finished my painting, yippeeeeeee. I then took it, along with two others, to the exhibition which, frankly, looked a little mixed. There were a few very good paintings but there were also some inexcusably bad paintings that made me wince. I should be happy as the competition doesn't look all that but, there again, do I really want to exhibit my beautiful daubs with a load of complete shite? Some poor buggers must have thought that about mine in the past. They even maybe do now. Well, if they sell I'll be sad because they are all paintings I like and if they don't I will be happy as I can keep them, my children. Not a great commercial venture really!

What's next. Well, my family think dinner would be a good idea. I think a takeaway would be even better but I suppose I'd better don the pinny and do my stuff.

Happy Sundays

Today I feel electrically charged and raring to go. I still have a warm cosy feeling running through me that I thought might disappear by the light of day but I am happy to announce it has decided to stick around. It gives me great impetus to work.

There is what looks like half a cow in our fridge. My brother-in-law is coming to lunch today. He's the sort of person who has thirds then says he didn't like it very much but he ate it because he was hungry. Mr Smith is putting on bit of a show. I don't know why he wants to impress his brother but I will tow the line and cook a proper Sunday lunch with the everything as one does. And eat it. And wash up after it. And not complain.

Wrapped in a duvet of warmth and happiness

I have been enjoying myself at the seaside which was fun but I am now hopelessly behind on a painting that has to be finished by Monday. It looks like an all nighter tomorrow unless a miracle happens. This painting is Mrs Rousseau mowing the jungle - she's doing a splendid job and I really quite like this picture so far. I had a good day.

In fact, I have had a spiffing day. Mr Smith was nice to me, so was the dog. I have had a lovely warm glowing feeling running through my veins all day. I feel satisfied, fulfilled and happy. I hope tomorrow can be as gratifying.

Just me and the sea

Lunch with M-C today. I am going to her house at 11 to play. I'm so looking forward to seeing her as I need her to sort out all my sewing disasters.

Last night we had a really delicious dinner - devilled pheasant. Mr Smith managed to moan about it which is never a good idea unless you want it thrown at you. Luckily the Apprentice refereed.

Yesterday I achieved a tidy desk, a cleanish kitchen and a cut finger (very teeny cut) from cutting glass and, of course, absolutely no picture was painted whatsoever.

I feel like some sea air today. I'll mooch off to Sussex after lunch and be happy. I now have my flat back to myself with no horrid rentals for ages. I so love the seaside. I can please myself and go for huge coastal walks with no dog which means no stopping to sniff everything and chasing after other dogs. My car is going to car clinic so I am spending two nights there - heaven. And no Mr Smith, the Student or Apprentice.

A gloriously sunny day

Today looks like work. I absolutely have to paint a painting as it isn't painting itself, despite being shown clearly what to do. I will have to spend most of the day tickling it. But first it's Aqua Zumba at the ungodly hour of 9.30am.

Things I will probably do instead of painting:-
Cut stained glass windows for my little stained glass church,
Sew the Bayeux Tapestry,
Sew some more houses for the housing project,
Make an apron,
Work on the Canadian Quilt,
Knit a dog,
Clean the kitchen,
Dog walk,
Cast a hoover around the house,
Stare into space a bit.

I would like to be able to do all these things as well as painting but there are simply not enough hours in the day.

Mr Smith seems rather bouncy this morning - sunshine has this effect on him. I must remember to keep the light off.

Venus and Mars

The Apprentice and I have decided to give the Student an impromptu late birthday party - just us. We are going to make him a cake and take it to Farnham along with his pressies. We simply cannot ignore him being 21. We then have to dash back so I can go on a diet. Well, I have an appointment with a diet lady at 8pm after which I will come home and eat the contents of the fridge.... then start my diet.

Can men and women be friends? I think so but some of my friends say not because the sex thing gets in the way. I suppose it's not an issue if you don't fancy the other party but even if you do you can be such good mates that you would never want to ruin that friendship. Mr Smith doesn't have female friends ... as far as I'm aware. He's not allowed; he might want to shag them.

The Lovely Claudia has jury duty this month. This will be followed by a full Coven (best 3 friends) meeting to rehear the case.

Cooking up a storm

I started today with a very energetic and busy Zumba class. There is nothing quite like a whole room full of people moving in perfect rhythm to very loud Latin American music - really gets you going. Man, can I salsa!

Last week I bought supplies for stained glass making so I was better equipped for my class today. It didn't help; I was still pants at it. The suppliers is quite a magical place and I was definitely in the sweetie shop. I bought loads of glass but not nearly enough. I can't wait to go back and waste more money. Mr Smith would despair only I don't leave it lying about, unlike the 32 other projects I have on the go.

I went to visit Sensible Alison and we discussed menu ideas for the forthcoming Supermarket cookery morning I have coming up in December. She was very helpful although I did think her pudding suggestions were far too sensible. I have plumped for something involving vast amounts of sugar and cream with a bit of fruit thrown in. Sounds beastly, I know.

The Bayeux Tapestry

The Apprentice is back from France with gifts. He has been to Bayeux and bought me back a bit of the tapestry to sew. I made an instant start, you know me, but it involves Bayeux stitch which is mighty tricky. I followed the instructions but somehow mine doesn't look like theirs. There are lots of horses in a boat - mine looks like dogs in a lorry. Oh well, I will continue.

Having watched Grand Designs last night, I decided a bit of prefabrication for my housing project is required, so this morning I cut out a zillion bits of fabric so all I have to do is sew them together but I am now too fatigued.

Mr Smith and I went to Kingston yesterday TOGETHER. Sometimes it's nice being married to a man who doesn't mind pulling a tartan shopping trolly through the market.

Honey, they're all home

Mr Smith and I were enjoying a house full of just us but it looks like we have incoming customers. The Apprentice is coming back from France today and the Student (Birthday Boy) will probably be flitting by at some point. Twenty one today. Maybe I will make some more rainbow cakes - always a good idea to have some in reserve and be Supermum. Then I have to go and change all the things I bought with the student the other day as he either doesn't like them or wants them in a baggier size.

I am enormously fat after my week of awful lazy eating. A diet of some sort is definitely required - well, probably not of some sort but one of less fattening food. If I get any larger I might explode and I am not sure Mr Smith knows where to find the dustpan and brush.

Honey, he's home

I cleaned and preened our house ready for the return of Mr Smith who messed it all up in three seconds flat, dumping his horrible golf clubs in the hall and everything else everywhere else. He discovered I had been living off a diet of cupcakes and wine for the past five days. I don't think I will die just because 5-a-day didn't feature!

I went to Zumba at 9.15am which felt like the middle of the night. After moving and grooving, I enjoyed my last outdoor swim of the year - it was a bit parky. During my class I did have a quick shufti at the other ladies. I might be a bit fat but I am a better mover than most of them. I'm a bit stupid at picking up the routines but once I get them I'm quite wiggly and in time. I absolutely love Zumba although it is very hard work.

Twenty one

I am painting Mrs Rousseau mowing the jungle and I am so bored with all that foliage; perhaps I will introduce a dinosaur. Actually, there is the tiger lurking in a corner. I'm saving him as the best bit.

I spent yesterday with the Student who is about to be twenty one. Oh my goodness, where did the time go? I remember him hating school and me reading to him and cuddling him alot and suddenly he's 21. I love him as a mother should. He will always be my baby boy.

I made amazing rainbow cakes yesterday and this morning Mad Carina came round "Oooh how I love chemicals" she said biting into a rainbow cake. I tried to paint my jungle; she was a welcome distraction.

Lovely love

Aqua Zumba was a bit like dancing through treacle this morning. I was going to go to an incredibly gruelling dance class last night but got waylaid by Internet Dating Jane's lovely Mum who gave me a stable bucket of wine and a delicious dinner. I envy Jane who looks so in love she could burst. Those first flourishes of romance are so special. It makes me yearn for Mr Smith to return from Turkey in a bad mood with golf stories.

Off to Farnham today to replace the Student's tea towels and take him some birthday cakes. Supermum.

I finished off three paintings yesterday and am working on the final one. Well done me!

Mrs Smith is working

Paint paint paint. I'll let you know how it goes.

OMO at last

How I yearned to be on my own. I took the student back to Farnham with his new clothes and returned to the dog. I stroked his ears and we both let out a large sigh of relief before curling up on the sofa together to watch Downton Abbey with no interruptions ... for once.

Today, after the physical jerks (Zumba), the Lovely Claudia is coming to play. We will no doubt smoke cigarettes and talk about sex and shopping - not necessarily in that order - whilst her ten year old niece, with whom she has been lumbered for half term, makes my kitchen sticky performing cupcakes.

In truth, I don't seem to be on my own much this week at all and just when I am, Mr Smith will reappear with tales from Turkey ... of golf.

How tarty exactly is leopard skin?

Last night I went to a drinks party where there was much champagne. I ended up sloshed, as usual, but was still able to stagger home sort of upright. I remember telling our host I hated his wallpaper ... twice. I then had a long conversation with someone I thought was someone else and got groped by the statutory groper who was wearing far too much smelly aftershave. At this party there was a very beautiful lady of 60 something who was slightly fat, wearing leopard skin print and brown leather trousers and when I grow up I want to be her. She looked so elegant and somehow not a bit tarty but just chic and her plumpness made her look cosy. I want to be more elegant and less elephant. If I wore leopard print I'd look like I was on the game. Actually I do have a lsp bra somewhere that gets dragged out for the occasional anniversary but I am too fat for the matching pants.

So much for my time alone. The Student is at home. It is his birthday next week - 21. Good grief, my baby is going to be twenty one. As he has no idea what he wants for his birthday, I suggested a shopping trip where he can get some new clobber paid for by his Mumsie. Much to my amazement he didn't shy at the idea - must have got over that thing of "Could you walk on the other side of the road so if we meet anyone I know they don't think I am shopping with my mother." And where is his father? In Turkey playing stupid golf.

Painting the blues away

The wonderful works of Diaghilev have inspired me to paint, well at least to draw. It doesn't matter what I draw I just need to cover paper with colour and figures and design and just see what comes out. I am supposed to be exhibiting something in a show in November - perhaps I could get my act together and produce a new painting. Everyone goes away tomorrow so the dog and I can enjoy a week in the workroom interrupted only by stretches of leg and occasional nosh. No tv, no endless meals, no constant demands and bed when we feel like it ... heaven.

Last night the full company were present for inedible dinner. They never help but they certainly moan. They all ate mountains of it whilst delivering what they call Constructive Criticism. I looked up Undercooked Pork on Google and discovered it went to school with my brother. Actually, I found there was nothing wrong with it in this country so sadly I have failed to actually kill anyone.

Mr Smith is off to Turkey to play golf. The Apprentice is off to France to stand still with the rest of France which has currently ground to a complete halt - he'll find out when he gets there. The Student is off to his University; I don't care if it's reading week - go and read ... there and not here. I have never wanted to be alone so much in all my life.

Magic potion

It was cold at the sea but, as always, very beautiful. The moon was almost full with a tiny slice missing on one side. So I was only partially loony.

I met up with my pub quiz team and failed to answer most of the questions and dodge the advances of most of the builders who seem to be under the impression I'm a good time girl desperate for a shag from their overalled dirty bodies. There must be something in the water down there! I will take Mr Smith with me next time I go ... and make him drink some.

I drank a few glasses of wine in memory of absent friends and felt a bit squiffy.

I had to get up at an ungodly hour to get up to London in order to meet my mother-in-law at the V&A. She is such an angel. We enjoyed my hangover together with the works of Diaghilev which made me feel much better.

The future looks orange

I was planning a seaside retreat but my dog boy (the Apprentice) has disappeared so it looks like I am on dog duty. Oh well, I'll walk dogs then go to the sea - early dogs, late sea. It makes everything a bit squeezy but due to my magical powers I am quite good at being in two places at once.

The Apprentice crashed the boss's van yesterday. Write off. What a nit!

I am meeting up with Clamydia Lydia this evening. She has been in the Caribbean for the past two weeks so will, no doubt, be a glorious shade of brown of which I will be duly envious. I will have to book a Caribbean holiday immediately, without Mr Smith, though I am rather partial to his air miles.

Autumn is here

What a deceptive day; not to be confused with day of deception (that's tomorrow). The sun is streaming through the bedroom window warming my skin and my soul and encouraging tropical thoughts but outside it is extremely chilly, according to the dog and Mr Smith who have just returned from their morning constitutional.

After my safari to the City followed by lunch with Internet Dating Jane I went to Selfridges and got my tits eased into a bra by a bossy bra lady. I have to say I feel most lifted and separated and suddenly have enormous boobs. BB lady was very nice and hardly commented on my fat bits at all. 36D - with ramming.

Mrs Smith's burning dilemmas:
Will Mad Carina actually keep up her exercise routine?
Will ID Jane settle down with her man? I want her to be happy but I'd miss her if she went to live in Scotland and not just round the corner.
Will I ever lose any weight? Not with the mountains of lovely food I keep eating.
Will Superman land on my balcony and take me flying? OK I have to admit that is somewhat unlikely but a girl can dream.

Concentric circles

What exciting adventures do I have lined up for today? I could go to the stained glass shop in Wandsworth but I am not that excited by it even though I was quite brilliant yesterday and I can now cut perfect curves. I am going to the City to meet a lawyer about Granny's lovely money. I love the City; you can smell the money and watch the bankers throw themselves off high buildings. Then I am meeting Internet Dating Jane in the West End for lunch followed by some underwear (in my right size) shopping.

I really do have to lose weight. This is immensely boring but, like giving up smoking and booze, one feels so much better for it. I was so super exercisey yesterday but just so damned huge. All those mirrors in the dance studio just accentuate the fat bits - thank God there aren't too many at swimming or in our bedroom.

Prancing about

Still harbouring an irritating cough.

Mr Smith threw my swimsuit at me yesterday morning at what felt like the middle of the night in order to get me out of bed. The only advantage of this was that I had the pool completely to myself and swam like a ferocious shark. However, my shoulder hurts today.

It's Zumba at 10. I absolutely love Zumba even though it is truly exhausting and takes an enormous amount of concentration as well as physical effort. I am so revoltingly unfit at the moment it is definitely going to nearly kill me today. I am trying to set a good example to Mad Carina by releasing some dolphins and being all happy (and a bit knackered).

Shopping does not count as exercise

Seeing Concord, the new house on the plot of my old seaside house, was an odd experience. It wasn't to my taste but of the Grand Design style and it was very elegant in a modern glass structure sort of way. There was too much Ikea furniture but then I am of the same ilk in my seaside place. What I found very strange was the bits of me they had kept and enshrined including my self painted bathroom tiles that are now in their kitchen. I told them that mostly they were done by Designer Susan, who they loathe. They're probably trying to hack them off the wall now. There was also a very rubbish screen that I had painted and some oddments of furniture all given pride of place. Oh well, it's nice to have fans I suppose.

I had a go at Mad Carina yesterday about her static lifestyle - a bit rich coming from me who has been horizontal for the best part of two weeks. Time to get out the trainers and go for a run. I am going swimming this morning then I will nag Carina into action. Shopping is not exercise, dear friend. If it was, I'd be the leanest fittest woman in Britain.

I have a cough. It's a nasty little smokers cough. No more yucky smoking for me.

Goals for this week: Ditch this cough, cut a perfect glass circle, learn to operate my new phone, alter Claire's apron, swim, get fitter and make delicious blueberry cupcakes. Oh, and lose weight rather than put on weight.

Of course there are other things on the list such as accommodating the wants of Mr Smith and being a good wife but there is a limit to my self improvement in one week. Anyway, I'll probably be a bit tired with all the physical activity I'm planning.

Vanilla Sky

Who would choose a pedestrian lifestyle over one of mad excitement? Well, right now, I would. I do not wish to add anything to alter the blandness of all I love.

It's sunny and I have this cosy warm feeling inside my body - like internal armour. In fact today I feel invincible. I will conquer the ironing and go into battle in Sainsburys ... and win. I might change the bra I bought for one in my right size and next week I will take my dog to the seaside and walk around East Head.

Mr Smith is in a stroppy mood today. He was worse yesterday. I will take care not to excite him.

Postcards from the edge

Yesterday morning in my sunny flat overlooking the sea I felt as though I was waking up in a postcard - it was quite breathtaking. The view over the village towards the Downs was no less spectacular. It quite lifted my spirits which were a bit low - I actually felt a bit lonely. Anyway, I soon cheered up and met up with tribespeople from Bracklesham at the library headed by Designer Susan and managed to wangle myself an invitation to view the new house built on the plot of my old house - the bastards flattened it and erected a monster in its place. I am going to visit this Grand Design later today.

I went to see Rachel and baby Tarquin. Rachel gave me a painting lesson and showed me how to highlight my beach people so they reflect the sunlight and absolutely look the biz. She is so clever and so nice.

The seaside flat is now let for Christmas and New Year for an exhorbitant rent which all helps my watch fund. Mr Smith and I will have to stay at home and play nicely with no running away to the sea for the whole of Christmas.

Mrs Clean

I blitzed the kitchen and it is so clean it sparkles. Now for the rest of my life.

Blackberry picking

I skipped school (horrible stained glass class) and had lunch with the Student in Farnham. He thought my mobile phone looked a little passe so we went to visit Vodaphone. I now have a blackberry - how the heck does it work? It keeps beeping and emailing me and where's the off button? We are not getting on at all well. I'll have to ask Mr Smith, a man whose knowledge of all things technical stops at the wheel, though he is quite good at stacking the dishwasher.

Last week I sold 4 paintings. That's a good start to the watch fund. It also inspires me to do more painting.

Off to swimming - time to feel like a mermaid ... or a whale. Then I will ease my blancmange brains into some activity .. or maybe just visit Sensible Alison and her cold.

Dream boys

Mrs Smith's top sexy men:

David Cameron - have you seen him with baby Florence? Just perfect.
Boris - everyone loves Boris and his woeful infidelity just makes him more desirable.
Internet Dating Jane's new bloke - quite charming.
Mr Smith - keep the home fires burning.

Sorry if you're not on the list. Do feel free to add yourself.

Toy Boys

I met Beautiful Ethereal Pam on my foray into town. She told me she had been seeing a man 15 years her junior - well done her. She had found it a little exhausting. I have decided once you get past about 36 age doesn't really matter; younger men keep ladies youthful for longer. As I look into the mirror and see my mother staring back at me I think - maybe I should get one. Mr Smith would not need to know. On the other hand preparing oneself for a lover would be such awfully hard work. The bliss of being fat, hairy and lazy - that's my lovely Mr Smith.

I went to Bond Street and looked at watches. I tried on a pretty pink Rolex which I thought was rather expensive at £6,000. It was actually £16,000! And that's not expensive for a nice watch I can assure you. I limped to John Lewis feeling pained at my limited funds and bought pretty underwear. I can't really think why as nobody will ever see it unless I take Mad Carina's advice and wear it outside my clothes. I bought the wrong size bra because I didn't read the label properly - I'll squeeze.

I ended my perfect Saturday with a bottle of wine, an industrial sized pack of maltesers and X-Factor for mental stimulation; I was rather ill in the night. "I told you so" says Mr Smith who went to golf at 6am .. on a Sunday!

Have your cake and paint it

I am on my own. This is heaven. Mr Smith has golf all weekend and the Apprentice is working. I am off to enjoy an indulgent bit of retail exercise. I was going to do that in the week but never got a chance so I will pull on some greying shreddies and go to Selfridges in search of new underwear. Then Marylebone Lane can expect my presence.

Yesterday, Andrea and I painted and ate cupcakes and laughed a great deal and talked about stupid stuff and I showed her how to compose a painting and how to paint a painting. Applying the theory of Do what I say rather than do what I do, I was quite surprised by how clever I sounded. You'd have thought the Mona Lisa would have appeared at the end of this rather than a picture of one little cupcake.

An episode of Friends

Last night M-C rang to apologise for standing me up yesterday. I was mightily relieved of funeral duty actually but we would have had a nice lunch. She is in love ... with her husband. Burying his mother brought on a wave of emotion and he said lovely things to her and she feels appreciated and happy to burst.

Sensible Alison rang to moan about the awful cold she has caught from Unpresuming Ed. She sounded ready to die, poor lamb. I refused her kind invitation to tea until she's better and felt less guilty about having a Coven subcommittee meeting without her on Wednesday.

My friend Andrea is coming round to play this morning. Her husband has retired so she thought she'd follow suit then they found they had no dosh. In order to stop the usual dig from his elbow in the direction of employment in pursuit of a crust, she thought she'd come and do arty things with me. I made a perfect cupcake, thinking that would be a nice easy thing to paint and quite versatile in one's representation i.e. does one hint cupcake with a few slashes of the brush or paint every little hundred and thousand? The Apprentice ate it. I hate him.

Mr Smith has a whole weekend of non-stop golf and suggests the dog and I go to the seaside. Maybe, if the weather is glorious but there again perhaps I ought to pull on the Hunters, play the WAG and cheer on the golf.

Serious moonlight

The Lovely Claudia and Mad Carina came and drank eye of newt tea. We studied the entrails of a cupcake and it was decided that my future looks quite bright and rosy so I shouldn't be angry or worried. I love my friends.

The Student has been nominated for a cinematography award. What kind I am not sure but even if it's "my little first moving pictures" I will be proud. He's going to be Steven Spielberg one day.

I was so busy being a proud mother along with staring into space and trying to knit a very very difficult little dog that I forgot about the dinner. It was supposed to be very slowly cooked lamb shanks. At about 7pm the Apprentice mentioned dinner and I suddenly remembered. Oh well, fast cooked lamb shanks anyone? and we would have got away with it had the Senior Darleck not chosen that moment to trundle in and catch us shoving in the wine and rosemary onto raw meat. He was so cross. I cooked something else in a bid to appease his temper tantrum and avoid extermination.

M-C has just rung. We are not going to the funeral today after all. Oh well, what on earth shall I do instead? A bit of dancing and some swimming. Put on your red shoes and dance away the blues ... let's dance. I'll dig out the tune and yell along to David Bowie.

I feel a painting about to burst out. I absolutely love being me.

Bad mad day

Today I feel angry. I want to scream with rage and break things. How to improve my mood? Singing Walking on Sunshine very loudly and feeling like one of Catrina's waves might help. I'll make cupcakes and try not to smash them into little bits. Friends - yep, always a good idea. I'll summon the Coven - they like cakes.

Mr Smith is sensibly far away.

Knickers

I feel all sparkly this morning and ready to take on the day ... now what's happening? Aha... nothing. Nothing? I can't honestly have a whole day of nothing. Oh well, I suppose I'd better do a bit of housework or something. The dog stamped all over the bed with muddy feet (Mr Smith's side so it doesn't really matter.) I have to boil wash the sheets to remove the paw marks. And that, folks, is the highlight of my day. Maybe I'll go and buy some new underwear. I seem to be losing lots of weight so some new shreddies would be just the thing.

Internet Dating Jane is in love. Her Highland Fling with her lovely new man was just the thing. I haven't met him but he sounds absolutely splendid. I am so pleased for her as she has had to kiss some real toads to find her P Charming. I so hope this is the one.

The House of Fun

I was feeling all chirpy and bright this morning, took the Apprentice to his job in Colliers Wood, collected the dog's pills from the vet, had breakfast with Mr Smith beating him at the word today. (GTEEAANRU). I was feeling super swotty. Then I remembered I have that ghastly stained glass class to attend today. Why on earth did I take on something so goddammed difficult?

The house project is coming along nicely though I have slowed down. As inspiration I have asked friends to contribute with little snippets of fabric so they each have a house in my fabric town. I have just made Rachel's mother's house - she died last year so it's a little memorial to her. I could add a bit of Granny's mink coat I inherited - a hairy house? Perhaps not.

Anyway, I have an action packed week with lots of friends visiting and endless nice things to do. As long as Mr Smith tows the line it's quite fun being me.

Three divorces and a funeral

This past few days I have met up with three old blasts from the past to find they have all got divorced. I went to see my friend Diane from studio days. After twenty something years of marriage her husband upped and offed declaring he no longer fancied her. I thought she and Dennis were forever. I liked them both so much and I mind that they are no longer together. She looked quite lovely and I really hope there is someone else for her - she deserves to be happy.

Mr Smith left me a cryptic note - meet me under Whistlejacket in the NG. I went to the National Gallery and stood under the mighty horse admiringly. Mr Smith turned up late but at least he did turn up and hadn't run off to meet someone else. We said hello to Madame Moitessier sporting the curtains - you can buy a Mme Moitessier shopping trolly in the gift shop. We didn't. We then went to meet some friends at Champagne Charlie's - actually about forty friends for a fabulous evening. One person we hadn't seen for over 20 years was our best man - now divorced. Actually, we did think that might happen as his wife was horrid.

During the week I met a chap I hadn't seen for over three years and guess what? He's divorced. Gosh, with all these desirable men around (they are all extremely attractive) I must try to concentrate on the domestic bliss of home i.e. make a chicken stew and tumble dry the towels so Mr Smith doesn't divorce me.

On Thursday I am off to a funeral. Not mine ... as far as I'm aware.

A turbulent time

I endured a very rough night at the seaside. It was wild and stormy with huge waves, rather exciting really although I didn't sleep at all well so now I am horribly tired.

My family missed me; they had to get their own dinner and clear it up ... sort of. So nice to be wanted. Mr Smith's fort holding doesn't really extend much beyond a day.

Apron strings

Hooray, I am getting my hair turned back to one colour rather than this grey on top brown below number I am currently sporting. Oh the joys of growing old!

I was supposed to be starting a diet with a proper diet lady in Wimbledon but she keeps changing the dates so this is just never going to happen. I can't really be bothered anyway. I'll stay fat for now and have a cupcake that looks like a little sheep.

Due to wall to wall football on the telly I made a brilliant apron yesterday evening. It's doggie. In fact I made two. Even Mr Smith thought they were quite jolly with their nice red tape that arrived yesterday - enough for 74 aprons but it was a good deal on eBay.

Cut glass accents

The Student son failed his driving test which is good news for the Apprentice son as they share a car. To be honest, I am not the least bit surprised but then I don't think anyone in the whole world should pass a driving test, especially not Mr Smith who squashes cyclists and berates all other road users at all times. Oh driving with him is a load of jolly japes, I can tell you.

Mondays are stained glass class days. I've decided I hate Stained Glass. I not only hate the class, the teacher, the other bonkers students, the glass the lead and everything else but I don't actually like stained glass unless it is very fine and in a church. I am beginning to dislike Mondays.

The Apprentice and I went to Spitalfields Market to the Crafts Council show which was fabulous - Oh makers are so so clever. This has restored my faith in all things hand made and why we bother. Lovely.

All bunged up

The student is taking his driving test tomorrow. In order to ward off the dreaded lurgy and ensure the child is well for his test I bought something to shove up the boys' noses. No, not tissues though I did get some of those too. It's an assuringly expensive spray for virus prevention. As they have watched me get iller and iller they have been snorting more diligently than a couple of cocaine addicts. It seems to work ... a bit ... though we're not sure it doesn't give you slight coldy symptoms, much sneezing etc. Maybe it is cocaine.

Off to stained glass class today ... at which I am useless.

I cooked Mr Smith his favourite pudding last night - treacle sponge. He has just got the newspaper stuck to the table. Must get a cloth before I am exterminated ... again.

In recovery

Tried setting up a Paypal account lately? Impossible. Maybe this is because neither the Apprentice nor I have on-line banking - so no eBay buys for us. Oh woe. Well, actually, we negotiated other forms of payment (such as Mr Smith's credit card). My purchase is a mile of red apron string so everyone can have a lovely apron made by me and not spill their Christmas dinners down their fronts and the Apprentice seems to have bought something electronic ... and expensive.

My cold is much better - it's now a cough. I am thinking of venturing out in search of knitting yarn for the knitted dogs and walk our real dog. I am still pretty knackered from this vile germ and definitely not up for Zumba or a giant walk. I am more up for a bit of languishing on the sofa catching up on X Factor. Mr Smith came in half way through last night marring my enjoyment by asking constantly "Where's Cheryl". Oh Malaria Mary, we're bored with her. Mr Smith rubbishes all the contestants hoping I'll change channel - Simon Cowell is compassionate in comparison.

When in doubt make a cupcake.

Internet Dating Jane and Jack, her dog, popped round for tea and biccies before dashing off for her flying lesson. Next week she is going to Scotland with her latest Internet Date. A date in the West Highlands. I wonder if they'll meet any West Highland terriers. I wonder whether he will wear a kilt. I wonder if he's nice. So much to wonder about.

In a desperate bid to feel better I have a batch of cupcakes in the oven. These probably smell divine - no idea, can't smell anything as still so bunged up with cold. I am in a good mood today and feel well enough to walk the dog and crack on with my Canadian quilt - that one that is Mighty Tricky. It involves lots of applique and frankly I am a bit rubbish at applique but I'm getting better. And of course I have to make my House of the Day.

The student son is an expensive toy. He needs constant wodges of money. Today he has to pay a driving instructor £300 for intensive driving and a test on Tuesday. I am so deliriously happy not to have to take him out I will pay the money. I thought I had carefully delegated the task to Mr Smith but he is doing a different kind of driving altogether on the golf course. All day. And it's not raining. Flaming shirker.

Housing project

My little quilty houses are going very well; I have managed a whole village, soon to be a town. On the other hand I have failed to finish any of the nine hundred other projects I have on the go. I started my Canadian quilt a couple of weeks ago but it is so damned difficult you really have to be in the mood and feel quite well which I, with this awful snuffling cold, am definitely not.

Fabulous book on knitted dogs has arrived. I feel a poodle coming on. Need yarn - something white and poodly.

I am sure Mr Smith would like to go away on golf tour or something so I can make things without him tutting. I like making things, I don't like tutting. He has handed me a VERY IMPORTANT financial letter which I am pretending I've read. I did try to read it but I got a bit lost at ISAs and bonds and things. Surely he knows what I keep him for; so I don't have to look at boring bits of incomprehensible financial scary stuff. I feel an apron coming on with nice red ties and dogs on the pocket.

The Big Tissue

God, I am fed up with this awful cold.

The house that Jill built

I felt so horribly ill yesterday I had to cancel my scheduled walk with the Dynamic Denise and stay in bed for the morning. This restorative rest was interupted at frequent intervals by the postman delivering me all my recent internet buys. God, the rubbish one orders when not paying attention. I got the wrong lightbulbs, the wrong dental flossers and the wrong attachment for my new clover iron (a teeny iron for pressing seams). I settled down to Arabella Wier's new book which was disappointingly not as good as I had hoped. Oh well, it wiled away some ill time between nose blows. I think shopping in shops is probably a less hazardous way of making purchases; I just couldn't be arsed to go there.

I made my first house but it's not quite what I had in mind .... a bit too perfect. I'm aiming at something a bit scruffier. Back to the drawing board.

Social housing

Just had a brilliant idea whilst blowing my nose for the eightieth time in the last minute. That is apart from killing Mr Smith for giving me this stinky cold. He went to the optician this morning, or rather the opthalmic optometrist at the eye clinic, and is now wandering around the house in a pair of prescription sunglasses avoiding sunlight looking like a vampirish Stevie Wonder but less charismatic.

Now about the idea: I want to make a quilt of hundreds of little houses. I realise this might take some time, not just an afternoon, so I have apportioned the task and I now plan a House a Day. Every day I will make a little house and show it to you (technology permitting). Then, at the end of a few months or years I will have made enough to cover a bed. This could be fun when travelling as I will have to make my houses out of scrap materials I find or cut up my clothes or Mr Smith's clothes. I feel it ought to tell a story - preferably not of divorce or death by scissors.

I went to my first stained glass making class yesterday. I was rubbish. It's mighty tricky getting the glass to break in exactly the right place. The other students seem to be certifiably insane - I fit in well.

Atishoo

I have a cold, the dog also has a cold - we caught it from Mr Smith. "Don't say I never give you anything" says Mr Smith. His generosity knows no bounds.

Mood map

The Apprentice and I went to the British Library to see a fabulous exhibition of maps. It was the penultimate day before the end of this exhib so it was a bit argy bargy but with sharp elbows and a few excuse mes we got to see more than the backs of people's heads. Many mappa mundi later we felt a bit mapped out and could hardly bear to look at the tube map to get home - the mainline was being engineered.

Mr Smith was in a bait. This was because I wasn't there to wait on him when he came home from golf and he had to walk the dog. He has a cold which I know he will charmingly pass on to me. I refused to cook his dinner. This is because I didn't want to perform a roast chicken with all the paraphenalia and washing up; I wanted to watch X Factor and have a sausage in a bun for dinner. He cooked sausages but only for himself. He is beginning to get me down a bit - time for a seaside jaunt methinks only I seem to be getting a cold.

Home making

Gosh, so busy mostly doing nothing much. I am getting a bit fed up with the Apprentice sitting around the house all day driving me bonkers. He is supposedly building the Shed. He is taking architectural courses, buying architectural books, downloading architectural drawing programs all for a bleeding garden shed that comes in a kit! I despair. He has just bought himself a new computer to help with his shed building. I don't know why he can't bugger off to work like everyone else. I'm finding his presence puts me of my stride in staring into space.

I am currently making my Canadian patchwork quilt which involves applique. This involves much calling Mary Clare, my patchwork teacher friend, to glean knowledge over the blower - mighty tricky when it's something you need to be shown; think of teaching someone to knit over the phone, or worse, learning. Anyway progress is being made; I have a million little bits and nobody can get to the iron. I am hoping to rationalise it a bit today and stop making such a dreadful mess before Mr Smith has a darleck moment.