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.