Yeah.! I have officially been left to my own devises for a whole week. The signs are always the same. The first morning passes in a haze of bed, comfy pillows, cups of tea and a backlog of last Sunday's newspapers. I should be writing but hey, it can wait a while, it's only 9.30. I kick the swimming stuff into touch and hide the gym membership. It's touch and go whether I should get dressed at all when my velvet dressing gown fits so snuggly. I attempt a half hearted hoover and put my feet up. No agenda you see, no 'what are we doing today, I know you've got the day mapped out?' Nothing. Nada. Midday sees me gliding round the Saturday Farmers Market. Expensive? You bet, but hey, I'm cooking for one. Let's indulge. I'm on my own. I resolve to do a wifey thing and cook six steak and kidney pies. Now? Well no, it can wait a bit, plenty of time. Late afternoon and I'm attempting to carry a large armchair found for a bargain out of the back of my long suffering car and in through the front door. Please don't let me do any more damage to this rented house of ours. Well that's it. I'm now officially stuck firmly in the door frame and my right knee is at a very odd angle. Where's a man when you need one? Having borrowed the man from next door I am now safely indoors. I could go out but an evening of rubbish TV and The Daily Mail beckons. It's now 7pm, I've been on the phone for an hour and a half, I've finished the wine from last night (no more for another ten days) and...

tomorrow is another day. I'll spruce myself up, brush my hair, waft some perfume and take my mum out for Mothers Day tea. Last week I had her up making moves on the dance floor. And her aged 86, she should know better.