OK, so yesterday isn’t going down in history as one of my better days. My toe hurt, I’d got a headache and I could quite honestly say the last time I felt that tired was after the eldest was born. I’m glad I had my kids when I was young, heaven knows how I’d have coped if I'd had been older. Only after your first child do you experience such tiredness – and Gods does it come as a surprise.

Tweedle Did and Tweedle Did Not were arguing the rules of the Christmas competition and whether they’d been adhered to (they’re funny when they get going, quite the double act). The one was shouting I WON at the top of her voice and the other was implying that she’d cheated.

I don’t know what Rudy made of their appalling behaviour, good job I set a better example otherwise she could have been put off judging for life – and then who could we ask, because although I suggested that they thump me if I ever came up with a competition again, it’s bound to happen somewhere along the line. We’re way too competitive and all convinced we’re the better photographer.

I came to work without my lunch, which I’d left on the kitchen counter. Of course I didn’t realise this until after the Sandwich Lady had visited, and couldn’t be bothered to go out and get something. I had one Oat Bar in my drawer, so I made do with that. Yes, you're right, they contain an unhealthy amount of sugar - but guess what? I don't care.

I then indulged in ten minutes of pure self pity and moaned at both of the Tweedles – in return they agreed to feel sorry for me, but only for a few minutes. Which was fine, I wasn’t allowing myself any longer anyway. Self pity isn’t really my thing - and there is a difference between that and moaning like hell, but a nibble every now and again doesn’t hurt you.

Everything changed when I got home – Himself had decided that we were going out to eat. I put up a token argument about the money involved in this and then gave in gracefully. We had a lovely meal at the local pub – which we walked to, and I enjoyed a bottle of wine. Yes, that’s right, a bottle – all to myself - no sharing what so ever. Himself isn’t a wine drinker and with the pain killers he’s taking, he had to limit his in take. I did no such thing – I drank the lot, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Things were looking up, and the world took on that lovely light headed amicable feeling that only alcohol can induce.

Things looked up even more when we got home and I found out himself could now use his left arm within limits without it sending shooting pains down his broken shoulder. So I went to bed one very happy person, and it wasn’t just down to the wine.