I’ve told Himself before about abusing the cat’s good nature; one of these days he’ll get reported to the RSPCA and his name will appear in all of the local newspapers. He should use the windscreen wipers the same as everyone else.

++++

Well I lasted fives days; which by any mother’s standards has to show some level of restraint. I gave in last night and sent a text to Youngest’s mobile. Just a small message: Are you having a good time?

All I really expected back was a simple ‘yes’, but it would stop me worrying and it was five whole days without any news; what’s a mummy to do when her small child has left home?

What I got back was: I haven’t brought any presents cuz there are no shops. Tell Josh I've got his Nan’s fags*.

Right – He’s fine and having a good time then.

* after reading this back it suddenly dawned on me that the word fags has several meanings which could be misconstrued. So just to make things perfectly clear for The Readership; child is bringing back Josh's nan some cigarettes and not a load of gay men.


++++

I don’t even feel up to telling you about yesterday’s meeting, suffice to say they don’t have a fecking clue about ESF procedures or paperwork.

Of course it did put Himself’s Sat Nav to the test and proved, without a shadow of doubt, that they don’t live up to the hype. Himself has obviously done something to mess up the settings or broke it because it still managed to get me lost. I thought they were idiot proof? Well, this idiot bloody fooled it.

Craig, who was with me, maintains that I turned left when the Sat Nav told me to turn right – I dispute this fact. He’s a man so he’s bound to take the bloody gadget’s side.

And I was taught that when you are to take the second exit from a roundabout you stay in the outside lane. It’s hardly my fault that the outside lane turned out to be a blocked off slip road for the motorway (obviously something else designed by a man) and I ended up on the motorway travelling in the opposite direct to Birmingham.

I was truly surprised that we were only ten minutes late in the end and we still arrived before the woman who was chairing the meeting, she was delayed by traffic. Going home was a lot easier – I turned the Sat Nav off and got Craig to direct me from a map. At least with a man you can guarantee:

There should be turning just up ahead.

You have to turn right.

Look, that road just over there (points in general direction and waves hand around).

The road where the blue car is turning…

… Oh..... Right..... Forget that one then; we’ll go home via Dudley. Carry straight on.

++++

I know we all have periods when the muse just doesn’t flow and some of us go to great lengths to get out of sitting down and writing. I should know I could write a book on excuses, no problem.

But even I draw the line at throwing myself on the hotplate of the cooker. I swear that if body parts could take out injunctions, Pooks hands would have done so years ago. They’d not want anything to do with her, the way she abuses them is down right shameful.

She’s been on the quite side mainly because she can’t type very well – the blisters make it too painful. So no doubt she’ll be trying to use that as an excuse not to carry on with the story she is working on.

What? You didn’t actually expect sympathy, did you?