Builder

I do wonder if being mother to an 11 -year old is the trickiest job in the world. More complicated than, say, being President of the the United States of America.

With babies and toddlers it seems easy: yes, no, eat, sleep, play.

But with tweens everything is about trying to steer them towards their teenage years happily. I think I need an advice book. Jack is not naughty, far from it, most of the time he's very kind and considerate and helpful. Sometimes though I do wonder what happened on the planet Zog where he was king aged five. I think another five year-old has taken his place there now, and he has landed back on earth.

Those years of playful innocence seem to have zoomed far into the past. Now I'm busy designing and building a bridge to help him safely cross the water to his young adult years.

I could do with someone to pass me the hammer, the nails, and the wood.

Career Mother

I am becoming a CAREER MOTHER. That is not a career woman, but a mother that is taking her role far too seriously. Jack is now eleven and in his final year at primary school. I had never been one to believe in extra work at home, actually, I really wasn't that keen on homework. He's a bright boy - now I know all mothers say that, but he is. He's going to be sitting exams for secondary school, with the hope of getting a grammar school place somewhere, anywhere, between London and Manchester.

So we've been doing practice papers together.

Oh, how I wish I'd started this pushy mummy lark so much earlier. Why, oh why, did we sit and enjoy the Simpson's together. I should have begun, like, when he was eight, because we are climbing mountains barefoot at the moment. I really should be seeking extra work, or contributing to the second book, or a novel, which I am doing sporadically but no way near enough to storm on with it. All of my time is taken up with school applications, applications to sit exams, exam revision and generally keeping his ego intact, his work ethic high, his spirits even higher, and his enjoyment of the whole process in completely unrealistic realms.

Right now, he is at the kitchen table, a Tobias Wolf book in one hand, a dictionary in the other, completing a 'definitions' excercise.

Flowery

On Thursday night I was feeling blue so before I fell asleep I wrote myself a note and left it by my pillow:
What I need to do is believe + write + love.

I hadn't know I'd write that, I'd simply set myself the task of trying to focus on what I need to do next. It's that first to second book moment - you know, what happens now? Maybe TV? I had a meeting with Tiger Aspect and I'd like to do that; what we talked about. Anyhow, I've not been too interested in romance of late. I'm reasonably content and all that 'will he call, won't he,' business that goes with hooking up with someone is not at all appealing right now. I'm thinking more along the lines of, 'What colour bedding would I like in my new bedroom? Brown? Silver? Caramel? Icky Green? ' and 'How does one bag a scholarship for my son at a top independent school?'


Then I drew a heart beneath the last word, 'love' as though to emphasise the 'love' part. I've been so fixed upon work, and life, and mothering, and schooling that I haven't had the time to think of love. Which suited me fine. "I'm on a dating sabbatical," I told a commissioning editor at Stella Magazine. She had called to ask me to contribute to their dating issue in November. So I'll write about why I'm on a dating sabbatical. Basically, I'm too lazy to have sex.


I'm skirting and skating...

The doorbell rang at 8am on Friday morning. There was a man with a large parcel in his hand. He asked me to sign. I thought maybe my housemate had been Internet shopping. I placed the parcel on the table then strolled off to switch the kettle on. Then I wandered back, took a seat, then noticed the label and saw it was for me.

'A present from my mum or dad,' I thought, with a knife in hand ready to slice open the sellotape. Inside was an opulent bunch of flowers, and inside a card.

'Love Toga x' I read. I smiled. I wanted to throw them in the bin. I took them one by one and arranged them in a vase. Some hours later I texted thanks. 'Will have to follow them one day x' he texted back.

How could he? I thought. When I'd forgotten him so well.

More impressive SBTV (That's stepbrother TV)

Ever the professional... even when next to an INTERNATIONAL FOOTBALLER OMG!!!!!

I have a very talented stepbrother

My very talented stepbrother is making his mark in the media. He has even had a full length picture in Hello! At the moment he is living it up reporting in the Cook Islands on the games in the Pacific. So good luck to Lewis.

This is one of his golden moments. He's sweet 16 - by 21 he'll be a regular on Sky Sports. We're very proud of him.




And here, the new Ant and Dec perhaps? - With HRH William

CRAPPLE

I'm in the CrApple store. This is because my CrAppleiPhone is broken. It quite simply decided to go to sleep (I hate the way these people talk about technology like it is human) and not wake up.

Let me run you through my history with CrApple.

I bought my MacBook in New York, New York, it was the hot shot new model at the time. It was the days before the advance when I simply lived on a hope and a prayer. I thought, I'm gonna write a book, I need a laptop to live the dream. Yeah, I'm living the dream.

A month before the deadline, it went irretrievably dead. I'd been storming it all day and written two chapters. I was moving house, I saved the chapters to the hard drive. The MacBook went to sleep, god bless it, never woke up. How sweet.

ONLY I LOST TWO FREAKING CHAPTERS which never ever made it into the book because there just wasn't time. Don't talk to me about backing up: one can't back up every couple of minutes, and besides, shit hot technology with shit hot prices should last the distance. A year's usage for hefty $1300 is crap.

Then the charger went KAPUT when I was on an edit deadline.
Then the new charger went KAPUT when I was on another edit deadline.

Then my love for Apple was lost.

UNTIL

For some stupid reason I updated my CrackBerry to a CrApple phone. I say CrackBerry because it was CRACKING!
Why oh why did I leave it to rot at Carphone Warehouse?

I'm waiting on a bench in the CrApple store, I came here yesterday and was told to come back to speak to the "Genuis Bar", now there is a queue of people much like you'd find at a parent and baby clinic nursing broken things in the hope they get better.

I said, "How can a premium product fail after 6 weeks?! If you were a customer wouldn't you be unhappy?"
He said, "It's high technology, they fail. If they didn't, I'd be out of a job. Wait over on that bench for an hour and a half and we'll try to repair it for you."
"Can't I just have an exchange?" I almost shouted.
"It's not like socks," he snarked.

I know a CrAPPLE phone is not like socks. Signing the dotted line, I was told it is a £650 phone and the dog's biscuits....... IT LASTED FOR SIX WEEKS ------GIVE ME A BREAK!!! Primark pyjamas last longer that that and they cost £4 a pair.

I run my life on that phone, we don't have internet or a landline at home. My contacts are long gone. Apparently it's all my fault. Not their fault for making RUBBISH stuff which are basically posh toys for idiots like me.

I'm going back to letter writing, it's the new texting. When I wrote letters the only thing that broke was the pencil nib.

OH and Jack's with me. And I need the toilet. And I need to feed him, And they reckon a 1.5 hour bus journey, followed by a 1.5 hour wait in store to be told me phone is CRAP and broken is expedient.

It's like a cult. Only I'm a non believer. And want to spearhead a mutiny.

Shiny, Glossy, Happy People

Hooray.

It is a glossy month this month. A feature about er.... my now not so '*Secret Sex Life' is in this month's issue of Marie Claire (complete with my wrestler upper arms, off to the gym for this young lady). I say this month, but it is actually the October issue. I do wonder (slightly) whether my mother and father will one day think: 'What did I do to deserve this daughter? She continues to embarrass me in one way or another.'

The very foxy Maggie Gyllenhaal graces the cover.

My mother's work colleagues now know far more about me than is decently possible (little wave to you, Rachel, Sue - make my Mum a nice cuppa, sit her down, and pass her a biscuit from me.

AND


Oooo how lovely, a glittering review by a nice lady at Marie Claire that is online


SINGLE MOTHER ON THE VERGE, BY MARIA ROBERTS


A funny and moving memoir about the adventures of single parenting

A funny and moving memoir inspired by her award-winning blog, Single Mother on the Verge recounts the adventures of Maria Roberts as a young single parent with a GSHO seeking romance – and finding instead a vegan eco-warrior, an open relationship, and a stolen Viagra tablet in a ladies loo. You feel for her and her son, you will her to make the right decisions and you’re with her all the way. Don’t let the pastel cover fool you – the writing is excellent and strikingly honest, not least when Maria bravely
depicts the reality of domestic violence. A unique book with a charming cast of characters. Highly recommended!

Single Mother on the Verge (Penguin, £6.99) is out now.

Review by Lucy Halfhead



*Once upon a time I had an interesting romantic life, now I'm being good it is dull as 'd'uck.