I'm on the train, heading back from watching The Jesse Rose Trip at Kensington Roof Gardens. They were excellent. I'm sober - £6.75 a glass of wine!

Super talented, attractive, young, band...

Good Lord...

Anyhow, I'm sitting by a glamour puss, aged 50 plus, her head buried into a plastic bag, should she vomit.

Must be Friday night.... Hm / Saturday morning.

Zzzzzz

Short Cuts

I think there should be tax cuts for people 5ft 3 and under, to er.... enable growth.

Lock In

Mandelson's buzz words: priority, lock in, lock in, recovery.

Hoorah, if you don't have a house worth over a million squid, no stamp duty.

I bet some people will be pissed off...like, er those who've already been stung.

Talking off being pissed, booze is on the up: drats.

Darling Budget

I'm at work on my lunch, watching ITV's budget coverage: it's my new favourite tv show.


Bankers
Boozers
Shiny-faced politicians


Apparently, 'it's not about the detail, it's about the mood music'.

Also, I'm loving the live blogging element pasted onto the action.

Who knew politics could be this exciting?!!!

Teary-eyed

Oh... Married Single Other, it's still the best thing on television - not least because I was watching my new favourite show only to be happily astounded to see my flatmate's boyfriend on there singing!

But oh, how sad, how perfectly written, how perfectly shot, and what a perfect cast of characters.

I don't want it to end....

We are Flora

This evening Jack and I watched Manchester United beat Milan:

'If life was a supermarket,' said Jack, just after the second goal. 'We'd be Flora Omega 3.'
'How'd you work that out?'
'Well we're not Tesco Value margarine, we're just a bit above Vitalite, but not quite as good as Lurpak... so that makes us Flora.'

Move over Aristotle and make way for the world according to Jack.

At last!

I'm watching a television show that seems to have been made to make me happy!

Oh, the joy...the joy.

Single
Married
Other


er no, that's...
Married
Single
Other

I love, love, love it.... love, love, love it.

It's ace, watch it.

Hmm think I may have met Dean Lennox Kelly (Dickie) at a recent party -- when I was very, very drunk... and I fell over, but the floor was wet honest... it wasn't that I couldn't stand up. Perhaps it wasn't him, hmmmm, said man told me he worked in a call centre and hated it.

To do list

It's a sunny Sunday.

My list for today's activities contains the following.

*Get through heaps of laundry. BIG HEAPS
*Clean the house. BIG CLEAN.
*Collect and carry two sofas to our house, and somehow squeeze them into a living room with three sofas already in it. This means we will now have five sofas in there. Yesterday, with a hangover, or maybe still tipsy, I purchased two sofas at a knock down bargain price. They'll fit nicely into the house we're moving into in three weeks.... they just won't fit nicely into our present abode. Also, eventually, they'll be perfect for the house in Manchester. Because I was a bit miffed when I had my house valued to be told, 'Well, none of the furniture matches, which doesn't make it as appealing as some of the other houses we've sold here.'
Lulu, my former housemate will be helping me. She called at 8am this morning, and we chatted for an hour.
How she actually rises happily out of bed at that time on a Sunday morning, I cannot comprehend.

*Tackle mummy admin:
accepting school places, and rejecting school place
arranging social things for said child
trying to get up to speed on birthday cards

*Tackling moving house admin.

Ooooooooo now my list is too long and I just know that I won't get any of it done. At some point, I must also sit down to write my novel.

Ashley and Cheryl United?

I'm usually not one to judge celebrities' love lives (yeah right) but in the case of Cheryl Cole, I can't help myself. Cheryl is a gorgeous young woman, she hails from a tricky childhood, she is a grafter, and she's been in trouble for (apparently) slapping someone... Now, hopefully, she has put being a wally behind her... or not when it comes to husband Twashley Cole because if you believe everything in the Star (I do.... not ever read it) the bets are in that she is going to give him another shot. (Of freaking sedatives to dampen his libido one hopes.)

And actually, I've always kind of valued mothers who forgive cheating men for the sake of family, home and kids because women are capable of making such tremendous sacrifices, which often means having strength rather than being weak. And also, those philandering MPs and co. had probably been married a trillion years, someone got itchy feet, had an accident between the sheets and repented and regretted it. So I do believe that marriage is for life and understand that fidelity for life might be difficult. I've never (really) wanted to marry anyone I've been with so far, because I knew I wouldn't commit to the 'life' business of it. OK, I had silly dreams, like the one about the Toga character in my book, though in my defence I was in my twenties and a bit of a fantasist. Now I'm a grown-up, I'm a bit more sensible about things like...

Anyways... Cheryl love, what is your excuse? You have no one to protect here but yourself. Thank the Lord you didn't have babies with the donkey. You married young, big mistake. You are a successful, rich, beautiful independent woman and your career is on the up - at least it was. If you tried hard enough, you could become a role model for young women (providing they don't look into your brawling past) but, and I'm sorry to say it - those millions you have sitting in the bank, the peachy glow you smile upon contestants, the nice frocks - it comes with a price, Hunny. That price is, to quote Spiderman, a fabulous philosopher and similarly hot in tights: 'With great power comes great responsibility.'

Cheryl has no excuse, if she reunites with Twashley the world will be topsy because she will be setting such a low benchmark to other women: She may as well stand in Hyde Park and command that women can aim to have it all, but feel so worthless about it that they deserve to be treated like shit.

What kind of famous prat would be so idiotic as to send pictures of himself in his boxer shorts, when his wife is one of the most idolised women in the county? A Twashley that's who. There could be a host of shows off the back of this: You've Been Twashlied, The Stupidest Twashley in Britain, The Twashley Factor.

Twashley has shown himself to be the kind of weeble that blames others for his actions. He tells people to fuck off because his life has been ruined. What he should have said was: 'I am a prize twat for wrecking my marriage. I hereby change my name to Twashley.'

Cheryl sweetheart, you are worth so much - why then do you value yourself so little?

I look Woof

I'm getting used to work... but by Lordy it's making me look rough. I was speaking on Skype to my mother and stepfather this evening - this whole video chatting fashion is highly odd - They sat on their sofa, I sat on my bed in my dressing gown, and we chatted. They got to see me sipping wine and looking a horror, meanwhile my mother looked pretty good. Actually, she looked better than me and she'd also worked a full day, and she has twenty years on me.

Sweet, I think...

Jack finally gets it - why I was an utterly draconian mother these past ten months. Today when we arrived home from school a motorcycle courier was standing on our garden path holding a box of cupcakes - sent to Jack by our friends in Manchester as a gift for passing his exams. Emmeline and her beau had been witness to my collapsed, drunk and despairing state of 'What if he doesn't get into a good school?' only a week ago.

Oh my, these past ten months I did not even have a career as such -- I was quite simply a career mum.

Career Mums by my definition are mums who, 'having honed various talents in the workplace, then apply these to the task of raising children.'

I'm a goal orientated person - I can't help it, I'm a capricorn - we're all the bloody same.

I swear to the heavens, I will never be this pushy again - until GCSE, A-Level, University, Postgraduate, who am I kidding?

OK, I promise, I hereby promise never to be pushy again... oh, who am I kidding? I won't be able to help myself. It's not just him I'm concerned for, it's a future generation of Robertses - we're not from the landed gentry, nor the chattering classes and co.

Opportunities don't just happen, we have to work for them. That is why we are working middle class. I keep pretending to be working class, I'm probably not now.

Alright, I hope I will never be this pushy again because maintaining the smiling, laughing, stern, podium of pedagogy was exhausting! I had mini breakdowns every five hours. I bank on the school picking up where I left off and so Jack will learn from them the importance of hard work.

My task is complete and I'm handing over the baton. (If only.)

I'm not even one of those people who values money and hard work above anything else. In my opinion hard work for nothing is an absolute complete waste of time. Being able to work towards something you love is a gift.