Sorry for long gap but it's been madder than a set of badgers round here. Anyway we have finally got the keys to our lovely new home - a classic piece of 70s memorabilia which remains virtually untouched (and in the case of the bath, uncleaned) since it was built in 1972. Preserved in all its glory, this beacon of its era......... oh ok i'll shut up now. I was trying to take a positive spin on it but the actual truth is it's not very beautiful yet. Come back in ten years and ask me again.

Despite that though, it's great to have our own place so that we can properly embark on our lives together, and I'm really excited about moving in next week, although there's quite a lot to do first (now where did I put that Cillit Bang?) I actually feel really happy at the moment, although the scale of the To Do List is causing me to not sleep terribly well and feel a bit rushed about everything.

Parsley carried me over the threshold on Friday, the boys have been rolling around in the huge empty living room having the time of their lives, Taf said yesterday "I like this house more than my mummy's house" and Parsley entertained us all by losing the car keys in a house with absolutely nothing in it. (He found them, 45 mins later, under a copy of the Rural Trader...)D

So all in all I reckon I can deal with the ant infestation, bizarre brown/turquoise kitchen with antiquated hob, the fridge that was supposed to be there having been nicked by the previous tenants, the grossly abhorrent appearance of the bath and the carpet in Taf's room which looks like it has been urinated on and then clawed to pieces by a medium-size animal... given a week or two. Just got to find time to pack as well.

X

Please don't call social services - I didn't stage it, he did it himself!

He seemed happy enough napping away under there... although being a paranoid mother I felt obliged to remove it... once I'd stopped laughing (and taking photographs).

Six and PS enjoy some civilised conversation last night, after I had cooked a delightful chinese meal.

Six: Is that soy sauce on your chin, or have you been having oral sex with a menstruating woman?

PS: I don't know... shall I taste it and find out?

Why do some people end emails with 'Best'?

Best WHAT?????

Similarly 'Yours'. No you aren't.

Grumpy old get? Moi?

Don't worry, he's ok, but he had to delete the blog, because whoever it is at work that thinks wrecking his life is entertaining has chosen to do it again.

Obviously with 4 kids between us and the house we're in the middle of buying and the fact that we're really, really broke, it is a bit of a worry, especially as it's the second time he's been pulled up on this. A colleague's contract was not renewed last year because of stuff she'd said on her blog. Won't know what's happening until next week.

I'll pass on any messages to PS.

And if you're out there - thanks. We've both been through massive amounts of stress and trauma in the last 2 years, so we really appreciate your contribution.

My mum and dad, aged nearly-70 and nearly-77, are currently doing their annual Walk, during which they walk over 100 miles in the course of about 10 days.

I can't help but be in awe of their prowess, since walking up the stairs gets me slightly out of breath.

This year they are walking the Cotswold Way. I'm just hoping that, as they stop at various B&Bs along the way, my mum doesn't talk too much about walking the Cotswold Way to people who actually live on it.

This is because my mum always says Cotsworld, and I just can't bring myself to tell her there's no R in it, what with her being a primary school teacher for 39 years and my mum and everything.

Perhaps it's because she's from Norfolk. I lived in Beaumont Leys for a bit (for those not in the know - one of the 'less desirable' suburbs of Leicester) and my dad (also from Norfolk) consistently called it 'Boomont Lays' for the duration.

Anyway. I can't really knock their pronunciation, since they're currently on day 8 of their incredibly long walk. They usually text me every evening to let me know they aren't stuck down a hole in the dark with an owl, but I didn't hear from them last night, so I just rang Mum to check they were ok.

"All fine!" she says. "No signal last night. Can't stop, dear. We're just crossing a golf course."

Just over a year ago, Parsley and I invested in a brand new bed.

No cheap tat, either. Solid wood frame, built to last, that sort of thing.

Except that last night - while Parsley and I were, er, relaxing together - this happened.

Oops.

Bearing in mind that my first invoice on my freelance contract hasn't been paid yet, and my maternity pay ran out at the beginning of March, and I am now so far 'on' the breadline that I think there is actually a club sandwich up my butt...

1) Rejection letter from the Arts Council refusing to fund my project (2nd time).

2) Bill for annual fee for representation on arts consultancy website.

3) Gas bill the size of which I have never before seen or even imagined, and I ain't even been fookin WARM.

4) Lecky bill, ditto the above, even though I've been going round turning everything off non stop like someone with OCD.

Yeah, and I'm not even 'nice' (see previously post). So now I'm really, seriously hacked off.

Taf, this morning:

"My mummy says step mummies aren't nice like normal mummies".

No, Parsley's ex, I just look after your 3 year old son EVERY WEEKEND while you go out nightclubbing in Coventry, and stay out all night with your boyfriend, leaving your 15 year old daughter on her own, and I have never said ONE negative word about you to your son that would undermine you, although God knows I've been tempted to, and clearly I'm not afforded the same courtesy in return, but as long as we're all clear that it's ME that's not nice, that's fine.

Dear Mr Bond. Andy Bond.

I would like to complain about the trajectory of your Asda Sensitive liquid soap.

I chose this product as contrary to popular belief I am in fact very Sensitive and a Delicate Little Flower.

However when I depress the pump action pump thing, the Asda Sensitive Liquid Soap shoots approx. 22cm above my expectant palm and splatters into the front of the sink, whence it is Wasted. This wastage costs me approx. 0.07p a shot leaving me no better off than if I had bought my Sensitive handwash from J Sainsbury Esq.

There are some occasions where I quite enjoy seeing white gunky stuff shoot over my wrists with such enthusiasm but that is entirely beside the point.

I was previously accustomed to purchasing Simple handwash for delicate little flowers and the trajectory of this product was far more appropriate, dropping like soapy nectar into my waiting hand.

Please review the pump action of your pump thing with the manufacturers and consider installing a less Vigorous projection device.

Yours damply
Ms Sixpence.

Other things that have annoyed me today:

1) The lyric "Before he speak his suit bespoke".

2) Thomas the Tank Engine on TV twice in one morning. Doesn't the little f*cker ever shut up?

And now I am late for my exercise class. It's all Bond's fault.