I notice from the radio ads that the government are trying to make libraries sexy. So I thought I'd give them a hand.

(NB. Sincere apologies to colleagues currently working in the library services, who are hereby exonerated from any responsibility whatsoever for the creation or content of this poem...)

He said, meet me in the adult fiction.
She said, baby, it’s a deal.
He leaned against the library shelves
and said, tell me what you feel.

She said, angel, what I’m feeling
is too big for me to describe.
He said, take this hardback, sweetheart,
I see you got the reading vibe.

She said, Wow. Large print, big pictures.
This is just my cup of tea.
He said, it gets better, honey,
You can borrow it for free.

She said, that’s amazing, darling,
I could look at these all day.
He said, lover, let me know
when you’re going to come this way.

I’ll seek you out an adult romance,
I’ll reserve it just for you.
Because – it’s what’s between the covers
that counts for people like us two.

Tales of erotic experiences in libraries welcomed (juzzzy, you're excluded - I don't think I can take the pace).

Guess how much cleaning I did before my husband got home at 5pm? NAFF ALL. Spent the morning tarting around in my dressing gown (howzat Den?) and in the afternoon (post lunch and Countdown, obviously) I actually did some real work. No honestly, I did.

Then suddenly my husband arrives home, expecting this spotless, pre parental visit house. Needless to say I am a continual disappointment to him in this respect.

So now here I am, hoovering the parts my usual "cleaning regime" (I use the term loosely) doesn't reach. And stopping to blog, obviously. I don't want to overdo it.

...a civilised light buffet after the poetry group meeting on Wednesday.

I'm talking to fellow poet M, who's a genteel, educated chap aged approx. 60, and also the grandson of a very, very, very famous author, though he don't like to talk about it.

M has the same publisher as the one who's bringing my book out later this year. The title hasn't been decided, but I tell him we're considering 'Catch'.

M nods with his usual endearing earnestness and tells me in all seriousness that he misheard the proposed title when the publisher mentioned it on the phone to him. "I thought he said it was going to be called 'Snatch'," he says.

Damn near choked on my baguette, I tell you.

Have I b*ll*cks.

Score today so far: NIL.

Here's my prediction for Friday:

I'll spend the morning faffing around (that's for you dennypoos, I know you like me to faff), have my lunch, watch Countdown, then suddenly go "OH BOLLOCKS, my mother will be here in less than 24 hours" and go on a mad cleaning binge until 2am when my back gives out. I'll then spend Saturday limping round Debenhams while my mother tries to choose an outfit for my brother's wedding in July, pretending that I haven't done my back in frantically scrubbing the filthy recesses of my home for her, even though we will both know that I have.

FURTHERMORE: my mother is the ONLY person on the planet for whom I will endure the torment of ironing tablecloths. (Is it only me, or by the time you get to the end is the first bit all crumpled again?)

...I so nearly cleaned the windows just then.

You'll be relieved to hear I managed to take prompt evasive action.

My excuse?... the vertigo may well cause me to end up head first in the bucket. Which would be entertaining, but damp.

Total housework score today: 0. And I'm off to the pub in a bit.

Excuse the sudden surge of activity: combination of chocolate highs (see previous entry) and the fact that I reach my daily peak at about 3pm (for about 10 minutes).

I was thinking that the NHS should seriously consider commissioning health advice leaflets on the inherent dangers of attempting to shave your legs whilst suffering from vertigo.

This is a health education issue: government please take note.

How exciting!!!!!!!

The doorbell goes, and there's a man with a large package, which is always a welcome sight.

He asks for me by my maiden name, which is the name I write under, and I don't even notice (apologies to spouse), even though I've been married 6 years. (loses 10 points for observation)

He delivers the package, and I discover that it's a BIG chocolate cake made by the famous Betty's of Harrogate!!!!!!!!!

So a HUGE thank you to Parka, Ferret and Octavia who sent it to say congratulations because my poetry collection has just been accepted for publication.

And seeing as my husband's a vegan, it's ALL FOR ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So, yet again, sod the housework, and in fact work in all forms: chocolate calls.........

My parents are coming on Saturday, which means that I'll be spending this week getting all stressed out about them coming, the weekend being all stressed out about them being here, and next week being all stressed out about them having been here.

Plus, the spare room is full of junk and the whole house needs cleaning BIG TIME. So what valiant efforts have I made so far to prepare for their arrival? Yep. I dusted the bedroom (not even theirs - mine) on Monday. Oh, well done me. No wonder I'm exhausted.

So much for the recent reports of women preferring housework to sex. I can't even begin to grasp that concept.

That's all I have to say on the subject.

I get a phone call asking whether my friend and I would like to repeat the “rap writing” workshop we ran last year for girls aged 12-15 in a local youth club.

Yeah, right, because working with the rude, ungrateful, illiterate little sods was such a highlight of my frankly glittering career…

I had worked with these girls for 4 weeks, trying to get them to write something, anything, only to discover that most of them could only spell in ‘text speak’. The rap workshop was a last ditch attempt.

From session 2:
Me: I want you to write about your best mate on one side of the paper and on the other side write about what makes a good friend.
Chavgirl: What do you mean? I don’t get it.
Me: What sort of character do you look for in a friend?
Chavgirl: What does that mean – character?
Me: What sort of personality?
Chavgirl: What does that mean?
Etc.

And from session 4:
Same Chavgirl: What are you doing here, anyway?
Me: I’ve been coming for the past 4 weeks. Don’t you remember?
Chavgirl: What for?
Me: To do writing workshops. I’m a writer.
Chavgirl: Have you had anything published then?
Me: I’ve had a few poems in national poetry magazines.
Chavgirl: Is that all?
Me: (gritting teeth) Yes. (adding silently, why don’t you rub it in, you cheeky ignorant scumbag!)
Chavgirl: My mum had a book published. When she was 15.
Me: (pauses to collect thoughts) She must be very proud.

Have decided I’m not cut out for yoof work.

So the 'flu type virus I had last week has now gone into my ears, triggering my recurring vertigo. Which means that when I lay back in the bath this morning to wash my hair the whole room flipped over, I lost all track of which way up I was and nearly drowned. Then when I sat up to put shampoo in my hair the whole thing happened all over again and I was left clinging to the side of the bath begging for mercy (although I think the actual words that came out of my whimpering mouth were "Whoooaaah, trippyyyyyyy.")

But apart from that, I'm FINE.

I've noticed that I keep having to take my glasses OFF to read the computer screen.

One word: varifocals.....................

How did this happen????????

Having a moderate run of insomnia: so far, four nights in a row with less than 5 hours' sleep. Not reached "psychotic" stage yet but approaching "slightly dysfunctional".

Woke up at 04:something, drifted back off about 06:30, only to be immediately woken up, whimpering with indignation, by a dream in which my husband tried to bite the top of my ear off.

???????????????????????

I've been eating Easter eggs in bed.

A messy business, but I'm making sure all the suspect looking stains are on my husband's side.

Few years ago was challenged for a work thing to eat a creme egg in an unusual way and describe the experience in written form. This was it:

EGG

peeled
whole top off

cat purr
half undress

tongue scoop reveals gold

lick
fingertips

bite
vestiges

morsel

gone

For some reason the consultant leading the exercise wanted to hang on to this. Perhaps I should have offered to laminate it for him.

Why are Super Noodles called super?

I swear I'm not making this up.

Woman phones up local radio station asking for a song from 'Titanic'. The DJ asks if she's a fan of the film. She says "Well, I was looking forward to it coming out, but when I went to see it I thought the ending was a bit sad."

Remind me to stop listening to local radio.

So, my husband's niece asks my mother in law to read out one of the magnetic poems I've created on my fridge. My mother in law starts reading it, gets half way through and stops.
"Oh, it's a bit thingummy, isn't it," she says.

It wasn't even one of my dirty ones.