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.

Managed to burn the hell out of two of my saucepans so far this afternoon, and I only made a rice salad for tomorrow and some pureed carrots 'n' parsnips for baby Smudge.

*sits back and lays bets on first 3 bloggers to come forth with tips* for removing burnt bits from stainless steel saucepans*

*constructive ones, that is

I got my first hug from my eldest stepson!

It's his 18th tomorrow so we took him and Parsley's daughter out for a meal. Had a lovely time and he seemed to really enjoy himself.

I said in our card that he's an amazing person and I'm proud to be his stepmum and it couldn't be more true.

Just one of many fantastic things that being with Parsley has brought into my life.

sorry to come over all soppy and that but. well. i just feel all happy inside.

want me to select a mentor and become best buddies with them before they decide whether to give me the money to work with a mentor

because otherwise the "outcomes" are "unclear".

yeah that works

especially as the whole point of my grant application is finding a mentor who's unfamiliar with me and my work and therefore objective

Since baby Smudge was born i've had an inflamed tendon in my wrist. Apparently this is "very common" after pregnancy. So yesterday i had to get me down to the infirmary for a cortisone injection in my wrist joint. Following which an over zealous nurse forbade me from lifting the baby or using my arm for 24 hours. Very convenient. Especially as it was parsley's night to teach night school work a night shift at the sausage factory.

This meant i had to ring round begging for help with putting the baby to bed and the wonderful auntie gwen (not actually my auntie but a lovely foxy lady who runs the mum n baby group) came to my rescue like a gorgeous perfumed angel - in contrast to myself (smelling sweaty and foul following an afternoon traipsing round the infirmary and then trying to tidy the entire house one-handed).

So today the babe's gone to the childminders and i am in bed typing with one hand. it's not even the right hand - well actually it IS my right hand but that's the wrong hand because i'm left handed - if that makes sense.

So... a day of not being able to do anything lies ahead... what a nightmare!

*snuggles deeper under duvet*

Found this entry describing my cousin's wedding in 1989 in one of my old diaries. It made me laugh. Especially the last line.

'BRIDESMAID DAY!!!

Got up, washed hair, went to Aunty J's with wet hair, H & S already there, had hair styled, put makeup on, got poshed up & ready, coupla photos, bridesmaids to church in white rolls royce, coupla more photos, Here Comes Ye Bride, big moment, walk up aisle, head bridesmaid by accident as H can't reach flowers at altar, sing hymn, service, bridesmaids sit down, more service, stand, Daisy Dork [that's me by the way] knocks hanging hymn board with bride's bouquet, sign register, back out of church, to reception, loadsaphotos, shoes agony, feet fall off, wedding breakfast, finally people leave, have a rest, tart up again, evening do, boring, sat with C, music crap, finally over, to Nanny B's, fall asleep.

A nice, exciting day.'

As previously mentioned, it was our 2 years anniversary yesterday, so PS and I took advantage of my parents (who happened to be staying for the weekend) and their willingness to babysit and took ourselves off out for a very nice Thai meal and a few beverages.

However, I can find no rational explanation for the fact that today, the top drawer of the abandoned filing cabinet in our garage contains a bottle of Baileys (half-drunk) and two used glasses, a pair of sparkly ladies' shoes (size 3), a candle (half-burned) and a box of matches.

Nor for the dent in the lid of the chest freezer.

Very, very odd.

By a series of coincidences (my coughing woke me up; I didn't want my coughing to wake the baby up so I came downstairs onto the sofa; the home phone was next to the sofa because I was ringing a restaurant earlier to book me and Parsley an anniversary dinner for Monday night) I happened to be in a position to answer the phone when it rang at midnight.

Which means this was going to be a complaining post about coughing and insomnia and the squits, but instead I can relay the following conversation, which is far more warming to the cockles of anybody's heart.

Six: Hello?????? [thinking, worried, good news always sleeps til noon etc.]
PS's daughter: [whispers in a "I'm trying not to wake my mum up because she doesn't know I'm phoning you" sort of way] It's me. I'm really sorry to ring so late. I didn't want to wake the baby.
Six: That's alright love... are you ok?
PS's daughter: Yes I'm fine... is my dad there?
Six: He's asleep... do you want me to wake him up?
PS's daughter: No don't wake him. It's just I'd promised him I'd phone him tonight, and our phone's been barred from ringing mobiles because we had a massive phone bill.
Six: Ok don't worry love, I promise I'll let him know that you rang.
PS's daughter: Please. I really don't want him to think I'd forgotten.
Six: Don't worry, I will tell him. Is everything alright?
PS's daughter: Yes, I'm fine. I don't want him to think I didn't ring.
Six: No worries... take care, ok?

So now instead of feeling down about my cough and exploding arse I am feeling the warm glow of brandy and Horlicks which I am supping alternately, and the even warmer glow of my fantastic stepchildren.

So 2 years on, Mr ParsleySage, I don't even have to THINK about whether I'd do it all again. I love you so much, y'know?