Been to That London to stay with my friend S who I used to work with. She and her husband are very nice and they have a little boy 6 months younger than Smudge so I've been looking forward to going.

They are quite 'well orff' and have recently bought a jolly nice pad in Buckhurst Hill. Every single item in the house came from John Lewis. Parsley and I developed House Envy and were forced to spend our first evening, once we had retired to bed, compiling (with some difficulty) a list of "Things about this house that are not as good as our 1970s 'scope for improvement' abode" in order to console ourselves.

However, our second evening proved decidedly less entertaining.

I'm sure that watching my child projectile vomit repeatedly over me, our hosts' beige carpets and their leather sofas will be funny in retrospect.

One day.

Six hours later, having drenched every item of clothing he, and I, had brought with us, as well as a selection of bedding, fixtures & fittings etc., he finally fell asleep on daddy's chest... at which juncture I developed the Tom Tits and spent the WHOLE NIGHT running to the loo about FORTY-FIVE TIMES. My arse is now sorer than a rent boy's and I NEVER want to do another poo so long as I LIVE!

After a night of no sleep whatsoever, and in a fit of shame, we packed our belongings at 7am on Sunday morning and made a hasty departure on our (fortuitously trouble-free) journey back to the midlands, during which Parsley kindly played 'guess the nanimal' with me all the way home to take my mind off the hideous heaving in my stomach.

I have never been so happy to get back to our house, which may not have John Lewis light bulbs but is at least home... and I know where the toilet rolls are kept when I need one at 4 a.m.!

U-(