A strange week and one of clarity. The teenager sat through many interviews at Bristol Grammar in the hope of gaining a place. I hope he does, almost more than I have ever hoped for anything. With 4 hours to kill I mooched around Clifton. Bristol's Habitat is one of my secret bargain bins, always offering huge discounts, always hard to resist. It is much easier when you have no money but it also made me ponder the reality of loneliness.

The realisation dawned that in a relationship you can ring you partner and share your excitement at the 75% discount on the lights that will transform your life. Underneath, you know that you are deluding yourself to their interest - which in no doubt hovering near zero, but humouring works for most of us for a while. The reality of being single is accepting that they were never interested and now you have no one to phone.
Being lonely with someone is the worst kind of loneliness but the reality of truly being on your own is just that, the reality. I am sure that it must take a period to get used to.

It and I had a rather long heated debated this week. It transpires that the greater part of our marriage 'it' has been harbouring an ever growing dislike. Clearly, I would never have carried on breeding to the extent that I had should I have known the his true feelings, so the strength of them came as quite a shock. Whilst I am sad that he had disliked so much for so many years, clarity gives you the opportunity to accept the past and move forward. Picking away at where things went wrong - even if it appears to be the alter, gains nothing and persuading someone who thinks otherwise that you are really not that bad would be a fruitless task.

The thing about peoples feelings is that they are real to them, but I am now being to wonder about the advisability of our obsession with social niceness. Why do we pretend to like people when we really don't? Yes, life would be harsher if people were more honest but at least we would all know where we stand. I am not suggesting we all go around declaring our hatred for our neighbour but perhaps if we didn't keep up the pretence, then we would all have a little more clarity and there would be less of the likes of the Jeremy Kyle show, a lot less children and a lot less gossip.
With this weeks revelations I am thinking of calling Jeremy. Whilst I really am grateful to 'It' for his honesty because it really has negated any need for further soul destroying analysis for both of us - I did take objection to his declaration that I am not funny. I think I am a hoot. I was going to suggest that perhaps his humour is not sufficiently developed to appreciate it but it seemed like a bad time.

It is this truth that we are unwilling to share that causes life's problems. Someone in the village told me to check out a dating website. "Don't you think it is a little premature?" I said, She looked at me like I was going mad "Not for you to date" she said "To cheer you up, there are loads of people you will recognise and it is hysterical." It felt a little cruel looking but in fact it was quite addictive. I did discover someone that despite being a car dealer teetering towards mid 50, on this website he was a 42 year old entrepreneur. Should I ever consider online dating I guess I would be a 29 year old events manager. Someone is going to be hideously disappointed.

Even more worrying was the not unattractive man in Chippenham. 'I have had loads of people click on my profile, yet no one has emailed me' he declared. Looking at his profile picture, I was equally perplexed. Until I scrolled down his interests - cycling, squash and kinky sex. I was going to email him and suggest that the kinky sex may have put the majority off but worried at instigating an email relationship with a local pervert, I decided not to.

Instead, I shall embrace my new status of borne again spinster, something I appear to being doing quite well at. Calling in for a drink last night, a friend looked me up and down and said "What the hell are you wearing?" I tried to explain about my dog walking outfit (admittedly I had kept it on all day), but butted in with "You look so dreadful that I actually cannot bear to look at you."

Honesty, how very refreshing.

I have decided to amass an emergency fund. Reality of my predicament hit when the people carrier came back shiny, undented and requiring payment of the excess. I do not have excess funds in my bank account, so have had to reassure the children that you can survive without food for 14 days. They remain unconvinced. I now have a total of £68 in my bank account. It really is a sorry state of affairs.

On a positive note, the third party insurers have rushed through a cheque and so the children will only have to survive for the five days it takes to clear. With frugality in mind, I coasted to school in Bradford on Avon. The flashing in car petrol counter told me that there are 14km until empty, so I should get one more school run out of it. I feel like a student.

It feels as if my life is going full cycle. When I was 17 and had left home, 'It' never had enough money to visit me. I used to have to give him £2 in petrol money just for him to prove his love. It set a pattern - he did what I told him and if he didn't, he wouldn't. Perhaps it should have occurred to me that if I was having to pay someone to visit, then perhaps I was deluding myself.

I had a compliment today. Apparently I am a determined woman with a fearsomely intelligent. I am now best friends with the person that said it. Since he was not offering me a job, I thought that it could be a good time to point out that I was rather good at cleaning. He said that he couldn't take the abuse. It seems that I can't even get a job cleaning. This is what children do to you. Forget about your southern aspect bosom, your bottom, or your sanity - when you realise the penalty is that you can't even clean someone else's mess, it does make you ponder the decision. Perhaps I could clean if I promised never to speak.

Child Two was issued with an educational statement this week. It was as worthless as anticipated and took over a year to get. That is the thing about bureaucracy, it takes forever to gain nothing and tells you what you already knew. The should give me the job, "Can your child read?" I would ask, "No" would be the reply. "I guess they need help then" would be my response. All done and dusted within a matter of moments. Still, the reality is that if you take a year, then you have a years worth of saving in your pocket. The other reality is that they ask "Can your child read?" and you reply "No" and they say "That is within our expectation of normal" and you go home and cry.

Tomorrow is D-day for the teenager. An interview at Bristol Grammar. Finally, after years of misery in a school that annihilates really gifted children - he has a window of opportunity to turn his life around. So desperate to go to a school where they actively encourage learning that he has even taken the polyester blazer wearing on the chin. I am praying that he is offered a place. i am also praying that the fact that I only ever go to church for funeral, wedding or Christmas day will be in my favour - I can hardly be accused of abusing the request system.

So, one child that is too bright, one that can't spell and two more that are showing signs of equal quirkiness. Is it really to much to ask for a normal life? All I ever wanted was a picture book family, every one happy, winters around a roaring fire, family breakfast, happy children. Let me see so far - dysfunctional and then broken family. I guess I have really screwed up.

I feel better. It would be fair to say that given the reality of life at present, it is becoming tricky to write what I really think and trickier still to write about the normal mundane aspects of life. I have decided two things, one is that there are still parts of my life that are mundane and the other is that I shall have to find another venue for my reality and my thoughts. Partly because it would be inappropriate to subject the downfall of my marriage to local news (I could be swayed by national) but more importantly that I aware that the genetic mafia have infiltrated my blog. I have inheritance and baby sitting to consider.

I was thinking of a new updated version of Bridget Jones - one in which she starts with everything: The husband, the children, the range cooker, the dog. Then it all goes horribly wrong and she ends up single again but this time she is old, tired, unemployed and has an intermittent hair appear on her chin. With the odds stacked against her - she never meets another man but does write a tragic sitcom and is happily loaded forever more.

So an update. My leg is still on back to front. The RUH canceled and said that they would reschedule when they have stopped canceling patients. That was a week ago, so I guess they are still shuffling people of the list. Apparently, there is a bed shortage. It must be quite severe since dosed up with both general and local anaesthetic they only let you lie in a bed for three hours anyway. On the plus side "It' read my blog and has offered to help should I need it. So there is communication in a modern cyber kind of way

I have finally replaced the camera. Two weeks of dealing with people that have IQ that only just scrape double figures, I received a plastic card to use at Currys. I was expecting a camera so the parcel was disappointingly small. 'It' said that he had a call on Friday to say that they could not get it at Currys, so they would send a card so that I too would have immense difficulty finding that model. They were right - it had been discontinued. I finally found one in Chippenham but am still trying to understand the logic of sending me a card, to use in a place where they already know that they don't sell them. Perhaps I will gain employment after all.

On that note, a rather sweet comment from Chris in Peasdown. If only he were a recruitment consultant! I feel that should he ever seek a change in employment - he could easily write peoples CV's. I think he should write mine but not forgetting the bit about huge wages, short days and long holidays.

The teenager is revising for a science GCSE module tomorrow morning. He is worried. Apparently, he has mastered the multiple choice (actually quite tricky when you have an IQ that would scare most) but was concerned that on the last paper it said, 'If an atom was part of a plum pudding, which part of the plum pudding would it be'.

I was in hysterics, certain he was joking but apparently not, it was a deadly serious question. 'I know what makes up an atom,' he said "But I have no idea what a plum pudding is made of.' I shall phone Bath Spa tomorrow and register for the Physics course. Clearly with my extensive knowledge of cooking and complete inabiliy to understand Physic, I shall pass with a first class honours. In the hope that he passes, I am sending him to bed with the best of Delia.

Last week I email Bath college and asked if I could complete some unpaid work experience. Having decided that honesty was the best approach, I admitted my long term relationship with children's television, my age and my unwillingness to add so much gloss to a CV that you could see your reflection in it. NO response.

Having been bought up to believe that lying gets you nowhere, I see once more that Mother was wrong. People want you to lie and it is only when you big yourself up to such a degree that you actually smell - that you get anywhere. So if anyone out there is reading this - I have been a well published author for the last 15 years, successfully marketed for 4 blue chip companies and written copy for some international corporations.

If, in the short period that I wait for offers to come rolling in - anyone needs a cleaner on the Bradford side of Bath - I might know of one, but she won't clean for less that ten pounds per hour and like me, is a bit mouthy. She might declutter for 20, give relationship advice for 30 or tell you what is wrong with your interior design for about the same.

My mother used to say 'If you don't have anything good to say, then don't say it.' Now anyone that knows me, will know that generally speaking - if my mother say's it, then I will do the opposite. This time, thirty years later - I am really trying to follow that advice.

My jaw aches from gritting my teeth and I have had a migraine. I am certain to be in next years honours list for sainthood. Failing this, I shall be in Wandworth for Manslaughter.

When I was a child and people asked me what my favourite food was, I would always answer 'potato.' A strange choice for a young girl, but I loved the endless possibility; mashed, sauteed, chips, roasted - you could never get bored. Little did I realise how this would come back to haunt me and at a time of frugality, how utterly sick I would be of trying to come up with yet another recipe containing the staple spud.

Economising through credit crunch or marriage break up is to be expected but when you were already living on a budget - it is easier said than done. Aldi is no new revelation to me, nor is the factory shop and Ebay and I already have an Internet relationship. Tucked up in bed armed with the Sainsbury magazines budget busting special, I was more than a little disheartened to discover that most of its recommendations were already common place in this house. Reading about slow cooking cheaper meats did little to inspire but I did think fleetingly that I could go one step further than ox tongue, and use hoof shavings in place of Parmesan. Perhaps the children wouldn't notice, perhaps I will make millions marketing this new budget busting product.

Bargain and economising are my middle names but things have clearly got worse. I used to be smug at my forays to Costco in search of bulk buy saving until the time came that I could no longer afford either the membership or the petrol to get there. So finding ways of saving money is becoming tricky. I am going to have to resort to manually emptying the hoover bag, I have already started grating cheese to make the children think they are getting more than they really are. We already have the 'Do you want my bath after me' scenario and I may have to get my hair cut once every two years, instead of the rather flamboyant annual affair.

The children are already griping about the cost cutting. Since 'It' left they have had to say farewell to school lunches as he used to pay for them. The teenager has taken it very badly. A tendency towards OCD he has got it into his head that carrying around pre-made lunches is a health hazard and so is refusing to eat. I figure that either the when he finally keels over from malnutrition then a home made baguette will seem quite appealing. I suspect that it has more to do with the fact that I pointed out he is actually old enough to make his own. Apparently spending your wages is a better option.

As a result he now hates his job - he never was content with the 3.40 an hour he gets paid for pretty physical washing up in the very posh farm shop and it appears that it is failing to support his toast habit. I can see his point, there seems a little cruelty in paying anyone slightly more than a large Latte for an hours worth of frantic catering style washing up. So now we are both looking for jobs.

The job front is equally depressing. 15 years of staying at home does not make for a glowing CV. In fact, it does not make for a CV. The last job I applied for I filled in the skills section with 'Can make bolognese at the same time as cleaning the floor, singing Humpty Dumpty and checking for head lice.' I was rather stunned to get the job. Clearly employers are fussier nowadays.

On the subject of head lice, middle child was very excited about a documentary on vermin extermination. A nice bit of family viewing, we settled down to watch the man convinced he had bed bugs. His wife thought that he was insane and having clearly humoured him for months - a bed bug sniffer dog was brought in. Much to everyone surprise, smaller than the human eye bugs were found.

I have been itching ever since. Every night I have combed through my hair in search of the head lice that I am convinced must be there. I have decided that it may be worth training the Bitch to sniff out head lice. World famous, a film deal would follow and I would no longer be looking for cleaning jobs. 'Bugs - The Bitch returns' - I can see it now.

The Bitch had to go back to Claverton today to have her stitches checked. All fine. I pondered about asking for a 6 month prescription for sedatives  but decided that it would be frowned upon. Besides, she behaved impeccably and they would never have believed me that she is in fact, schizophrenic.

Now that I am a seasoned dog owner, albeit a year - they tried to persuade me to take on a rather beautiful Weimeraner named Rufus. I nearly caved.  I convinced myself that the two of them would ensure a calming influence, they could curl up together in a picture book kind of way. I agreed to go home and consider it but when I also considered that I could end up homeless, with four children, a large Bitch and a Donkey - I decided that my heart strings have got me in trouble before and this was the month of hard nosed common sense.

So if anyone else wants a beautiful, kind dog called Rufus, you can have him - content in the knowledge that someone, somewhere will be very jealous.

The last year as taught me a lot about dog ownership. You meet all sorts of people that previously ignored you. In doing so you embark on quite ludicrous conversations that after a while seem quite normal. It pays to remember that there is nothing normal about saying 'Yous a silly doggle woggle' in a high pitched voice. Nor is it normal to tell your dog to say 'Goodbye' after it has played with another mutt. Both these I now do and both are probably enough to guarantee that I die a borne again spinster.

The other thing that I have learned is that humans are not superior to animals, or at least I am not. If I were, I would not assume that barbed wire is meant for them and not me - blithely hurling myself between the runs of the stuff and becoming firmly tangled up by the hair, then the scarf and finally the crutch of my trousers. It was not a good look. The fact that it was dark was a double edged sword. Thankfully nobody could see me but the dark prevented the vision that I needed to release myself. 20 minutes later I looked like a wild woman from a Lynx advert, only a lot older and my jeans were considerably draughtier.

My final tip is on dog leads. Wrapping it around your neck in a noose like fashion is a good way to prevent loss. However, it is prudent to remember the noose part of it. If, like me, you suffer from the amnesia commonly associated with multiple and frequent childbirth - do not keep it around your neck and then attach a very large boisterous gun dog to the other end. It hurts and can kill you.

I, for one -  was pleased that it failed to kill me, but now when I tell people that 'It' has left, you can see the look of surprise, the glance at my neck and then the offers of help come flooding in. I should be fine for baby sitters for the next couple of months.

How very exciting, I had a comment about the courtesy car and my failure to consider how needlessly large it is and the chaos I cause around Bath. I had also failed to consider the zero chance of survival for anything more considerate. 

Feeling open minded, I considered these points and after much mental debate I went out at 1am and stole a donkey. The children were less than happy at being woken up at 2am to go to school but when you live in the country, and school is some distance away - it takes some time to hitch up the cart and donkeys are after all, pretty slow. The children were quite cold and tired when they got there but as I pointed out - the only other option was a car that would fail to accomodate them all and being towed would be painful. Obviously,  I attached a colostomy to the Donkey for fear of any methane escaping.

I must have done pretty well in the 24 hours that I had the car, everything in my path survived and having checked the online news, it seems that no nightmares had occurred.  It does seem rather unjust that whilst driving many people in my people carrier that it was in fact a small people friendly vehicle that anhialated my car. Maybe it was not an accident at all, maybe he wanted to make it clear that people with large families should simply not go out. He was clearly right. Had I not taken my large family out in my large people carrier, I would still have a car.

Anyhow, I have contacted the Insurance company and informed them how outrageous it was to provide a vehicle that would fit all the car seats, children and a dog and they have kindly agreed to investigate the cost of a stable for the donkey. In true spirit I shall contact 'It' later and tell him to get rid of his vehicle too. I am not sure of the capability of an electric car in hauling motorbikes across Salisbury plain but I am sure that they are suitable for all useage and I am sure that he will be obliging.

I slept poorly last night. Obviously the guilt of accepting my courtesy car played a large part but so was the chin chaff that I suffered. Cold and exhausted, I climbed into bed, pulled the covers over me and felt a horrid grating sensation on my chin. I then realised the disadvantage of allowing your children to climb into bed with you - they use your duvet as a method of wiping their noses. Then it dries.

So this is now my life, 40, single mother, snotty quilts and a donkey. Does it get better?

I have a new love in my life, in the form of a Land Rover Discovery! Delivered as a replacement to mine whilst it is repaired, I have decided they can keep the too many children bus, and I will have this. So much more fun to drive, though it is a bit like driving a combination of a tractor and a children's bouncy castle. 

There are other disadvantages too - not used to an automatic, I keep slipping it into neutral and for some reason, I feel like as I should be wearing driving gloves and checked trousers. I did wear leather gloves this morning but only because it was so cold, and I do have a pair of checked trousers - it is a combination that for the next couple of weeks that I shall avoid.

Coming back from school in my new toy, I felt it somehow appropriate to listen to Radio 4. I lasted precisely 4 minutes before the image of gloves, checked trousers and Radio 4 became to vivid. In fear that I would start hankering after an Aga and membership to the Kingsdown Golf club, I swiftly switched to more modern acoustics. 

'It' has a Discovery but his has not got leather seats, is generally full of filthy motorbike equipment and I rarely got to drive it. It also  lacks the appeal of tan leather and light up make up mirror. I did have some difficulty finding floor space to dump the offspring's belongings but i have finally worked out that the more space I have, the more they fill it. Perhaps if I got a Ford KA and made them sit on the roof - I may for a brief period in my life , actually see a floor mat.

The Bitch was sorted yesterday. Drugged and minus half of her uterus she is behaving impeccably. I imagine that this is what it must be like to half a calm, well behaved dog. I am thinking of starting a black market dog drug consortium for those that are desperately trying to get through the first couple of years of a large lively velocerapter, cunningly disguised as a dog.

I had a moment of sheer inspiration on my knee operation predicament. If I had an automatic left hand drive car, I would be able to drive without using my right knee. I was quite excited at my flash of problem solving inspiration, until my kind neighbour pointed out that I was more than slightly thick and that the peddles are in the same order, regardless of where the steering column. He had a fair point.

I am getting increasingly more nervous of my knee operation. What if I am that small statistic that it all goes wrong for. Should I write letters to the children? Am I the only mother that goes to bed and has awful nightmares about all the things that could happen to their children - the large wave that washes them away and that split second when you have to decide to jump in but doing so leaves another tiny one alone on the pier in the middle of a storm?

I need therapy

Yesterday I decided to tackle the teenagers bedroom. I had to wait until he was at work because his power of deferment knows no bounds. I have tried every tactic known to man, lobbing his stuff out of the window, locking it in the dog cage, the boot of the car, 'Its boot, bribery, corruption and humiliation. None of it worked.

Before Christmas, my Ebay dealings and a rather kind offer from mother to fund the four extra maths lessons I had been hoarding for - funded a rather swanky sideboard, perfect depth for record decks and enough storage to salve the temper of any mother. Despite roping the neighbours into carrying the beast upstairs, it has sat - covered in bubble wrap ever since.

In truth there reaches a point in everyones life where the chaos just gets too much and the recipient simply cannot climb that mountain. Knee deep in shopping disorder, he had got to that point and since his bedroom was affecting my karma, I ventured in - determined that if I could master his room, the rest of the year should be a doddle.

Three hours late, 2 laundry bins of clothes that all look the same, 18 cardboard boxes, a wardrobe full of hoodies that also all look the same, about 28 pairs of basketball boots that look the same, 6 pairs of jeans that look the same - my karma was restored and I had found the end of the hoover that we had been looking for since November.

Teenager was quite pleased, it meant that when his friend came around that night , there was loads of room to throw their stuff around.

The smug glow was brief. I then realised that the entire house needed attending too. The kitchen paint is peeling off, the little ones bedroom was supposed to get painted last year and by the end of this, they will be too big for their toddler beds. Middle child has a room that doesn't fit furniture, the radiators need bleeding, half the sockets come out with the plug, the plaster repair in the children's snug never got repainted, the broken front door frame was never fixed, the windows in the dining room never did get filled around the edge from being refitted, the dog ate a hole in the living room carpet, the window seats need covers, the cupboard in the sitting room still needs to be built and the radiator panels never got any panels, despite being fitted 6 years ago.

I felt exhausted thinking about it. So overwhelmed that I had to retire to the garden nursing yet another large Irish coffee. Nothing got done, but I felt better about it.

Next week shall be my real challenge. I am having a knee operation at the RUH. Given the circumstances, I considered canceling but have figured that from now on - there will be no good time. Besides, my knee is agony. It feels like someone has put it on backwards and when you have to walk the Bitch for nearly 90 minutes a day, this is not a good thing.

When I had the consultation the lovely knee saving man said '`You will not be able to drive the car or look after children for a week.' I laughed at him. Ironic really, because I thought at the time that this would never happen and that, was in normal circumstance. So the small matter of getting children to school, the Bitch walked and doing bedtimes with a freshly carved up limb. Still, another mountain to climb. Or crawl

Most people start the New Year with a bang. I, in my car crash life style, ended the old year with one and as a result have a trashed car. Word of warning to fellow Bath residents - when waving goodbye to the relatives that you have spent the festive period with, make sure that you look behind you before pulling out of your parking place.

On the plus side, the fact that it was at the end of the year, rather than the beginning, was a relief. Had I started the New Year with a car crash, then I would have to take it as a bad omen. Since it signaled the end of a dreadful year - things have to get better. Or so I hope.

When it happened I was stunned. Too stunned to move in fact, and by the time I did, the waving relative and his passenger had manually maneuvered their vehicle back into it's parking place. In the old days, it was customary to step out of the vehicle and enquire as to the health and well being of your victim. I can only assume that residents parking is at such a premium in Bath that they were worried that they may lose the space. If they had decided to simply stay in it in the first place, my day and theirs would have been a lot better.

The teenager decided to spend the evening teaching his mother (me) the ins and outs of how to download tunes onto an ipod. I have never really had the time to master it and as a result have a mere 8 tracks on mine. The computer screen started to blur after a few seconds as I realised that his ability to master the obvious, was considerably more advanced than mine. Frustrated by my ignorance he agreed to walking down memory lane. I made him find all the tunes that I used to bounce him up and down to, all the tunes that I played constantly in my teens and all the ones that made me cry in my 20's. By the end of it I was depressed and hoping that reincarnation was true - so that I could go back and start again.

Age may well make you see life more clearly, the years give you more wisdom and insight, but at this particular point in my life - I am not convinced it be such a good thing.

Took the younger ones on a very long dog walk with the Bitch. It should take 35 minutes but their legs are so short it took 2 hours. Child 2, despite warnings, decided he simply must walk across the ice. As predicted, it cracked and he was then firmly ensconced in thick mud. ' I am stuck' he cried. 'Well, there is only one thing for it' say I. 'You are going to take a photo aren't you' he said. He knows me too well. As he waded around for 15 minutes trying to release himself, I wept with laughter and filled another family album. Sometimes when you laugh like that you realise that you cannot remember that last time you did and that is the beauty of childhood, that the simple things are where real pleasure come from.

Whatever happens in life, children are beautiful, precious and with you for a short time. Life is full of hurt, pain, blame and opportunity to damage. The only time that you stand any chance of true love and happiness - is when others are protecting you from the bigger picture that is life. The longer that protection lasts, the more chance you have of growing up to be able to provide the same for others.

In a bid to carry on this idea of protecting children from the harsh reality that is life, I need a job. I tried searching on the Internet for career options for a tired woman, looked after children for 15 years and so no real skills, no longer qualified, needs long holidays, short hours and good money - nothing came up. Actually it did, but nothing legal and nothing my age would not have a detrimental affect on.

Stumped. I shall definitely advise my boys not to become stay at home mothers.