I rarely feel overwhelmed. Today I do.

There are simply too many things going around my head, too many things on my to do list and too many problems I have to solve.

Tomorrow my Decree Nisi is read. Strange that you don't have to be there to hear it. I can imagine the judge spends the entire day rolling his eyes around, dispensing yet another statistic in the pile of broken marriages and adding to the single parent ratio of the country. All across the UK will be people delighted, relieved or miserable.

I wonder how many hundreds of others will be sitting awaiting their bit of paper. You would think in 2010 they could email it. By 2060 you will be able to get married online, should marriage still exist. I somehow doubt it.

The Decree Nisi seems a little worthless, no more than a rubber stamp in agreement of principle. Still, it is that one step closer.

I am desperately trying to find a way of ensuring the children do not get uprooted further, it is no easy task and definately in the face of adversity. Having the childrens future be dependent on me, is simply mind blowing overwhelming. I have cut back everything to the core and realised that no matter where we live - the bills will all be fairly similar. Problem is that in all the time I am looking and trying to come up with solutions, I am not actually earning anything. If I didn't have the children, I could work any hours I wanted. Ironic really.

I also have the Sendist tribunal this week. I finally managed to borrow the thousand pounds to pay for Educational Psychologist and simply added to the costs that appear to go with getting divorced. It is an absurd situation - the amount spent on lawyers will ultimately have been enough to buy a one bed flat in Norfolk. Apparently some people get divorced online for a mere 250.00. Oh for life to be that easy. If it carries on, I really will be looking at Norfolk.

So the tribunal is adding to my stress. I have a wireless printer. Only it is not working. I have to figure out how to get it working because I have to print off 450 pages of tribunal 'bundle'. Without it I am even more stuffed. I spent 4 hours today trying to figure it out. The only thing I learnt was that I am not technologically minded and I am still stuffed.

In the midst of this, I cooked 2 Sheppards pies, 1 Bolognese, 1 Moussaka and 2 lots of meatballs. Oh, that was forgetting the Cardoman encrusted roast dinner. I feel I have fully passed the course on how to produce some really boring meals using mince. It is now 11pm and I still have to freeze it all, clean up, make three lots of sandwiches and clean the bathroom.

The mouse on the computer is broken and now I have no right click. It only works if you take it out of the USB thing at least onve every 2 minutes. My laptop charger has died and the replacement one had disappeared in the post. The televisions still do not work and the light in the bathroom has gone for the 4th time in a month. It's back to candles. To top it all, the exhaust on the car seems to have an issue. I have exhaust fumes from the middle of the car and people keep thinking it is on fire. So did I the first time it happened, but I feel a little more accepting of it now. It is not on fire, I cannot do anything about it and shall simply continue to do nothing.

The teenagers bike is almost unrideable. All of the panels have now fallen off and yesterday it broke down acrooss the middle of an extremely dangerous junction. I am on the verge of running it over myself. I wish I had stuck to my original idea of not buying him one. He is as sick of it as I am.

Overwhelmed is not good.

£220

I am stuffed. The job I thought I had, that involved getting rid of my children to look after someone elses - is no longer.

I have spent several hours looking at local jobs that will accomodate the needs of several offspring and cover the costs involved. I draw the line at dirty phonecalls. Admitedly, it is £15 per hour but the long term effect would render it not worth it. I would despise men for the rest of my life.

This is tricky.

I may need to kill myself.

I am a rich woman.

I have 260.00 in my bank account and it has to last the entire month. Now that is what I call a challenge. If I come back in another life - I am definitely opting for testicles.

I suspected I would have a baptism by fire in terms of now being responsible for all of the bills and I think this month is it. Still, I am seeking to challenge the laws of the country and make it so that no woman is allowed to procreate until they have a bond of at least 100k per child, safely secured. Should infertility or successful marriage result - then said bond can be used for expensive holiday in retirement. Should fertility and unsuccesful marriage result, lone parent is secure in the knowledge that there is in fact enough money to pay for ridiculous costs involved in raising children as a result.

Just think, no CSA required, no burning money in legal fees and the birth rate would drop dramatically. More money for education, health and a policeman on every street corner. I should have been a politician. If I had been a politician, I could claim all of my expenses too. It would have been a win win situation.

Still, there is no going back and every challenge is no more than a challenge. (Ahhhhhh)

Having got back to a place where I no longer am bothered about dating anyone - it appears I am radiating large red bottom and emitting mate me hormones again. It is simply the strangest thing. Maybe when you are not looking, you walk differently. I am not sure.

Four male related events have happened this week. Firstly there is the man that I have told that I am not dating. I keep bumping into him and as a chum - he is good company. I discovered that the reason I keep bumping into him is because he keeps being in places where he might 'bump' into me. Awkward. I think I would prefer not to have been told that.

No 2: Yesterday I got checked out by a man. I am not complaining as he was rather a gorgeous specimen. Not the heart stopping, lurch of time standing still rather rare gorgeous, but the 'check you out' kind of gorgeous. Tall, muscly and at most 28. I checked him too and so it went on. It was a slightly blushing, sneaky grin encounter. Until his girlfriend joined him.

She was gorgeous too. I am not really sure why anyone would be checking anyone else out when they have a gorgeous girlfriend. Clearly gorgeous girlfriend was not aware that gorgeous man was checking other women. I suspect that she will one day discover that for herself.

Still, it was a brief and pleasant moment to the day. Later, whilst perusing a charity shop (thank you to the donor who was unaware of the value of Arne Jacobsen) I was approached by a gentleman who asked if he could take me out for a drink. I politely declined, advising him that I was not currently seeking to date anyone and that I had no plans to do so in the near future. Insistent that I should take his business card lest I change my mind, he left. I can categorically state that I will not be dating the odd job man from Chippenham. Not now, not ever.

Being picked up in a charity shop was a somewhat depressing experience. I have a friend that thinks it would be the perfect place, since she spends most of her time in them. We had to have a serious conversation on the difference in her finding someone that simply liked being in charity shops, rather than needing to be in one. Her life does not need to get harder.

Middle child thinks I have turned 'weird'. Apparently this is because I was never approached whilst married. I am not entirely sure how this is my fault. This is the same child who had to hide me (Coincidentally in the same shop) in a bid to become invisible to the Chef that I had unwittingly agreed to go out with, and then had to spend several months hiding from. I pointed out that the being married should mean you do not look like you might be willing to date. Being married means that you do not take other peoples phone numbers. Being married means that if you do, you may not be married for much longer. I didn't tell him that being married can often result in looking like you have lost the will to live - not often attractive to anyone.

I am making all sorts of life plans at the moment. One of them includes male moment no 4. Yesterday, I saw the man that I am going to marry. Now clearly, I am in no rush. Having come out at the other end of 23 years, I have too much fun to be had as single to contemplate any speedy action. However, I shall marry him in 2 years time. He of course, has no idea of my plan, no idea of me and nor does he need to. As long as I know, that really is all the counts. There will be no chasing, there is no need. I am rarely wrong and until that time, I anticipate some heel kicking.

I am more than a little tiddly.

In true cheap date mode, I have had two glasses of wine, having spent a couple of hours with a neighbour that has just lost her mother. As a result of suddenly losing her mother, she has her father living with her.

Life can change in an instant and before you know it you are facing things that the day before you didn't even consider. When this happens, you don't have time to think about it - you just deal with it.

Dealing with it, as I have learnt myself, means that you invariably do not have time to recognise the most important factor, which is you. If you do not make sure that you are okay, then you will not be okay in dealing with everyone else. It is something that I have been learning all year.

Ironically I signed up for an online business mentor this evening. I do recognise that the reason I have never done anything for myself - is the fear that I might not achieve it. Yet the fear is what guarantees that I will never achieve it. So in signing up I have recognised that I literally have to feel the fear and do it anyway. Or at least try.

It seems that there are two areas that stuff people: Fear and an inability to put their own needs first. Since I have signed up to someone helping me, I have also signed up for doing a tiny something for my neighbour.

I cannot ease her grief, I cannot make her responsibilities easier, but if I can make sure that she realises the importance of her, then I will have achieved something.

So this weekend I have threatened to revisit with my diary. In it will be her name, once a month for at least a year. Be it sauna or pub, she will be dragged away from her responsibilities, the roles she plays and the tasks she has to achieve. This woman has poured wine and listened my outpourings of trauma, excitement and confusion and all without question. When people give, they have an impact. If that impact is that you are willing to help someone else, then it is a big impact.

Never ask of others what you are not prepared to give yourself. The balance would be all wrong and eventually it will all catch up with you.

On a more superficial note. I take back what I said about not sweating in the gym. I went this morning. All that was missing was the light at the end of the tunnel.

there is a chance that none of this makes sense. Blame the wine. I shall make sandwiches in the morning

If there is a certain way of assessing how often you get to sit down, it is by going into your sitting room and seeing if there is anything in there that you were not expecting. In mine there is a Christmas tree.

I have not sat down and watched television since Christmas. I only went in there because it was widely reported that the television does not work. The reports were accurate. In fact, none of them work. Nor does the ariel.

I have had to break the news that since I am no roof climber and since funds do not extend to such expenditure - they will have to accept that they now live in a house with no television. It was news that was not met with joy. However pragmacy all around, television does not work, so don't watch it.

Middle child and I discussed the Christmas tree and its obvious power of needle retention, We are impressed. Getting rid of it adds another entry of things of my list of non priority. Getting rid of it means hauling it out, tying it to the car and finding an appropriate disposal venue. Frankly....

So we have decided a different approach. It is a plant with a specific label attached, one of 'Christmas tree'. The simplest solution is to re brand it. It is a plant that is in the house. It is now a house plant. As one would be proud of such a commanding growth, we are now proud to have such a large specimen of house plant adorning our sitting room. We can all sit together and admire it instead of watching television.

It is fascinating how you can take an object and make it something else, simply by another name. You can do much the same with any information. Take an event an put a different spin on it and the scenario becomes an altered one. The presentation will lead people to make all sorts of assumptions. Their assumptions would be correct based on the scenario you presented and but not necessarily on the truth. Thus it becomes an altered version of the truth.

I imagine this is much the same as Chinese whispers, all based on an interpretation from a single point. Yet the end rarely bears much relevance to the beginning since it has been distorted along the way. It's fascinating when you hear the final version and yet you were there at the start. I think a healthy place is to know the truth and not fight the altered version. Distortion is a reflection of the needs of others and not a reflection of you.

I went for a dog walk with a very glamorous, very gorgeous single and definitely yummy mummy this morning. I was explaining my reasons for my brothers generous gym gift. When I explained the rational of having somewhere to go where nobody expected you to go with anyone else, she was visibly shocked.

"Why would you want to go anywhere on your own"? she declared

"Surely the whole point is that you are trying to find someone to go to places with'?

She also declared that anyone who did not want to marry her simply had to be gay. I liked her. I loved her confidence in this statement but I loved it even more that I do not agree. I cannot think of anything worse than being on a permanent hunt to find a 'partner'. I like the fact that I can be on my own and the thought of having to hook up with a series of possibilities over an extended period would depress me. The thought of being in a relationship that I wouldn't die in a ditch for, makes me cold.

The benefit of choice, the benefit of being happy on your own, the joy of being able to go out and about without answering to anyone else - is that I do not need to compromise on what is right for me. I do not need to compromise at all. Being in a relationship because it is better than being on your own has to be the worst kind of lifestyle choice. The art of life is to move forward and not back.

So I shall carry on being happy going to the gym because I am able to go on my own. There are all sorts of things involved that challenge me about myself and it is a safe place to push those boundaries. Being on your own challenges all sorts of perceptions about yourself. This, if ready to face them - can only be a good thing.

On the subject of challenges....I had a few days of frantic credit card application. Middle child's SEN tribunal is imminent and I have to find several hundreds of pounds to fund that attendance by the Educational Psychologist. This has been a three year battle and the nights spent up until 3am wading through paperwork do not bear recall. Challenging the education authority and the medical establishment has been an emotionally draining process and is all set to come to a head.

So it was with some dismay that I received an email from the Ed Psych office to say that they do not accept credit card payments. This is 2010 for Christ sake. I am sure that there are many people that have the odd thousand pound sitting in their bank account, but I am not one of them. Given that most of the people that fight education authorities are parents of children in the state system, it would be a fair assumption that some of them are a little cash strapped.

I struggle in the concept that any company with fees that high, do not accept credit card payment. I can pay for a glass of wine and three chicken fillet skewers in my favourite pub with a credit card, yet not 1k attendance fees. Tis ridiculous. I am not entirely sure how to proceed. I could drive down there tomorrow and leave them the car. Missing a body part, two bald tyres and the contents that contain growth is unlikely to sway them. Perhaps if I washed it.

I have until tomorrow to solve this challenge

I can now hang off the bar and lift my knees up to my chest in 3 lots of ten. Having been looking at alternative employment I have had a blinding ides. Given my age, pole dancing would seem a little inappropriate. So armed with my little yellow bikini and prerequisite oil - I am going to provide a pull your knees up to your chest whilst hanging from a bar routine around the local care homes. Its a sure think.

If I carry on, I may end up in a home myself. I am loving the gym but I ache all over. If I didn't have a Tempur mattress I suspect I would have needed to order a hoist to get out of bed. Having read my 3 inch thick copy of The Psychology of Health, I suspect the benefits outweighthe pain, I just hope there is a point where I sink into bed at night without dreading the attempt of getting out in the morning.

Most of my gym chores involve core strength and building muscles. I am getting muscles, I am getting stronger, but I ache all over. There is one machine that I sneak on. I have to sneak on it as the gym instructor frowns deeply at machines. I also sneak on it because it has a little picture of which part of your body it works on. All bottom and thighs. I like this. However, it may take some time since every time I go near it, I have a near death experience.

I am supossed to use it for 5 minutes. I cannot get past 3.5 minutes before my legs feel a strange combination of being whacked with an iron bar and turning to jelly. For a short period after getting off - I am incapable of normal walking. I had to check with the instructor why everyone else using it was moving so much faster than me. Apparently they are using it incorrectly and a source of mirth from their office. I may have to start using it incorrectly.

I also find it strange how I don't really sweat. Sometimes I feel hot, most of the time I hurt and a couple of times I have to make a strange noise, particularly with the last few yanking your knees up to your chest thing, but no sweat. I am not sure which is better for you, sweat or pain. If I carried on to the point of sweating, I would have gone so far past the pain barrier that I would have to be stretchered out.

I am still grappling with the sauna, people seem to use it as a wrong turn. They come in, exclaim at the heat and leave. I am unclear as to why anyone should be surprised at the heat and unclear as to the benefit of staying no more than 60 seconds. I appear to be one of the only gym members that can hack it for more than this.

I suspect it is because they have seen me when I come out. Red would be inadequate in description. I look like I have had a tourniquet around my neck. My face is so red that it pulsates. I tried applying foundation in a bid to regain colour control and simply looked as if someone had attempted a dirty smear campaign. It is not attractive.

Having nearly passed out on more than one occasion I decided on sensible action. I took a cup of water in with me. The theory was good, the water rapidly became cool rather than cold. What I hadn't allowed for was the temperature that plastic could reach.

Trying to make the most of the time, I attempted a little meditation - cross legged, sweating and in silence seemed like an appropriate moment. My concentration was not as it should have been and midst poor attempt, I reached for my life saving water. It would be a fair assessment that meditating whilst you have a melting plastic cup attached to your lower lip is not relaxing. It hurt.

The other area of confusion for me is why women come into the sauna clutching a towel in a bid to retain their modesty, yet drop it the moment they reach the changing rooms. Call me old fashioned, but I find it slightly odd that people blow dry their head naked. I am not affronted by it, it just seems odd. Today a woman was blow drying her hair whilst wearing just a bra. It is not a good look. Knickers and blow drying I can understand. Bra and nothing else is simply odd.

I have spent some time researching today. I have worked out that I need a free website designer, loads of cash and a full understanding of distribution rights.

So far, I have none.

I have a clear choice. Make school lunches or write on here. If I write on here, then I don't have to make lunches. When I finish writing on here, I will still have to make lunches. It is a pattern of mine that I need to address. Avoiding the things I have to do because I don't want to do them, even though I will still have to do them.

I feel much the same about going to the loo. I know I need to but I can't be bothered. It is after all, spectacularly boring. So I hold on, as long as possible. Fortunately I am still of an age where I can. In twenty years time, the consequences of my avoidance do not bear consideration.

I am not going to the gym tomorrow morning. A healthy gap is in order - so I will go in the evening. I am noticing a difference. My arms have more shape, I am toning up. My shoulders are starting to look as if I hang from bars and lift my knees to my chest. It is all very exciting.

However if I keep this up on a daily basis, in 6 months time I shall have to start wearing small yellow bikinis and coating myself in baby oil. Not an attractive thought.

I flexed my new baby muscles in the bathroom this evening to impress upon the young, the new and finely defined body of their Mother. They were impressed. They starting flexing to and before I knew it we looked like a family of embryonic muscle builders. the teenager declined, he is still aching from yesterday. He also thought we were all insane. Sometimes it is very odd being the only female in the house of trouser.

So it was coming out of the gym this morning that I realised with absolute clarity that unless I want to stay in the position of finance by fire, no holidays and totting up tax credits in the hope of affording the gas bill - then I was the only person that is going to do something about it. To do something about it means doing something.

I can carry on with hand to mouth type wages but frankly, there would appear little joy on the horizon for the boys lifestyle. So I need to work on a cash making idea. I have several. Problems are two fold. Firstly I have no money to start anything up. Secondly I spend my whole time avoiding things.

This is not because I think I cannot do it, I think I can. I can do ideas, I can do marketing. I have a keen eye for what sells and where it should be placed. I am not good at things I don't know. I am not good at business.

The thought of speaking to people about complicated things as distribution and drop ship fills me with fear. I have a pathological aversion to dealing with anything I do not understand inside out. I have to understand everything to feel in control and when I don't, I generally avoid it at all costs. I looked at a purchasing course for buyers earlier this year. You had to be a buyer to do it. I would have to do the course before I was a buyer. It seems the whole world works in a different way to me. Nothing new there then.

I did make a couple of calls today. Apparently the idea I have would costs hundreds of pound to produce, despite the fact you can buy it in the states for 29 dollars. Now I may not know much about manufacturing, but clearly something is amiss. One of the areas I am not weak in is proving something wrong. There are lateral and literal thinkers, I am definitely lateral. If there is a way around it - I will find it.

Fear is quite paralysing. It stops you achieving what you might achieve because you may not achieve it. The only thing it guarantees is that you will never achieve it. I have dealt with quite a few things this year that I once thought myself incapable of. I am learning that dealing with things is really far better than not dealing with things.

It is quite a slow journey but it is definitely a journey.

There is no self fulfilling desire in this. I do not need a business that is a funded hobby. I need to make money. Ironic that money represents control to me. People have it, they control you with it. So to be in control, I need to have my own. There will reach a point in the future that for the first time in my life, I can take my children into a clothes shop and pay full price, I will be able to book a holiday for us all that involves getting on a plane to somewhere hot. I will for the first time be able to take the children into a cafe and let them order what they want. Money will not be about controlling someone else, it will be about providing a life.

I am now going to make sandwiches and tomorrow night I shall go to the gym.

Small steps, big changes.

I am exhausted.

I struggled with 6.30am this morning. Have been to work again, walked the Bitch twice and been to the gym. I still ache from yesterday and I ache even more today.

There was an open day at the Gym, so the teenager came. I am on a mission to motivate him. He lasted 5 minutes on the treadmill before he felt sick. I fear this may be more to do with an unhealthy level of sleeping. We had a long debate on fitness level. I fear that he struggles with the concept that exercise is about your self and not about competition.

When someone has been behaving really horridly, it is hard to overlook that and spend time with them. The frustration about children is that when they behave really hideously, it normally means that you need to spend more time with them.

Its a tough call. Child behaves badly and you want to behave equally badly by saying you want nothing to do with them. Yet you are the adult, remembering this is sometimes harder than any of the minor tasks you have to fulfill. Children do and say some really unkind things when they are hurt or angry. The things that they want to say are then the things that they become totally incapable of saying. It is up to the adult to see past the behaviour and see what is really going on. This is no easy task.

They push you and they test you. When there are deeper issues afoot it is like having a toddler. When they may be insecure, they think that you don't like them. They try and get you to prove it by being vile. When you respond in a way that fits their own perception, all you achieve is proving their inner believe that they are not nice.

What is so staggeringly sad is that sometimes, it follows through into adulthood. I have met more than my fair share of adults that did not get the validation they sought as a child - so they seek it as an adult. Testing, pushing, trying to get you to prove that they are no good. When you don't give them what because you think they are, they simply test further. When you do give them what they need, they don't believe you because deep down, they don't believe it themselves. It sucks.

Sometimes stuff happens like divorce, death, health issues, bullying - whatever. Some children sail through, some don't. Some carry a huge amount of anger, some carry a huge amount of fear. Most cannot articulate it. As adults we have two choices: see the actions at face value and respond with withdrawal or try and understand those actions and carry on doing what we all promised to do as a parent - which was to always be there.

It is the hardest promise you can make but it is simply what you do. No one promised you would like your children, but they are your children. There are times when I can visualise strangling some of mine but they didn't ask to be here. It was my choice.

So he is still a pain in the proverbial, but for an hour - there was no washing on the floor, no shoes kicked in the hall way and no dirty plates in the sink. For the briefest moment, I and my gorgeous son spent time together and enjoyed it. Tomorrow he may well go back to being offensive but I know that the one thing he is certain of, is that I will always love him. That is what being a parent has to be about. It's not about being right. It is simply being.

I will hold on to this. Tomorrow, I may want to wring his neck.

On a more superficial level. I am a little disappointed at the level of attractiveness of fellow gym goers. The women are all simply gorgeous but sadly, not area of great joy for me. I think the gorgeous men were hired in for publicity purpose. So far the visual stimuli has been a tad off putting. I appreciate that people join gyms when they are unfit or old but I need more motivation in my bid to become more fit and younger.

Exhausted, aching and robbed.

I am suffering short bout rage syndrome.

This is my day: get up at 6am, walk the dog, go to work, come home, walk the dog, sort out the washing, do some filing, go to the gym, come home, cook dinner, spend evening downloading spending habits in bid to grasp nettles, clean up, sweep large amount of floor, clean large amount of floor, more washing, clean kitchen, load dishwasher, write on blog, fold up ironing, hang out more washing etc, etc

Teenager: Get up in the afternoon, pull clean washing out of machine and dump on floor, find paracetomal in medicine cabinet by pulling other meds out first and leave door open, dump soap-powder on washing (after having knocked washing off pile) leave wrappers in amongst clean washing, eat dinner with no thanks, go out, come back, dump all stuff in hall way and in so doing, block entrance, let dog in sitting room, let dog get nappy out of bin and shred all over sitting room floor. Refuse to clear up nappy as not dog owner, mess up sofa, go into other room - leaving cushions all over place. Leave all lights and television on, despite knowledge of financial crisis. leave mugs upstairs, dump plate on side and to top it all, be rude, sullen and stroppy.

So this is the joy of parenting. This is just one child. This is one child that is deliriously happy and content at the moment.

Tomorrow I can get up at 6am and start the whole thing all over.

Housekeeper, Cook, Dogs body, psychologist, nemesis - seeking additional income and another 5 hours a day.

Jealous?

I am getting very into the gym thing. Tis funny how you have a set idea of yourself and things change - suddenly your assumptions are just that. Exercise and I have a chequered history. Joining, going for a couple of weeks and giving up. Add to that, years of children and the guilt that goes with doing something for yourself.

I once broached the lack of me time with someone that I was married to. He told me I could get a horse. Where he thought I would get the money for one was another matter. Horses take a great deal of time and a great deal of money. Four children and a husband rarely around, are not compatible with either. Had I been a lady with nothing better to do - it may have been possible but I am not and if I had nothing better to do, I suspect I would have find something better to do. That is the thing about motherhood, before you know it you are not only not the painting, not just the frame. If you are not careful, you end up as the hook.

Always having something better to do meant the fitness thing went out the window too. I still have lots of better things to do, but I have now re framed my reference. Looking after your own health and mind, means that you are better equipped to deal with the better things to do. Given the things I have to achieve on a daily basis and the scale of the long term responsibility - I am prioritising me and my mind and bottom.

So today I doubled my work out, on the basis that it has not hurt so far. I added 15 yank yourself up on the trapeze ropes. I then added these pull up things that I heard another woman complaining made her sick. Sounded good. You basically hang off a bar and have to heave your knees up to to your elbows. I struggled after 7.

"I can manage 7" I said.

"Excellent" said the gym instructor "So make it ten"

I have worked out that the trick is to not tell the instructor what you can do, lest he holds you to it next time. Next time I go, I may be so bruised I will be unable to walk - let alone lift anything. ~Still, before I know it I will have a bottom of steel and the stamina of a Gurkha.

I have an accolade to give to one of my oldest friends. After years of unadulterated crap, she has found a great freelance job. This woman married someone from a magazine that it also worked on. They had two children. They got divorced. This was the all too common point that he shafted her. She lost their home and because he was self employed, his income 'apparently' plummeted - and she was given enough money every month to pay for about a weeks worth of food.

He was particularly classy. She stayed in the home. He stopped paying the mortgage because he couldn't afford it. Following a visit from the bailiffs, she had to move into a dire rental in a dire area. At this point, he moved back into the house and miraculously began making mortgage payments. She tried working full time but with children to get back and forwards to school, homework, washing and juggling children when ill, she nearly killed herself in the process. He still sees his children, still pleads poverty and still messes her around and yet still has a nice life, still goes on holiday. He even had the audacity to ask her to help advise him on decorating his home.

So she now has some well paid work. Granted, the rent takes up more than half and after bills she still has no money left over for the niceties in life for the children or for herself but after 4 years of hell - she has finally been acknowledges for the talented and strong woman that she is. I know that she is still wrecked, still on her own because she has no spare time - but she is my hero for surviving whilst everything is thrown at her.

I know this man. I liked him. I loathe him now. He never really got his head around the concept that there was no more 'them'. I think to this day that he has failed to accept that he has any say in her life, his actions have been those of grasping straws to remain in control. How making his children lose their home, live on benefits, is beyond my comprehension. I would have thought that he would be bending over backwards to support her in raising his children, in acknowledging the fact that she is there day in day out and cannot simply do as she likes, as he appears to.

It seems to me that there is a great deal of bollocks in the law on children. Current CSA guidelines dictate a man only need pay 15% for 1 child, 20% for 2 or 25% for three or more. (how any more than 3 does not cost more is another mind blower). The very fact that there is a CSA means that there are too many fathers that appear to not be clear on what they should be doing. No child should ever know that the only way they were supported is because a government dictum towards bare minimum.

What I struggle with, is how parents can share legal responsibility and yet are not legally responsible for half of the costs in raising them. Imagine her husband earned about 15k after tax. With 3 children he would have to give her 3.5k per year. Yet in her capacity as sole carer, she has to provide absolutely everything for her three children, all their clothes, their food, their fun, their education, their toothpaste. On top of this she has bigger bills, more washing, cooks all the time. In fact she is a cleaner, Cook, housemaid and personal assistant. Her earning capacity is reduced because the children have holidays, the children are ill and the hours she can work are on the whole, restricted to lower paid jobs.

This is where it is all wrong. 100% of the responsibility and too many thousands of men simply paying the bear minimum . This doesn't include those that try to get away with nothing. Why would anyone want to subject their children to that? There are simply too many woman struggling to look after children, having to work menial or unpaid jobs in a bid to get that little extra because women like my chum, will always do what they have to in making sure that their children are okay. Doing the bear minimum will never be enough. Each and every man that has a child should do what they have to do, to make sure their children are not raised with the minimum.

The law sucks. It is so simple. Make men responsible for paying half the costs of what it actually costs to raise children. Men like Mr P, who can fix his income by various means - should be hauled before the courts and the inland revenue for their creative accounting. The day he moved back into the home, there should have been a court official on the doorstep saying

"Now MR P, something seems a little amiss here"

Yet they don't and because they don't, my chums children cannot understand how Daddy can afford to do things, when Mummy constantly feels guilty about not being able to afford a school trip. Take head in this dear friend, your children worship you because you are always there. You are beautiful and hardy and may this be the start of your life improving.

I guess it all comes down to personal conduct. Mr P is a tosser. My chum knows this and sadly the children can see it to. This is 2010, children shouldn't be looking back at their child hood and still going on about how much their mother suffered in trying to provide a secure and happy life for them. That's what children did in the 30's.

Divorce is an almost certainty for most couple walking up the aisle nowadays. Single parent families are common place. All children should be looking back and marveling at how great it was having two great parents in two different houses, happily going from one to the other and not detecting the games, the differences and the unfairness. All children should know that both parents would do all and everything they can to give them the life they deserve.

So to Mr P. You are an arse and I no longer like you. At all. I pray I do not ever bump into you again as I fear I may have to tell you what I think

On the subject of working. I may have found some possibility of a small amount of money. It means looking after someone else's children on the one night a week that my children are not here. There is a touch of irony here that has not escaped me, but needs must. I need to see if childcare can be arranged first. It is not escaping my notice that when the children are away, I work. When the children are here I work on children responsibility type things.

So much for me time.

I feel another round of stomach crunches coming on

I have had one glass of wine too many (two) and have done something really stupid.

Never ever convince yourself of the good in people and tell them you see it. I am going to take up kick boxing instead

Sometimes I hate myself. Which fool invented wine?

I have said many times that everything in life, happens for a reason. Yesterday someone in this house broke the computer. On questioning, it was apparently nobody and yet it was defiantly and somewhat mysteriously stuffed. So I fix it. A rare and unexpected opportunity to sit down, I allow myself a few moments of web trawling. Checking through the history, I accidentally load Gumtree and stumble across a role that has my name all over it. Another moment of Karma.

The local comedy and arts venue are looking for an unpaid marketing assistant. Not just any venue but one that originates in Brighton, town of living people. Those that dip into this blog may recall my last visit there. I wept all the way home. The people of Brighton had a pulse. I, with my numerous children and range cooker, had returned to the country to await certain death.

Rigor Mortise no more. Modernity, humour and cosmopolitan night life has arrived in the West Country. It all slots into place. My marriage implodes, I get down to a size 6, a social life and my humour back. Bath not only gets a proper comedy and arts venue, but a Kurt Geiger shop. Life is looking up.

Granted, I have a career versus experience crisis, am facing possible re homing in a Rotastack, a heady experience with the serial dater and financial ruin. Yet, in the children's refusal to stay away from the computer, I may have stumbled across the answer.

So its unpaid. This is a good thing. Paid and I would have to lie to an uncomfortable level. The kind of spin required on my CV could constitute grounds for legal action. Unpaid, I can be a little more realistic. I know I can do it but lets face it, I have had a career break that should see me on the New Years Honours list for dedicated population expansion. Knowing I can do it and persuading someone that I am the ideal candidate, is another proposition. The fact that its a fixed term is the perfect solution. Ample chance to regain my experience and prove my worth and ample opportunity for them to wave a fond farewell at the end. Which they won't.

So I embark on a little research. Like any new relationship, I google the name of the person placing the ad. It bodes badly. According to google, she is a hard core porn star. I think the error was adding Bath to the search. A similar issue arouse a few years ago when looking for a shower. For a moment I wondered if this was the kind of marketing I wanted to get into and whether the advert was a double bluff. It seems not. I take Bath out and the search becomes more appropriate.

Reading through the skills required, I assess my own strengths. There is one major issue, interviews start from today and I have a curriculum vitae that could only be padded out by including birthing notes. I read the description and trawl through the specification, wondering how I can rewrite the gaps in appropriate work related format.

A genuine interest in live performance and the arts.

I have an active a keen supporter of live performance and the arts. I have attended a wide variety of events on a regular basis

Okay, so this could be tricky. Is an interest simply that, or does it have to be a recent and proven history of actually paying. Will the submission of ticket stumps be prerequisite and if so, can I tippex over the date? I could happily bleat on about Cirque de soleil or Stomp in the hope that they fail to ask in which decade I went. I have been to the theatre twice in the last 3 months but it Beauty and the Beast is hardly cutting edge. I once spent far too much of my time at Jongleurs and the Comedy Store and nearly wet myself on several occasions. I saw Lee Evans in the days when people said "Lee who"?

I once orchestrated a cake delivery by helicopter and was instrumental in a large group of the serving forces reenacting a fly past on bicycles. It was definitely an art form.

Excellent written and spoken English

I am articulate and well spoken. I have worked as a freelance journalist on many well known titles.

My ability to articulate has seen grown men whimpering at my feet. If there are chinks in my armour, they are not in verbal tenacity. I may occasionally struggle to remember a word but when others were reading Noddy at bedtime, I read a thesaurus. Possible a little quirky but quirky and articulate I do well.

I should also fare well with the written word. I have on occasion, rambled for titles such as The Times and The Telegraph. I have written about cars, breasts, sperm and murder. I have written computer manuals, press releases and my party invitations are second to none. I am not sure the topics are entirely relevant but hey, writing is writing. I was once predestined to be a top copy writer with a rubber floored Dockland kitchen, and first name reference in Campaign magazine. Fertility put paid to that, but I can still write copy.

A flexible and proactive approach to work.

I am a diligent and flexible worker. I am both proactive and conscientious and happy to offer assistance wherever needed.

Today I tended to the ill of Wiltshire in my work as sympathetic, efficient Call Handler. If you got top notch service, had your call answered efficiently, with compassion and received a quality of care exceeding your expectation, you spoke to me.

When I got home, I plastered a wall, restored and painted a cupboard, made a banana cake, wrote a press release on Triple Action Bypass Loppers, eradicated the lives of 17 headlice, built a space station, made dinner, counseled a mentally unstable friend, walked the evil dog and broke up an argument between waring siblings. I call that flexible and proactive.

A helpful and positive disposition

I am a very positive person and am always willing to lend a hand where needed.

Frankly, after the last couple of years, if I hadn't been positive I would have had to resort to large amounts of Valium or Vodka. I have had more to contend with than most people face in a lifetime. I look better and feel better than I have in years. My life is back on track and I am taking control for the first time in years. My shoe collection and acerbic wit have helped.

I help in school, I write peoples copy, I apparently run a free drop in centre for local teenagers, I apparently lend children expensive and prohibited electrical equipment and I help the nations young with menial tasks on a daily basis. My services are offered freely and with abandon.

Ability to work under pressure and to tight deadlines & time management skills

I work well in busy and demanding environments and can achieve a high volume of work, within time and on target.

I have 4 children. I am constantly under pressure. Everything in my life is a deadline. The children get to school, they get fed, my eyebrows are still plucked and if I say I am going to be in the pub at 8pm, I will be there and looking like a goddess. I have no idea how I achieve it all. I suspect high levels of adrenalin coursing through my veins. My ability to complete tasks scares people. Sometimes it scares me and I wonder if I am in fact normal. I know that others wonder this too.

Office and computer skills, Photoshop desirable but not essential.

I am computer literate and experienced in an office office background. I have used many computer systems and am able to pick up new skills quickly.

I work in the NHS. The system changes daily and nobody tells you. This is on the job training in the extreme. About a month after you have discovered you can link one set of notes to another, there will be an email telling you that you can link one set of notes to another. I have absolutely no idea how computers work, have never got my head around fax machines but I spend far too much of my life on computers. If you need anyone to guaranteed to win an item on eBay or find a cheats way of executing the impossible, 'tis me.

Granted, I have never used Photoshop but in the days of stone tablets, I qualified as a Graphic Designer. Whilst fellow students chiseled stone, I animated a ball running the gauntle of a Helter Skelter. It may seem nothing now, but back then it was impressive. For a moment, I was a computer goddess and my ball was in Computer Animator magazine. Who knows, I could be a Photoshop demon.

Research skills

I am skilled at researching and collating information relevant to the task at hand.

I am the cyber sleuth. I can find out almost anything I need to know. My ability to unearth undisclosed information is well documented (infidelity and divorce). I have outwitted paediatricians, educational psychologists and pathologists. If you want the cheapest walnut flooring in the country, the latest Reiss dress at knockdown price or the computer keys last seen in the dogs jaw, I am the woman. If you think you can hide something, be scared.

Have a passion for marketing and ideally background knowledge or previous experience in the field of marketing and or communications.

Prior to having children, I had experience of working both in marketing and public relations and a good understanding of both. I am a qualified Graphic Designer and a skilled Copywriter. I have experience of writing for print.

I worked for a London marketing company for a few months. Granted, it wasn't long but those big signs that used to hang over your head in Somerfields, I did those. The marketing campaign for a well known antihistamine, I did that (though so long ago I can barely recall). I was offered a job for a top London agency as a copywriter. Alas the recession hit and my job went with it.

I worked in a PR company for nothing simply because I wanted the experience. Short of cash and a house with barely a roof, I took a job as a sales coordinator for a national waste disposal company. I spent a large proportion of my time drawing pie charts on the market share of rear end loaders in UK industrial sites.

I am a demon shopper and a source of all that is interior. I have a quite staggering and disturbing ability to retain information on price, availability and design. Mainly at the user end, I have extensive experience of which marketing tactics work and which fail.

As one of the few people I know not running my own company, I have a long history of telling people where and how they should market their company. I am hoping the will all give me shares or leave me fortunes in their wills. So far all it had gained is a free dog lead, a few dinners and a lot of friends with exceedingly small marketing budgets.

Degree Students (or graduates) on placements welcome

I am a graduate and would like the opportunity of applying for the Marketing Assistant Intern role

Technically speaking I could be a graduate applying for this role. It does not stipulate how long ago you should have graduated. If they are going to be welcoming to such an application, perhaps I could apply under this guise and hope they fail to notice that it was 20 years ago. Alternatively, I could simply point out that those mid life bound have more determination, flexibility, transferable skill, staying power and less pride. I can also make better tea.

Yet there is a small sticking point. Interviews are from the 18th January. Today is the 17th and it is nearly midnight. I have no Curriculum Vitae. There is no deadline, but it would be reasonable to expect it was prior to interview.

A pragmatic approach is called for. If I have no Curriculum Vitae, I cannot send one. I have the skills for the job, I want the experience and life dictates that the timing is perfect.

I just need to tell them that.

I went out this evening with a previous date. Having bumped into him a couple of times, I received a text saying he was going out with a couple of friends if I wanted join them. Bored already with my 'Not going out' campaign, I joined them.

I am unclear as to the etiquette of meeting up with old dates when you don't want to date. It didn't really occur to me that just because I didn't want to date, that everyone should feel the same. It only occurred to me on the way. I wondered if I should have sent some text saying 'Would love to meet, but I am not looking to date'. He may not be looking to date and would then view me as arrogant, It is all so complicated.

I went anyway. I laughed so much, I physically ached. I laugh very loudly and there is a chance I may never get invited again. We all ended up talking about dating anyway. Tis a small town and everybody knows everybody and is sure to know who everyone dated. I knew my old dates latest date. She was recently dating a neighbours friend. My old dates friend knows my last date. When I mentioned I had dated a serial dater, he knew exactly who it was. In fact, he had worked for him.

It was with some embarrassment that he revealed this serial dater had dated almost every woman in the county and was most apologetic for knowing this.

It is a strange thing. Everyone thinks that I must be the last in a line of devastated dates. I am not. I knew the reputation, I listened to the warnings. I made my own mind up.

I do not regret it. I enjoyed it. I loved it. This man made me feel totally alive. Granted the mind games threw me for a while, but the minute I realised he was in fact emotionally damaged - ~I felt far more comfortable.

I don't feel sorry for myself. I do not feel used. I feel saddened that this man will be lonely. I feel saddened that he could be so much more. I feel saddened that he has an addiction that he can probably recognise but is not ready to deal with. I still believe that his feeling are honest but his feelings are the thing that scare him most.

Anyone that has to date to the degree he does is not happy. It is not about sex, it is about emotional commitment. Hand your emotions to someone else and they have the power to annihilate you. This is not a risk he can take. Hand your emotions to someone else and you risk being happy. Being happy risks being unhappy. Far too scary.

I know it, he knows it. Serial daters are not players. Players are in it for the game, for the sex. Serial daters are in it because they thing the answer lies in someone else, but that someone else never quite matches up. They can never match up - because if they did, they might see you for what you really are. Serial daters never feel good enough.

A repetitive cycle. Feel like you are not good enough. Date, dump, feel guilty. Guilt makes you feel a bit crappy about yourself, so you date someone else to get the high. And so it goes on. One day, probably in the next 5 years, my serial dater will wake up any realise that gnawing loneliness and unhappiness that leads him to constantly search out women - is eating away at him. Before he knows it, he will be 50 and alone.

Does this hurt me? No, it hurts him. I simply feel saddened.

I will not think badly of him. He is not gods gift to woman, he is emotionally immature. I cared about him, I will always care. He is a sensitive, complicated, unique man. Sadly, he is so wound up in his own thought process, that he is incapable of offering it to anyone else. Such a shame. In many ways he had the potential of being my perfect match. The only sadness is that it was simply potential.

He fascinates me. Serial dating fascinates me. It fascinates me that everyone would assume that I would hate a man because he is terrified of any form of emotional commitment. Granted, it would have been easier and less painful if he had been honest. And boy, was it painful. Here in lies the problem. If he was honest about his issues, then he would not be a serial dater. See, not really possible.

The dates of players, get wined, dined, lied to and shagged. The dates of serial daters get taken on an emotional roller coaster and spat out at the end. The dates of serial daters get over it. Serial daters don't. My serial dater was honest with me to the point he had to start being honest with himself.

I will never regret sleeping with a man who's house is painted in the same colour as mine. I will never regret sleeping with a man that googles every thing to the degree I do. I will never regret sleeping with a man that questions to the degree I do.

The only thing I regret, is that I ended up having to feel sorry for him

I had to post again. I realised that I had written the word presence and not the word present. Sometimes the detail matters, sometimes it doesn't. If I had meant presence I could have meant something entirely different.

Words are a form of control. We can manipulate, control, cause pain, damage, love and kindness simply in the words we choose to use. The way in which we use them can be to our own advantage or to none. We can bully or threaten in the most passive way. We can encourage, support or intimidate in a simple sentence.

For the reader, we can choose our own interpretation, we can try and read between the lines or we can take them at face value. We can read the newspaper and choose whether it be manipulation or meaningless page fillers.

Life would be simple if it were all simpler.

My blog would read like this:

Did some DIY

Fed the boys

Chatted with son

Felt tired

Now you can read between the lines and fill in your own blanks.

Walking to school today, I got the thumbs up by some men driving a Sodhexo van. Clearly, I am showing my age because I was not flattered, but irritated that they thought it appropriate to show overture to a school mum - whilst driving a van that supplies school lunches to children. If I was running Sodhexo I would be even less impressed.

There will, I feel sure, reach a point in the next 10 years, that I am flattered. I suspect in 10 years it may not happen. Perhaps I should have been flattered. On the other hand, the male ability to find attractiveness simply in being female, means that I am undoubtedly right not to be so.

I had a conversation with a friend about cost cutting. This led onto talk of dogs and then anal glands. She and her husband had watched a YouTube clip on how to deal with this tricky issue. The key is to inserting and pulling upwards and out. It then clearly states

"Do not have your face in direct line of the anus"

Clearly good advice. Mine was pay the vets fee, there are times when money is very well spent.

I went to the doctors today. The only appointment was after school. I think it may be a policy to discourage my attendance. Having decided it was good planning to warn the small ones I would need to expose my breasts, lest they die of hysterical laughter, I soon regretted it.

The waiting room was full.

"Why are you here?" asks another child

"My Mummy is going to show them her boobies" said small child.

So another trip to the clinic, another squeeze and flatten xray and another biopsy. No man is coming near me unless he has a local anaesthetic or a large container of gas and air. I pray that it is not after school.

It is the week of heart to heart with the children. Stuck up a step ladder is a good time, since they know you are going nowhere. It makes me feel a little guilty, since I realised that it has been some time. It also makes me realise that no matter the age, they do all want to talk. Wanting to talk and being able to do so are not entirely the same thing. I count myself so very lucky that I have boys that on the whole can talk about anything. I count myself very amiss in not having done so for such a long time.

Children are very hardy. They can cope with anything. Sometimes things go on in their head, sometimes there are external behaviours that indicate there is something going on. Sometimes they won't tell you because they don't want to rock the boat. Sometimes they don't realise they have a right to their views and that people want to hear them. Sometimes they try and I am too busy and I miss the cue.

Stuck up a ladder in a kitchen full of dinner plates and washing on the floor, makes me feel a trifle overwhelmed. The task of raising 4 boys and trying to achieve a simple job of DIY is overwhelming. Everything takes longer and nothing is ever completed. Two pictures got broken and one school shoe went missing. One child didn't want dinner, the dog ate someone elses. One child scowls at each other and the other cries. The dog licks the paint and the minute I get to the top of the ladder, another child falls over. I get down, I break something else and the whole thing just goes on. By the time I have achieved nothing, I have to do bath time. By the time they are in bed, I want to go to but I have to get back up the ladder.

But it is the moments when your child is really talking and trusting you with their inner thoughts, that you realise how special and precious they are.

Yesterday they were quite special too. We tried to harness the dog to a toboggan. She was having none of it. We had to resort to tying the middle child and making him run up and down instead. He has to be the most compliant child in the world.

I hope that they retain there ability to talk. I hope they grow up honest and sensitive. I hope that any damage that I will have undoubtedly done damages nothing in their future. I hope that they have moral fibre, self esteem and kindness. I can only hope since I cannot predict the future, I can only be part of the presence.

On a totally irrelivent note. I was looking at the photograph of policemen using riot shields as toboggans. I think I may start a support group. In a society of rules, regulations and litigation, I for one, thought it refreshing. We are supposed to be a nation of quirky. We are supposed to be a bit mad. People that are obsessed with how they appear to others are generally the ones you need to worry about.

I was brought up to believe that you earn respect and should not demand it. I respect ingenuity. I respect people being humans.

If you want respect, earn it. If you want respect, be human.

If you want fun, bend the rules

I have an emotionally wobbly child. You know when they are seriously emotionally wobbly, when you ask if they are sad and their eyes fill up. Serious level stuff is the sudden shoving of face in your armpit and a refusal to come out. It lasted a good hour and was utterly heartbreaking.

We talked of everything and reassurance of all you could reassure for was offered. By morning and following a night with a small urine smelling individual clamped onto me, the same individual was found in the larder and the whole armpit routine was repeated. Tis tricky when dealing with the upset young - most of the time they are incapable of articulating what is going on themselves. They have had a disrupted routine over Christmas, I have seen little of them and they had a social calender this weekend that came with late nights. I suspect some insecurity. A normal week, potato and early nights are in order. I suspect getting them out of my bed will not happen with ease.

Another chat was called for this evening. It was explained that as a general rule of thumb, if an adult tells them to keep something from their mother, it undoubtedly a bad request. When an adult gets cross that something was not kept from their mother, it is a sign that there really may be a bit of an issue. No Enid Blyton at this door at the moment.

The thing is, 'stuff' always finds a way of coming out eventually. One of the things I find most fascinating about life, is the way in which it unravels itself. Before you is a web of connections that you never knew existed. You meet someone, there is what appears to be a co-incidence. From this many more grow. It is as if the whole thing was mapped out and in many ways, I believe it is. I don't believe in co-incidence. I believe that there is a reason behind every thing that happens. Every path you cross, every person you meet - it all has a meaning. It just may not be obvious at the time. Rest assured that at some time, maybe sooner, maybe later - it will all become very clear and at that point you will know with absolute certainty. Clarity is not the same as psychicness.

I attempted to get to the gym today. It is up a hill that I have avoided for fear of sliding off the side into oblivion. Today was a day of mission, finish the DIY and get to the gym. I didn't finish the DIY, though my plastering is a fine piece of work. I got as far as changing for the gym, driving there and hitting the drive way. This is when it got a tad hairy. How I made it past the car coming down the wrong one way, I am unclear.

The front of my car was heading forward but the back end was shaking its booty in spectacular fashion. I didn't even make it as far as the lower car park. It was clear that the only way out would be in a 4 wheel drive and I only knew 2 men with one of those. Neither were men I would phone and I didn't fancy dieing of exposure in a bid to place pride over survival. I did what any self respecting woman would do. I turned around, slid out and went to the pub for a very large glass of wine.

I am not entirely sure as to how the conversation of age came up. This barmaid and I have some unbelievable conversations and this was a relatively tame one

"How old are you then" asked the barmaid

"Oh, 53" say I

"Are you really" she says, with the absolute innocence of youth.

Wrong answer. Stupid of me really. So a short game off '10 years younger' took place - whereby you ask a couple of fellow bystanders how old the 53 year old at the bar is. Men are generally too scared to overage women so I instantly became 34. Much better.

Interestingly, men appear to be much more willing to lie about their age. I was looking on a dating website recently (it's a long story and no, I was not looking for a date) If you get bored look at men between 40 and 45. Now there is either something seriously wrong with my perception of men in this category, (though many do look a little tired by this age) or there are simply too many deluded men. I think I may know the answer to this already.

One local man is 43 and an entrepreneur. In reality, he is 53 and a trader. If you want honesty - do not look at a dating website. If you want truth, go and hail any man off the street and do not even consider a relationship unless you have a full psychological profile completed.

I said this to one man I dated.

" you can have any psychological profile completed on me" he said with utter confidence.

Beware the double bluff.

I made a doctors appointment today. I have an odd breast issue and have been avoiding dealing with it. I have had an issue twice before and all has been fine. The last time involved a very long needle and assurance that local anaesthetic would be more painful than simply shoving it in and sucking something out. This was a lie to.

Never believe a man with no breasts brandishing a long needle, that something is not going to hurt. It is a lie. It is possible that it would not have hurt, had he known which bit to extract from. He didn't. There was a lot of routing around and I can safely say that it was an eye watering experience. The last time there was an issue, it involved sleeping tablets. After events in the last few months I am resigned to curve balls and nothing stops me sleeping.

I am a woman of avoidance. I avoid the little things that I have no interest in for too long, certain I will die of tedium if I do them. My serial dater purchased many litres of screen wash and kindly filled my reservoir early this year. A move so sweet and considerate it caused the pinprick of tears (thought it does not take much). Apparently, he struggled with the idea that I could replace the garden tap, but had been driving with no screen wash for 6 months.

The tap was not more interesting but it became a matter of principle, since people were offering to do it for me. Bloody minded that I am, I did it myself. True enough that I had to call the lovely plumber on a Sunday morning to ask why my stop cock was so tight. Apparently it is common knowledge that it works in reverse and I had in fact, been tightening it. So I replaced the tap. There was a slight issue with washers and the resulting tap is now at a 90 degree angle, but it works.

The screen wash was just another mundane chore and nothing about it excited me enough to do it. I have a very pragmatic approach. There is a problem, there should be a solution. The solution may not be the same as every one else's but on the whole, it works. When the final bathroom light bulb went a couple of weeks ago, I lit candles. Changing the light bulb required looking for one, probably not finding one, probably having to drive to get one and probably buying the wrong one. I lit the candles. For two weeks we had candle lit baths and I could not see my reflection. Heavenly.

This weekend I decided that there are certain things that I can no longer avoid. I had to plaster a wall. It is years since I had to weald a plasterers float and had forgotten what a loathsome task it was. Many years ago, when money was tight, though apparently more available than 20 years on - I donned a girly summer dress and went and knocked on the door of a house being renovated by a band of builders. My request for some lessons in plastering was met with amusement but by the end of it, I was fairly competent plasterer. Result was a plastered house at little cost. The only thing I found tricky was mixing the stuff. It took hours with a kitchen whisk.

Plastering is an art you have to keep up with. My attempts today were laboured and I very nearly and very literally threw in the trowel. By the end of the day, the wall is complete and fairly flat. Someone once told me that plasterers die of heart attacks because the hand is raised higher than their heart for such a large part of their life. I suspect they die of boredom. You do, however, have to admire any man that goes out day after day, to do the same job, day in day out. There is something admirable about the job, money, life aspect of it rather than the job, life, money theme to something more 'career orientated. I will not be retraining as a plasterer.

The smell of the stuff brought back many memories of converting this house, and the one before. This one is still not entirely finished but was years in the making. Filling holes and squeezing sealant brought with it many flashbacks of just how much work went into it. I don't think there is one inch of this house that I don't know or has not been touched. The floor I stand on was paid for with the insurance money to replace my jewellery when we were broken into. I never did but the oak is very nice. The door I open, was rescued from a barn and lovingly restored. The stone wall in the kitchen was exposed by myself with a Kango Hammer Action drill, on the very day I found out I was pregnant with my third child. So many memories and evoked by the smell of plaster. Funny how the memory works and the things that come back when you least expect it.

The familiarity of DIY brought back memories for children old enough to remember. Most of their lives were lived in a building site. When asked what I would be doing in 12 years time, I stated I may well be living in the Maldives. He was not impressed. Certain that I would still be living near Bath, it was a short conversation. I pointed out in fact, having moved around so much as a child - I had been determined that they would grow up in one place and they have, with requisite God Parents living within sight.

Tis the absolute rule of children in that they will actively seek to have an entirely different childhood to there own. Ironic that the bits in your childhood you loathe and that you change, your children will change. Yet the bits in your childhood that you loathed and do nothing about, you replicate and cause the same issues again and again.

I forsee a life in the military and me having to visit them in a modern house that has never seen a stroke of DIY.

I am writing this since what I should be doing is paperwork. See, avoidance. Just because I don't do something, doesn't mean I don't know that it is there

A small interlude in sugar soaping. Self correction.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez did not write the Devil and Miss Prym. In fact it was Paulo Coelho.

This would explain why this is not one of Gabriels best, which in my opinion was One Hundred Years of Solitude.

Whilst I spend a further minute avoiding rinsing the walls. Listen to this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qz9fpQrlrAY

A youngman/boy that I work with wrote this. I was stunned. The job we do is not rocket science, it's not hard - simply listening, being polite and making appropriate reply.

You do not have to be skilled to do it and it would be easy to make assumptions. People always assume I am dim

(which in truth, I can be), but there is something very beautiful about someone that can write lyrics or music.

I take my hat off to you.

Round two to the sugar soap

I went to bed early last night. Being cold is so tiresome. I am going to start campaigning for a new government initiative that all women, currently going through divorce - that have been suddenly made responsible for all utility bills - should get an extra heating allowance in extreme weather conditions.

I don't mind being cold, but this is ridiculous. Each and everytime I go out, I have to dress up like Nanook of the North. As an incentive for never gaining innapropriate weight, it works wonders. Once I have been encased in the padded ski trousers and the North Face, I become a size 14. My thighs brush together and I have to turn sideways to get through the stile. I am sure that you get used to it but frankly, I am bored of that too.


So last night I was in bed early, having decided a book and a down quilt was the answer. Except I could not decide what to read. I pitched between a 3 inch copy of Gestalt Psychology, a book on mistakes in business and finally, Gabriel Gabriel Garcia Marquez, The Devil and Miss Prym. I love this author and whilst not the best novel, it was an interesting read.

A stranger arrives in the secluded mountain village of Viscos. This is the place that Chantal Prym would give anything to escape, and she is one of the first to speak with the newcomer. He is carrying 11 gold bars and a notebook. He explains that he is seeking help in answering an important question - are people basically good or are they evil?

It is an interesting wander through right and wrong and moral compass. I wonder if faced with similar quandry, how I would behave? I suspect I know the answer already but does anyone really know ?

Imagine if a friend had a large pot of money but you knew they owed it to another company. Your friend left the company and now has bitterness towards his ex employee. Imagine that you worked for the company and that money was for wages. Would you advise your co workers that the money was safe, reassuring them but knowing this was untrue and thus allowing the friend to keep the money? This choice would be based on loyalty. The other choice would be losing your friendship but knowing that your work colleagues had been paid their worth. Would this be the right thing? This would be tricky as in assuring your colleauges that their future was safe, your role becomes as important as the initial deceipt.

Is there a point where the level of uncomfortableness in doing wrong outweighed the need to gain any benefit from the deceipt. The benefit of loyalty would thus end up as deceipt. If the original friendship was based on getting some need fulfilled then the actions rely on a similar level of selfeshness. It would appear then that all of our actions are probably borne of an inate need to self serve. It makes sense in my head. Tomorrow I may read more of the psychology book.

I had an interesting exchange with someone about honesty and perception. I am not sure that you can seperate the two but if honesty is based on truth, it becomes easier. If you start with truth then peoples own perceptions of that can alter the course.

Obviously in deep analytical mode, I noticed my favourite tree this morning whilst walking the Bitch. Surrounded by snow and lit by an early sunrise, it was staggeringly beautiful. It struck me that hundreds of people have seen this tree over hundreds of years. Each occassion has been different. So many different times of day. Some saw it on a windy day, others when it rained. Some people were elderly, others were children. All saw the same tree, all left with a different impression.

The tree remained, on the whole - exactly the same.

So it is now butt clenching cold, which is handy since I cannot go to the gym. We have been snowball fighting with the dog. So much more one sided as she cannot throw them back and is stupid enough to keep trying to fetch something that disintegrates the minute she gets close. Interesting thought. Continually aspiring to something that will probably never happen. Life is an odd ride. Focus too far ahead and it prevents you from acknowledging what is going on in the present. Focus too much in the present and you do not take hold of your future. Focus on the past and you are going nowhere and life just keeps on ticking on anyway. Maybe the dog isn't as stupid as she appears.

I listened to a meditation tape the other night, another gift from kind sibling. It claimed it wasn't a relaxation tape but I did fall asleep within 10 mins. The theory worked, I focused on the present and at that particular time, I was knackered. Problem solved. I know someone who meditates regularly. In search of inner peace, it only seems to last as long as he actually meditates. I am not sure he has really grasped the long term concept of accepting things, life, thought as they are. I fear inner peace maybe some distance yearning.

My mantra of the last few months is that you cannot change the way someone behaves, you can simply change the way you respond to it. Tis absolutely true and when you sit down and simply observe it all becomes so much more fascinating. Calmness is more positive than any other emotion. Calmness comes from breathing in the present and taking responsibility for yourself. Calmness doesn't give you the quick fix of anger or bitterness but long term, the rewards are far, far more powerful.

And so the gym. I am fairly fit - I walk the bitch every day, I run around after 4 children, I rarely sit down but this is not necessarily strength and stamina. Strength and stamina allow you to get through life and still have some positivity at the end of it. So I am building it all up. In a year that will be my best despite my most challenging, I resolutely refuse to be burdened with the issues of others. This year is the one in which I focus on myself. Whatever life throws my way, I can deal with if I am positive. I will be and I take responsibility for it.

On the subject of positive thought. I am back to loving being single. The other day a simply drop dead gorgeous man smiled and said hello. He could have been no more than 30 and was of true fantasy material. Then I realised something. The world is full of some very beautiful people. I can say hello to who I like. I can find who I like attractive with no sense of guilt attached. I can take it all as far as I like and as long as I hurt no one in the process, I can have fun. This is a very good feeling. The feeling that I don't have to do anything I don't want to is even better.

I got breakfast in bed this morning. It was simply too cold to get up early and was rather delighted to have a small child appear, demanding that I do not get up. A couple of minutes later, more children had appeared and brought with them hot porridge and a cup of tea. Heaven.

"Can we watch TV now"? asked one

'Frankly' I said 'You have watched so much lately that I would rather you stood on your head. So he did.

Thus I got to eat my porridge with two children tucked amongst the covers and a pair of legs waving at me from the far end of the bed.

The children appear particularly clingy at the moment. Granted, I barely got to see them over the festive period for various reasons but they are back to sleeping in my bed and making declarations of love every two minutes. Clearly, I know I am the best mummy in the world and no-one could ever love them as much, I could not doubt it since the script is on constant re-run. As much as I adore them, getting a foot in my face at 3am is less endearing. I move them, I get back in bed and within minutes, one or two are back in. One has started having night terrors and the other can only sleep if physically attached. I would feel flattered but I suspect a little insecurity.

I am missing the sun. I love the snow, love the tobogganing, the snowball fights, the hot chocolate and the deep hot baths but I love the heat. Eldest mentioned Morocco today and I had a real hankering for a holiday. We haven't stepped foot on the steps of an aeroplane heading sunwards for at least 8 years. It was a brief thought. The car tax, heating, children and the bitch won.

Tra la la

I learnt something really important today. Do not go to the gym having only eaten a banana, work out, have a sauna and come home and drink three mugs of strong black coffee. The resulting retching in the toilet is ungainly. I was lucky to make it, the floor was swimming so much.

I thought the exercise program was a little lightweight. 30 minutes later and I realised that the reason they start you off lightly is that your body needs to get accustomed to it. I can only type if I do not attempt to lift my arms in the process. Still, the mere 7.5 kg bar weights were a little light. I think that I could achieve a similar work out by attaching two yogurt boots.

The sauna was interesting. I never have been a huge fan, finding the steam room far more pleasant. The first 10 minutes in a sauna is a disturbing experience. As every ounce of moisture is sucked out of your face, it feels like a combination of being shrink wrapped and chemically peeled. The water bucket was empty and I dared not move since every time I did, I burnt another part of my body. By the time I came out I looked a little like a hotdog sausage. I was, however, impressed with the woman that used it as a changing room on the basis that her clothes had been in the car and were uncomfortably cold.

I had a fascinating conversation with an ex date earlier. His solicitors costs in divorce amounted to 260k. He sheepishly admitted that it was a matter of principle and had become very territorial over assets. Looking back he cannot believe how stupid he was. Lovely man but I am certain that I could not date anyone that had just admitted spending huge sums trying to keep hold of others. Not attractive. The other deal breaker was when he once revealed that he had many tricks under his arm. Up his sleeve would have been one thing, I couldn't live with under his arm. Still, very sweet man.