You would think, given that I only live next door, my mother would have been able to give me a little advance notice that my new patio door was being fitted today - it's not a lot to ask, surely. But no - the first I heard of it was when Jack came in my bedroom at 7.15 this morning demanding the key.

I had to fly around the house with the Dyson, picking up half a rainforest of Sunday paper, empty wine bottles, clothing etc. I haven't done anything all weekend and the place was a tip. I've just shut the kitchen door and hoped the glaziers don't get thirsty or need the loo - they would have to battle through half-emptied weekend bags, shopping bags ( I found a fantastic underwear sale yesterday, it was a bit extravagant of me, especially as I don't get paid until tomorrow, but a girl can never have enough foundation garments, and corsets are definitely a fashion direction that suits my Jessica Rabbit-prone figure) and shoes to get to my en-suite, and then I dread to think what they might find.

I had hoped to be going home to new French doors, but the miserable Loss Adjuster would only cough up for one replacement panel - still it will be nice to have the scent of the garden wafting in of an evening - shame it also allows Darius to bring in ever larger mammals - many a night has been spent chasing him and a mole/baby rabbit/albatross around the lounge - which reminds me - I must pick up cat food on the way home.