I got home from work really early last night. So early that the little bakery-cum-butchers down the street was still open so I popped in to have a nosey in the hope that I had discovered some secret gem of a deli within walking distance of home. Sadly not, the pies looked and smelled good, the cakes were temptingly sugary but on the whole it all looked a bit tired. I took some sausages and a couple of pies ( oh! and 2 rhubarb and cherry slices - I've only got up to Chapter 1 of Dr. Phil's Ultimate Weight Solution so there's still time for a little wicked indulgence).

I had a relatively well-balanced meal bubbling away within minutes and was looking forward to greeting Jack with a pinny tied round my waist accentuating my hour-glass figure, a glass of sherry in my hand and a 1950s demi-wave. I was a bit disappointed when he sent me a message at 6.30 to say he was going out for dinner with his Grandma. I didn't do what a 1950s housewife would do when faced with a ruined dinner and an errant spouse, after all I'm a Noughties sophisticated career girl and how was Jack to know that for once he was going to be offered something other than a Pot Noodle mid-week. No, I ate my pie, most of the runner beans and thought long and hard about eating his pie too but remembering those wise words in Chapter One of the Ultimate Weight Solution, I decided to eat his piece of the rhubarb and cherry slice instead.

I'm getting a new sofa tomorrow. I haven't had a new ( well, new to me) one in years and then I get 2 in as many months. Dad picked it so I'm not quite sure what to expect but I'm told it is cream and not draylon so I'm hopeful. Sunday sees the first match of the season. There are already rows and petty squabbles, and that's just between the parents. It's gonna be a long slow winter.