Another Bank Holiday Monday and I find myself washing my kitchen floor - out of choice!!! Have I gone mad? I could have spent the day with at least half a dozen seperate eligible young men, I could have called on some old friends, I could have visited my Dad and taken his long-overdue birthday present, I could have gone for a run, walked the dogs or driven to the coast to search for fossils.

Instead I'm on my knees happily scrubbing, the smell of slow-cooked lamb wafting from the oven, Bold 2-in-1 Lavender & Camomile wash powder from the other direction where the 6th load of the day is gently spinning, and fresh water in the vase which still holds the remains of the roses I received from my anonymous admirer. I am even contemplating ironing this evening and not balking at the thought.

Why am I so happy at this ordinarily anaphylactic-shock-inducing domestic solitude? I'm not entirely sure and there is a very small part of me which is genuinely fearful that I have actually lost my mind and have really spent the Easter weekend strapped to a hospital trolley receiving regular bursts of electric volts to my brain which is reacting by playing these strange hallucinatory images of a wholsome life which I could have enjoyed. The horror which I experienced when I stood on my bathroom scales and watched the pointer whizz almost to the end of the counters was certainly enough to tip me over the edge. Did I just imagine that Jack came into the room in the nick of time and informed me that they were definitely broken and insisted on leading me to my mother's scales which thankfully told a much leaner story altogether.

I suspect it has far more to do with the fact that I do genuinely have options this time, yet I have chosen to stay alone in my house, not spending any money, not wasting any petrol, not risking a puncture ( I still haven't got round to fixing my spare so I am aware that I'm risking complete breakdown everytime I drive up the street), and more importantly not touching a single piece of chocolate from the European Easter Egg mountain which has taken over one corner of my dining table. Way to go for Willpower!!

I love new experiences of all kinds and this is certainly one I haven't tried before. I'm hoping I can keep it up til Friday and lose at least 2 stone in the process. Perhaps not the most achievable expectation I've ever placed upon myself but then I can't manage willpower and give myself a break at the same time. And just by stepping off my scales and onto my mother's I already lost 18lbs today so who knows what might happen.

Another Bank Holiday Monday and I find myself washing my kitchen floor - out of choice!!! Have I gone mad? I could have spent the day with at least half a dozen seperate eligible young men, I could have called on some old friends, I could have visited my Dad and taken his long-overdue birthday present, I could have gone for a run, walked the dogs or driven to the coast to search for fossils.

Instead I'm on my knees happily scrubbing, the smell of slow-cooked lamb wafting from the oven, Bold 2-in-1 Lavender & Camomile wash powder from the other direction where the 6th load of the day is gently spinning, and fresh water in the vase which still holds the remains of the roses I received from my anonymous admirer. I am even contemplating ironing this evening and not balking at the thought.

Why am I so happy at this ordinarily anaphylactic-shock-inducing domestic solitude? I'm not entirely sure and there is a very small part of me which is genuinely fearful that I have actually lost my mind and have really spent the Easter weekend strapped to a hospital trolley receiving regular bursts of electric volts to my brain which is reacting by playing these strange hallucinatory images of a wholsome life which I could have enjoyed. The horror which I experienced when I stood on my bathroom scales and watched the pointer whizz almost to the end of the counters was certainly enough to tip me over the edge. Did I just imagine that Jack came into the room in the nick of time and informed me that they were definitely broken and insisted on leading me to my mother's scales which thankfully told a much leaner story altogether.

I suspect it has far more to do with the fact that I do genuinely have options this time, yet I have chosen to stay alone in my house, not spending any money, not wasting any petrol, not risking a puncture ( I still haven't got round to fixing my spare so I am aware that I'm risking complete breakdown everytime I drive up the street), and more importantly not touching a single piece of chocolate from the European Easter Egg mountain which has taken over one corner of my dining table. Way to go for Willpower!!

I love new experiences of all kinds and this is certainly one I haven't tried before. I'm hoping I can keep it up til Friday and lose at least 2 stone in the process. Perhaps not the most achievable expectation I've ever placed upon myself but then I can't manage willpower and give myself a break at the same time. And just by stepping off my scales and onto my mother's I already lost 18lbs today so who knows what might happen.

I'm a conservation convert. I eventually arrived at my destination (it looks so different in the dark with owls swooping scarily across the windscreen) to meet my fellow weekenders - they couldn't have been better-selected if they were chosen by Central Casting for a Julie Walters film.

Tall, dark, handsome man with an exotic name and a shorter, funnier friend; widowed Pensioner from deepest Yorkshire with a stealthlike wit which came from nowhere and floored you every time; quiet balding thirty-something Land Registrar who sensibly slept in after 6.30am on the first morning and wondered what he'd done wrong for the rest of the weekend; skinny, unassuming chap who arrived later than me (hurrah!) and turned out to be a lawyer despite having a chin; and a middle-aged chap who initially reminded me of my step-father but turned out to be rather nice.

There was an equal number of women - sprightly Course Leader who mothered everyone and made me feel right at home; verging on the anorexic, pale, pretty red-head who didn't say much but farted quite a bit; beautiful, bohemian, 40-something music teacher with nose-studs and even more eye-liner than me; jolly, northern Nursery Nurse who was also broad of the beam and made me feel better in jeans; and a quiet medical secretary who was much chattier on a direct basis than in a group.

We bonded, walked, chatted and did damage to a few unsuspecting rhododendrons. My co-ordinating hat, scarf, top (and had they known it, knickers) ensemble was appreciated as was the fabulous Spring sunshine and lack of rain. I promptly came home and booked 2 more weekends for later in the year.

Since then I've enjoyed a Round Table Annual Dinner ( the Little Chap looked lovely in his tux) and watched my boys get beat at the Semi-Finals - it didn't matter too much 'cos our local rivals lost too.

I managed to stay awake, just, last night to witness a Peter Pan of Pop parade proudly in front of an appreciative crowd - I realised that I will finally have conquered my self-esteem issues when I can appear on stage in bright green sequinned hot pants and still hope to get laid - Andy Bell, who's your tailor?

NB to Little Lou - no matter how hard I beg, fetch me salad without the dressing for lunch for the foreseeable future! I will thank you eventually.

Yee Ha! The man from BT, he says "Yes!!!" My band is now broader than my accent. Fabulous!!

I'm a bit nervous tonight, the Eve of my first ever totally welly-wearing weekend. I've got the hat, the big cosy Fishermans Rib jumper and, of course, the co-ordinating designer wellies (not your cheap Tesco variety here). But I doubt the weirdy-beardies in the party will be impressed with my attire, my gardening abilities or my witty anecdotes - I shall just hope they aren't very good at cards or drinking so I can at least come away with some cash if not a lot of dignity.

I'm taking myself off on a National Trust Working Break. I've sensibly chosen a location pretty close to home so I can escape if the going gets tough and the wellies get lampooned. I had expressed an appetite for strong Mellors-types in my list of preferences, but the Course Leader that called this evening to introduce herself gave me the impression that I'm more likely to encounter a diet of pasty, under-cooked weeds. Hohum! The diets we put ourselves through.

This is my attempt at having a Single holiday. I would much rather be heading off for a sun-kissed beach on an island laden with history, fabulous landscapes and delicious waiters, but given my anxiety for getting killed when alone, I decided that my fitness levels had to be topped up before I could consider exploring foreign places alone.

I can see the CrimeWatch re-enactment now - a couple of Scandinavian tourists chance upon a lone English woman with a red face wearing posh wellies and a fluffy hat, collapsed at the side of a beaten track - the last siting of her by a group of japanese tourists with footage of her doing star jumps and trying to ask where the nearest rugby club is in the local Greek dialect. Shudder!

The booklet that accompanied my booking confirmation suggested taking Insect Repellent - I've just checked the weather forecast - I'm opting for thermal underwear.

I'm back from my brief sabbatical into the real world. I survived my first date all those weeks ago, and it lead to a number of others, including valentine's dinners (and gifts), shopping trips, cosy nights in front of the fire,culminating in a short sojourn to Brugge. It's not officially over yet either but I have a need for a bit of space and perspective.

Brugge was beautiful if a little on the chilly side. One of my fellow travellers, henceforth to be known as Captain Condom, had rather thoughtfully booked us on a guided tour of the medieval town.............................by bike!! You can imagine my delight when not only did I manage to stay upright and accident-free for the best part of 3 and half hours, but even succeeded in thoroughly enjoying myself! I shall seek out this form of transport around future cities which I may visit, carefully avoiding places like Rome, Sheffield, San Francisco and other towns renowned for their more than zero gradients.

I finally subscribed to broadband a few weeks ago. I was happy enough with my dial-up but succumbed to all the mocking and evangelism from my co-cybergeeks. What a palaver! I've bought enough ADSL cable to stretch to Bolton and back, invested in new wireless phones, unplugged my answer-machine ( I only ever seemed to get notes from call-centres praising my melodic recorded message for brightening their day) yet still I can't get the flashing light on the modem to stabilise. So now I'm paying for both broadband and dial-up - fantastic!

And today I got a card out of the blue from one of my oldest friends who was struck down with terminal ME about 17 years ago, and despite her best efforts at lymphatic drainage, hair-shaving and frantic masturbation, still struggles to escape her wheelchair for more than a few hours at a time. She's sending me a Dr. Phil book. Now I know there are times when my usually immaculate veneer of a perfectly held-together life might slip a bit, but how on earth did she detect it from deepest Manchester when we've only met on a handful of occasions in the last decade? I shall await it with expectation and let you know if it has any profound effects.


In memory of Ruth - 1974-2005