My cupboards and fridge have stayed full for the past few weeks. It's a most unusual phenomenon. I had thought they were like magic cupboards that silently ate the food as soon as it was placed inside but now I'm starting to realise that Jack may be in on the trick.

This didn't stop me getting up at daft o'clock yesterday morning and spending 132 quid in Tesco, and that was without alcohol cos it was too early. I really needed those 3 books to keep me busy over the Bank Holiday and I got 100 extra points if I spent enough on make-up but did I really need 2 huge bloomers, 6 different varieties of cheese, 8 packets of biscuits, 12 crumpets and a family-sized pack of cheese paninis? And I haven't got anywhere to put it all 'cos the freezer was already full of all the ragu that I've been batch cooking and I've only been having a large portion of grapes for tea ( ready fermented).

Dad popped in for a coffee mid-morning ( well 9am which ordinarily would be unacceptably early but by then I'd finished all the washing and started on the ironing). I watched a couple of dvds, both of which made me cry, and then it was suddenly 7pm and I had to get ready for my journey to Wedding Hell.

I timed my arrival just as they were about to start serving the buffet. The bride appeared to be having some sort of panic/asthma attack but the groom ( both of whom are colleagues of mine) soon calmed her down and she was last to be seen leading her entire family, including Grandma, Uncles and fat nieces with elaborate feathered headresses in the lyric perfect sing along, complete with matching air guitars, to the Bruce Springsteen tribute band. I made my exit as soon as it was polite to do so. I hadn't known a soul, nor thankfully, any of the lyrics.

That's it. I've become Middle-Aged. I've bought a lawnmower. I even bought the matching strimmer to go with it. It's not like I can use it surreptitiously in the night so as to deny any connection to it, they'd just hear the noisy monstrosity. Cutting grass is just so flipping suburban and ordinary and dull!!

I used to be a person who did interesting things. I used to have fun. I used to have sex, for goodness sake! I'm at that tricky 6 month stage - any time up to six months it doesn't seem that long ago so it's not such a big deal - and in another couple of months it will be just like something I have a vague memory of doing long long ago, like shopping for size 10s and actually appreciating the reflection in the changing room mirror ( ok - so even when my waist was as small as my 10year old godson's, I still bewailed the size of my bum), or going to discos and drinking pints, the types of things that you used to quite enjoy doing but you know you'll never do again.

Until then I have an overwhelming desire to do something, anything completely shocking and hedonistic and deliciously wicked, to stem the onset of greying spinsterhood. I'm not sure quite what yet but if I find myself gazing at gardener's trug catalogues or trying on a jaunty straw hat and dolly-mixture print summer frock combination then it will definitely have to be something sufficiently naughty to knock Abi Titsout off the front pages.

Now I hope this rain hasn't undone all that good work I did yesterday. "Mass Weedocide by Plump Middle-Aged Spinster" the headlines will go. "Well they were multiplying all over the place. It was like even the weeds were taunting me that they all had successful relationships" said the greying haired lawyer, 34, in her mitigation speech before the board of the local Law Society.

I've already tidied up the chaos Jack managed to create in his 24 hour pit stop between holidays. Turns out the girls were from Tibshelf but they were a bit of a mess so he didn't bother with them much.

He's had a great time, the Ardeche being the best bit. " Mum, it was just stunning but I didn't have anyone to talk to about it in case they thought I was sensitive."

He's in Spain now for 2 weeks. Byron's with him. Byron lived in Spain for a year but came back last summer to do his GCSEs. He's promised Jack he'll chat up the local girls but Jack claims that he doesn't need a foreign language to help him attract the ladies, taking off his shirt is enough!!!

Martian and Sophie have just called in on their way past to Sunday lunch with Sophie's Mum. Martian delivered a lecture on gardening so I guess I ought to take heed and go and buy some RoundUp and a lawnmower so as not to disappoint him. When did my life become so dull?

Jack's gone off for his watersports holiday with 24 16yr old Derbyshire girls in bikinis. I hope he's not homesick!

Dynamo popped over for a drink last night. He's a Derbyshire lad. Apparently I should worry the girls aren't from Tibshelf!

I was up at the crack of dawn this morning. Most unlike me. I'd done Tesco by 7am, cleaned the house and finished all the ironing by 9.30, watched South Pacific, cleared out the car and hung out the last load of washing by noon.

Everyone I know is either in France, Malta, Birmingham or in a relationship or inadequate. I think I understand what leads people to recreational use of drugs.

The entire world seems to comprise of couples. Am I the only person currently resting between dysfunctional relationships?

I started to notice it quite keenly on Friday night. Mrs Roger couldn't say more than 6 words without inserting a random " Roger" into the sentence. I completely understand and no doubt I'd be much the same in her marital position instead of regaling her with ever more shocking tales of relationships that have recently broken up in increasingly unusual and unexpected ways ( I swear I didn't intend to do this and can only plead underlying psychological problems made me do it). And it is marginally better discussing the object of her affections and desires than home improvements ( which she and Roger and doing together in their fabulous new love nest). I felt very much like a little girl allowed to go and stay with a posh, wealthy grown-up friend of the family.

Jack could quite easily have had a girl round given that I left him on his own for the night for the first time ever. I hadn't intended to, I'd arranged that he was staying at a mate's but made some excuse as to why he hadn't when my Dad rang me next morning to say he had just woken him up by knocking on the door. Either he'd slept alone or the girl was very very still and quiet while my Dad busied himself about my house doing various small jobs that only he had noticed needed doing.

All the people in the pub on Saturday night were much loved-up pairs and not one single attractive man needed serving so I trudged back home ( I'd had my hair streaked and worn a fab new top and bra to no avail) and read a book for a bit before deciding to head for bed.

No sooner had my head hit the pillow than I started to hear noises coming through the wall. Either my 70-odd year old neighbours were straining to move heavy wardrobes around in the middle of the night or they still have a twinkle in their eye. That was the last straw.

I am the only celibate person on the planet! or at least in My World.

So tonight I'm working at the pub again. They are having a special function - an Anne Summers party. I've spent all day wondering which part of my budget I can use for any purchases - Household and Electrical? Beauty? or just Every Day Essentials? Well, after all, Jack's going away at the end of the week for the rest of the month so I can do without milk in my tea.

I've had a lovely week. Alright, so the first week after Pay Day is always by far the nicest in the month because you don't have to hold your breath every time you use your debit card, but it's been especially nice.

Nothing remarkable has happened really. But I did get a really nice comment from a benevolent stranger out of the blue the other day ( I thought even my mates had given up on reading about the banalities of my life and only ever took a dip in when they were worried they may have upset me and thus at the mercy of my ascerbic wit) and then this morning one of my clients, one of the rare kind that you really warm to despite having been asked endless questions about things that you really didn't need to study Land Law for years at college to answer, rang. She claims I'm her hero and she apsires to be more like me. She clearly hasn't met me nor does she realise that I spend most evenings from about 8.05pm ( approximate time it takes to get home, kick off my shoes and run upstairs ripping open bills and discarding offers of yet more credit cards) in my pyjamas reading books, currently mainly about single thirty-something girls, alone with just my cat for company and the occasional conversation with Jack focused mainly on his hunger and my unreasonableness at not fetching him a chicken kebab at 10.45pm ( an advantage of the sleepy hollow that I have just left was that it was far enough away from food outlets to not even be a consideration for junk food).

Tonight I am giving my sofa a night off and instead heading for South Yorkshire to see Mrs Roger's new matrimonial home and sit on her sofa. I had intended to go visit sooner but that was before I knew she was going off to Singapore on holiday. Not that I actually did ever find out that she was going on holiday. I thought it a bit odd that she hadn't returned a couple of phone calls but just thought she must be wildily busy with house renovations and being all wifely ( especially now that she is a proper housewife with no job or anything). I'm not complaining, well not really. I am quite busy with working in the pub for the time being and I suppose it's not like I'm ever totally on my own, after all, I've got Jack who still occasionally comes home to sleep and request a lift and even holds a conversation every now and then, usually just before he mentions that he needs some new rugby boots/jeans/jacket/motorbike etc.

But only 18 months or so ago, Mrs Roger was The Most Single Person that I knew ( and about the only other non-couple member in my close circle) and constantly bewailed how other more fortunate halves of a couple would let her down, cancel plans, fail to make arrangements and generally not realise how lonely it could feel when you spend all weekend on your own. She's been over twice since Christmas, for about an hour each time. Maybe she's just anxious not to catch Singlitis again having been so recently cured by a dose of Twobecomone applied topically, orally and quite possibly as a pessary morning noon and night for the foreseeable future.

Tim Burton's Charlie & The Chocolate Factory is the best film of all time. Johnny Depp is deliciously mad, he even looks handsome in a bob which would make a Lorelie Siren look plain. I could happily spend every Christmas, high day, holiday or rainy day watching reruns and probably shall do as soon as it comes out on dvd.

In the meantime I shall have to make do with South Pacific, which I rather recklessly treated myself to with the few coppers that were left in my account at the end of last month. I was so surprised not to have my bank account frozen that I threw caution to the wind and even bought myself some shiny new pans. But that's it. No more treats, no more little luxuries. I am going to transform myself into a thrifty Netto shopper who saves more than she spends. I am. I am.