This week I’ve booked The Girl into some nice kiddy kennels down the road where she can do all the stuff I’m too lazy/nasty/useless to do like potato prints and sloppy painting. ‘Are you a bit nervous?’ I said this morning as I hared around wiping, mopping and faffing. ‘No’ said The Girl. ‘I just wish you’d hurry up.’ (She’s five). After I’d dropped her off with the kind of nice, sunny, cheerful carer I wish I could be occasionally, I had to go and get a set of keys cut, phone someone to redo our will (I’m leaving some money to Moorfields Eye Hospital after they saved my sight. Husband didn’t look too pleased. ‘How much?!’ he asked. ‘They saved my sight!’ I snarled. ‘And if I left it to you – you’d give them a cheque for £5.99.’ A frosty silence ensued. Then I asked if he wanted to leave anything particular if he dies first. ‘No’ he replied sanctimoniously, ‘I’m leaving everything to you.’) Then after picking up the key, I rushed back home because Husband had gone on one of his Laundry Sprees where he checks that it’s pissing with rain outside, then puts everything into the washing machine, before realising there is NOWHERE to hang it, except over every chair and radiator in the house, so the place looks like a doss house, knickers festooning every surface. Then I booked a train ticket. Then I poked around the fridge looking for lunch to jump out and shout: ‘Here I am!’ while feeling vaguely guilty about not doing something else.
The something else is that a producer has offered to option a script I wrote a while ago. I have to do some more work on it while he will try to flog it to a television company. As well as that I’m adapting a children’s book for radio 4 at some point. So in the space of a few weeks there’s suddenly shedloads of work, and yes, I’m very pleased but also a bit . . .I don’t know. Is this what Lily Allen called The Fear? So – of course I’ll get on with it. But while I’m running back and forth to meetings and taking notes, domestic life piles up and up and up. And that’s with a very domesticated Husband. So that when I find myself at home with The Girl painting away in kennels and The Boy (well to be honest, I’ve no idea where he is) and I’m on my own and there’s work to be done . . somehow I find myself doing domestic stuff instead. Right. Cup of tea then I’ll really get down to it.