In which my son's poem is selected to be printed in a Young Writers' Poetry Anthology and I cry with joy.

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In which I am wantonly disobedient

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In which I had to have a bath today

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In which I never believed I would ever be betrayed by cheese. Until today.

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In which there is flooding everywhere and therefore these school shoes need urgent decommissioning

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In which two traumatic ways to spend a Sunday is marking books and a ten year old's party. But when the pair are combined...

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In which I am madly proud

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In which like mother like son

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In which crafts occur in my house

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In which this is what a 9 year old imagines lives on Uranus

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In which I could not decide who this love heart truly represents so I ate it

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In which this bag is full of things I haven't enough time to finish

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In which Sunday Carvery contains a smile

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In which I hang out with Michael Morpurgo

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In which I am going out

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In which I have a well deserved rest

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In which it's all for charidee

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In which ladders are irritating

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In which an impromptu concert is given

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In which evidence of an indietastic Saturday night is still to be found in my bedroom

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In which a major swimming competition is won (well, bronze)

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In which you fat bastard (although Carter USM were thin & had grown hair)

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In which summer may not be outside but it is in my tummy

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In which the world heaves a huge sigh of relief

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In which I really like all these chaps. Just saying if you're in America and you'd like to make the rest of the world extremely happy.

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In which I do not go to a bonfire

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In which this year's Christmas Shoebox appeal was not wrapped by me

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In which weddings and me really don't mix

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In which I return home from Birmingham in style

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In which I have learned to look on nature, not as in the hour of thoughtless youth, but hearing oftentimes the still, sad music of humanity, nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power to chasten and subdue.

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