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Ate it.

Nick’s mum came in just as I was washing up and sniffed the air with distaste.

She said, ‘Smells like some horrible Chinese restaurant in here.’

I told her I was on a healthy diet.

She blinked at me with her manic blue eyes and said, ‘Good foryou, darling. In time for the wedding?’

I said no – I was losing weight because lap-dancing has child-friendly hours and good rates of pay.

Helen didn’t laugh.

Often, she makes me think of a raven bobbing its nasty head around the insides of an animal.

When she smiles she looks like Mr Punch.

I asked Helen if she’d put on any weight after Nick was born.

She stroked her bony hips in skinny black jeans, pulled her cashmere cardigan around her bony ribs and said, ‘No, Ilostweight actually. The whole experience was so traumatic.’

Then she frowned at a tiny fingerprint on the kitchen cupboard and polished it with a tea towel.

The trouble with living in a posh executive apartment is everything is soshiny. Shiny stuff shows up everything. I fried an egg once. Never again.

Helen asked me what Mum would wear to the wedding.

I said probably something ten years too young for her.

Helen blinked frantically and said, ‘Please persuade her to wear somethingtasteful. Maybe with a shawl? For the pictures …’

I had a good laugh about that.Mymother! In a shawl! I suppose Helen can dream.

The idea ofanyonepersuading Mum to wear something that isn’t skintight is hilarious.

Mum face-timed me earlier to show off her ’70sMamma Miaoutfit. It would have made Christina Aguilera blush.

Quite sweet really – Mum is SO excited about seeing her old friends. They only get together once a year. I just hope the theatre knows what it’s letting itself in for.

Wednesday January 14th

Nick’s got a job up north again. He’s playing a road sweeper in Coronation Street.

He has one line: ‘That always happens if you eat too much chicken pie.’

So I’m staying at Mum and Dad’s for a few days.

Nick got all stressed, worrying about what to wear. I reassured him that he’s still good-looking and that no – he doesn’t look his age (35).

Thursday January 15th

At Mum and Dad’s pub today, in my old bedroom.

Mum still makes up the bottom bunk with my Fraggle Rock duvet, which secretly I quite like.

Daisy sleeps next to me in the travel cot, which I can never get the hang of putting up. It always collapses on me like a knock-kneed giraffe.

HORRIBLE thing happened with Callum this morning.