This morning I went for my free power plates session at my gym that is all of about thirty metres across the street. For those that have never heard of power plates, it’s this vibrating machine that you do all sorts of exercises on. When I say I can barely walk, I can barely frigging walk and I think I might need a stairmaster because walking up the stairs is sheer agony. The odd thing is that I feel energised by all of the exercise…I just can’t do anything to capitalise on that energy as I might just keel over!

The only thing about sitting on those power plate things is that the vibrations focus on your bum and in turn make you want to fart. As someone who is not keen on the releasing of bodily emissions, this is terrible! But I’ll still be going back for another class and I have also decided to bite the bullet and join the gym as I didn’t really appreciate having to look at my c-section tummy wobbling around.

I’ve had the boyf’s dad staying which has been entertaining. I have warned the boyf that if he becomes pedantic and a pain in the arse in his old age, he’ll have hell to pay for. Here I am, mother to an eight month old with a busy week. Can I sit in front of my own 42″ TV and watch it? Can I not be put through having to hear endless cricket, football, rugby, and repetitive BBC News 24?

My ma came around to visit (we hadn’t heard from Glamourous Part Time Gran in about a week) and I hid in the kitchen cringing on the phone to the boyf as I could hear her giggling with the boyf’s dad in what sounded very close to flirting! The boyf and I were cracking up laughing and blessing ourselves. “It’s like speed dating for shady pines!” I wisecracked. There was lots of tinkly laughing and tee hee hee jokes, and I felt compelled to buy myself some eclairs from Waitrose later that afternoon to get over the trauma.

Grandpa offered to cook dinner which turned into a headache before it had even started. “So how does the cooker and oven work?” he asked. It was 9pm…the night before…

“I have been wanting to get started but I didn’t have any pots and pans so I had to wait for you to come down….” It was the following morning and he’d been up for two hours whilst I’d been upstairs working. A quick opening of the cupboards could have solved the problem….

I nipped out with Glamourous Part Time Nan and by the time we came back, my house smelt like a burnt out fish market! Sweet baby Jesus and the frigging angels! I hid in the sitting room regaling the boyf with the events. “My eyes are burning! The house smells like a f*cking fish mongers!” I wailed as he was howling with laughter.

“I don’t frigging believe this!” I yelled at the boyf a couple of hours later. “He’s only gone and left the kitchen in a complete state! He said ‘Oh didn’t I mention? I’m a messy cook!’ and then he went out!!!!! Sure, I might as well have cooked myself for all the effing work I have to do!” and the boyf laughed even harder.

“I’ll be back around 11″ he said when he was going. “I can always clean up when I get back…”

Yes, it’s four o’clock in the afternoon and I’m going to leave the kitchen looking like a tip for  seven hours…

A few hours later, he called the boyf to ask if there was rice for the food he’d cooked. Of course there wasn’t! What am I? A mind reader! Golden rule of cooking in my house - Those who cook clean up after their frickin selves and always follow through. It’s a bit like telling me you’re cooking me burgers and then wondering why there’s no burger bun…

Honestly…

OK must go as Glamourous Part Time Gran is expecting us at two and is having a hissy fit over us saying that we’ll only be there for a little while. Honestly…these new age grandparents with their demand grandparenting….

I can hear the football downstairs which means I am going to have wrench the boyf out of the house….oh great….