Driving Ms Carney...

Oh God, the first driving lesson hosted by moi. And I use the word 'lesson' loosely. If eldest son is behind the wheel careering along the road and I'm pinned to the passenger seat catatonic with fear, then, let's face it - there's not a whole lot of instruction going on; it's more a case of bumper-cars and trying not to vomit.

Actually, the whole experience wasn't too horrendous; there was a bit of bouncing between the kerb and parked cars, but once the Valium kicked in, I was fine. And I needed a new front nearside tyre anyway...

He's been riding a moped for a year, so he's certainly developed some road sense, but I'll be a lot happier when the proverbial penny drops and he realises a car takes up a smidge more space than a bike and doesn't quite tuck into a hedge as neatly as a ped, and when a Truronian bus is hurtling through the lanes towards you, launching yourself into the back seat, doesn't actually move the car out of its way.

Oh, no. That was just me.

I Surrender...

It's official; I surrender. I give up. I've just spent the last three days sitting at the laptop typing. A feature, a film and character outline and my Industry Analysis proposal. I've worn an inch off the end of my fingers and my body has seized into sitting position. I've got a yellow, fluffy blanket wrapped round my legs because the my blood ceased circulating thirty-seven hours ago.

My comfort blanket is scorched in several places from the sparks that have back-fired from my (now stubby) fingers flying over the keyboard. Seven old teacups, in various state of mouldy decay surround my space. I've fed the kids pasta for the last three nights because it's so quick. God alone knows how they're still growing and scurvy-free...

I wouldn't mind (so much), but even after all that, I'm still behind bloody shedule!! And now, I've got to start on the piggin' novel. Oh, dear God, give me a break. I'm all worded-out...