Last night the 24 year old stayed for the night. It was the first time in six weeks, because I'd been trying to break the routine we'd gotten into. To be truthful I'd found his Saturday night stays a bit disruptive, they usually mean the next day is a complete right off. He's persistent but I'm more stubborn, so he came to stay on Friday instead.

I met him at the station, then came back here for a drink before going out for a curry - my second in two nights. It was great though, a really nice meal. Then back here for more drinking, ice cream and Iron Man on DVD, which was surprisingly good despite the fact it starred Gwyneth Paltrow. Turns out she was actually really rather good, which took me by surprise!

This morning we had a late start, because he doesn't sleep well here so fidgets and keeps me awake. It's nice to have someone else pottering round the house first thing, but equally it's nice to get my house back!

The rest of the day has been lazy: washing, ironing, saw Mum and my sister. Now I'm settled on the sofa trying, and failing, to avoid Britain's Got Talent.

I was supposed to meet Trish in Lynn for a curry last night, but that was slightly beyond the 'use only if absolutely essential' car policy that's been forced upon me by the leaky hose. So instead she came here and we went our for curry, and had a lovely evening.

The food was great, although of course there was far too much of it and I couldn't get through it all. Couldn't even finish my naan bread - what is the world coming to!? We had a good gossip then came back to mine where I tried to explain the joys of Twitter to her. I love Twitter, it's fantastic! But I failed to persuade Trish that it was anything other than silly so I guess we won't be seeing her on there any time soon. Lovely to see you Trish! xxx

I pulled into the petrol station at lunchtime and when I got out of the car I noticed there was smoke/steam coming out of the front grille. I decided perhaps petrol wasn't a great idea, so I came home and phoned the AA.

Whilst I waited for the AA man I got on the internet to see if I could work out what was wrong. I managed to convince myself that it was a head gasket. Then I decided that if it was a head gasket that would be the end of the car and me. I shocked myself a bit with that, but thankfully I was wrong so I don't have to test my resolve!

Typically the AA man wasn't cute, but it hardly mattered because he managed to work out what was wrong: a split hose between the the engine block and the heater matrix. No, I've no idea what that means either. He repaired it, then before he left he asked if he could take a picture of the car - turns out he takes pictures of all the interesting cars he gets to work on. When I saw the company I was in: a Ford Capri with a V8 Chevrolet engine and something gorgeous from 1936 - I felt hugely flattered!

Next stop was the garage to organise some new hoses, which they can't sort out until Wednesday. So in the meantime I'm crossing my fingers the repair will hold and going as few places as possible. This rather buggers up weekend but it's a better result could have been!

Whilst I was online I found this picture:



I doubt she'd get that beehive in there with the roof up!

Last night I went to see Heather Small. You remember her, she's the singer with M-People who used to have hair like a pineapple. Not my normal cup of tea really, but sometimes you need a change from middle-aged men singing sad songs and you just need a bit of dancing.

To be honest I might have forgotten she existed if it hadn't been for Dirk from Belgium. You remember Dirk, he pops up here from time to time. He's her biggest stalker fan and regularly comes over to the UK to stalk see her perform. Two summers ago I joined him and had a fab time seeing her in a forest and less glamorously on the back of a lorry. So when it turned out she was coming to Norwich I couldn't resist, particularly as I managed to get myself a £5 ticket!

She was of course fantastic! You can't go wrong with a big voice and songs people love. Amazingly she only did one of her solo songs, the show was mostly made up of cover versions and M-People sings. She does Elvis's Heartbreak Hotel, does possibly the best version of Summertime I've ever heard and even tackles ABBA. It's a brave person who does an ABBA song, but cleverly she picks Fernando, and gets the mood just right.

The M-People songs get people on their feet, which is a strange thing to see in the theatre. And when she dedicates Search for the Hero to "anyone fighting a battle worth winning" I had to blink back the tears. How unexpected!

She's not very chatty, but that hardly matters. And she looks fab! It turned out to be a really fun night out!

It seemed like I was sitting in the mad people corner. Once I sat down the woman behind me, who was also there on her own, lent forward and started to chat to me. And first we chatted about what else was on at the theatre, but then she started telling me she'd just dumped some mad man who would scream down the phone at her and before I knew it I was getting her whole life story!

Then a man returned to the seat beside me. He must have been 60 and walked with a stick - not your typical Heather Small fan surely? But he knew the words to every single M-People song and sang along loudly, banging his stick in time to the songs. It occurred to me that it's nearly 20 years since their first single, so back then he might have been my age, at which point I saw my future flash before my eyes and felt a little bit wobbly.

This weekend I finished the best book I've read all year, The Lost Child by Julie Myerson.

At the start of the year I didn't even recognise her name, but then the Daily Mail kicked up a storm about this book and suddenly I'm a fan. What was the fuss about? She kicked her teenage son out of the house because his addiction to cannabis was tearing her family apart. You'd think the Daily Mail would be on her side, but for some unknown reason they sided with the teenager. Bizarre.

So the book was a must read, which is a dodgy thing to be - surely it could only be disappointing? Well astonishingly no! It was fantastic, really honest and moving, and had me on the verge of tears more times than I could count!

It was supposed to be a book about a young girl who died in the late 1800's at the age of 21, who left behind some fantastic watercolour paintings. But as she tried to write the book the author's life was taken over by events at home so she finds herself writing about her son with frightening honesty. This also prompts her to write about her own childhood, particularly her parent's divorce.

The three strands don't necessarily go together, but as a whole it's a really rich book about family life. The stuff about the painter is particular interesting as she describes how she did her research, which is really fascinating. And it's also quite local, most of it taking place in Suffolk and Norfolk, so it all feels familiar and recognisable.

But the best stuff is the part about her son. Things slowly go from bad to worse: he steals things; he gives drugs to his younger siblings; he stops going to school; he hits his mother and perforates her eardrum; and he gets his girlfriend pregnant and leaves his mother to sort it out. It's unbelievably awful.

Normally at this point I'd be blaming the parents. But not this time - the son is simply a c*nt. His arrogance is astonishing - he feels no need to answer to anyone, not family, not school, not benefit agencies trying to help him. He's now changed his surname to that of a Hindu baby who was abandoned by his mother. Pretentious twat. He's spent a lot of time telling people how hard-done-by he his, and how he has nowhere to live, and yet he has a Facebook face - a dog on a string is clearly so last year for homeless people, it's all about social networking. Twat. His mother claims he read the book, and she paid him for some of his poems which are included in it, which sounds like permission to me.

The book is fascinating, as is the fuss around it. It's really interesting reading all the press and seeing how people get worked up about what she's done, accusing her of betraying her own family and her 'child', although at 17 and bigger than his parents he's hardly the vulnerable child they want to portray. There's a particularly awful interview with Jeremy Paxman where Jeremy just bullies her and she looks like she wants to curl up in a ball and cry. Poor woman, I have a huge amount of sympathy for her and will now read everything she's ever written.

She was supposed to do a book reading in Ely this month, and also make an appearance at the Latitude festival, but both have mysteriously vanished. I do hope she's alright.

[In my head that was a lot my focused and coherent, but I'm tired and have been drinking, so I'm thinking it's a miracle it makes any sense at all! Ignore my rambling, just go and buy the book.]

Was it really only three weeks ago that I was moaning about how rubbish Bank Holiday weekends are and how I must do better next time? Well this was next time, and I did a little better - Saturday and Sunday were fine, but today was just dull, very much like a Sunday.

I ended up going shopping to relieve the boredom, which is something I just don't do anymore, so it was no surprise when I pretty much failed to buy anything: some picture hooks and a bag of chocolate. I was in Morrisons just long enough to see a mad man from my past who apparently works there now, which makes that out of bounds in future. Bugger.

So after lunch I took to my bed for a sulk. Luckily Thom phoned for a gossip and I perked up no end. Perky enough in fact to clean the bathroom. Thoroughly. Using a toothbrush for the tricky bits. Very satisfying.

Then I went outside and did some weeding. Also very satisfying, but no need for a toothbrush.

Now I've got a big glass of wine and think it might be time for a Nobbly Bobbly, surely the prettiest ice cream ever invented!

It's a Bank Holiday weekend and astonishingly the sun is shining! So I've been making the most of it - lots of driving with the roof down, and making a start on the planting in the garden.

Yesterday I bought manure, compost and top soil to top up the border - not entirely sure what the difference between them all is, they just seemed three different shades of brown. The manure annoyed the middle-class neighbours slightly, which was partly my plan. They've gone today. Thank God.

This morning Mum and I went out in search of plants. My plan has been to think about planting carefully so I don't have to redo it in a few years when things haven't worked out. So I was searching for a camellia. I bought a lobelia and an iris. I can't stick to a plan at all!

The nursery is in a walled garden belonging to a big country house, down the end of a long road in the middle of nowhere. It's depressingly beautiful.



After lunch at Mum's I visited another garden centre and finally got a camellia! Now everything just needs planting, but right now it's too hot. And I don't have a watering can to water them. Or a spade to plant them. And I'm worried that three plants will just look stupid in the garden. I thought gardening was supposed to be relaxing not stressful!?

The FM and BF wanted to visit this afternoon. I opted for gardening instead. Truly I am 40.