God only knows what time it is. Meg Ryan is on the telly, snogging yet another actor, Darling Wifey is asleep in bed, and the baby has just barfed all over my Egyptian cotton slacks.

On the upside, I have a Millenium bottled Cotes du Rhone, and no work in the morning. As they say, give it your best shot, sucker!

So what is happening today? I need to sort out the tracking on the Renault (*&$%@#*$ garage charged me for tracking, and never did it!) before the tyres are scrubbed into oblivion. Some kind of therapist is visiting in the morning to assess Little Nutter, so I have to be up in about seven hours. Easy. And I have to phone the parents to let them know that the in-laws will be following them in their car on the way to my graduation party, because they don’t know the way. Ah. Nightmare.

Run away!

For professional reasons, I took the same MA that my mother took for fun as a retirement hobby. For some strange and inexplicable reason, my in-laws contributed to the funds (I paid the rest.)

(For readers of Darling Wifey’s blog, she paid the rest.)

In-laws think that parents are irresponsible. Parents think that in-laws are badly behaved and thoughtless. Guess who gets caught up in the middle, expected to solve the meaning of life whilst agreeing that yes, you are right, utterly justified, completely correct and damned good looking to boot! to whoever he is talking to.

Yup! Well done! You win a prize.

Ah, who cares! I have an MA, three kids, and a very naughty wife. Hehehe.