First, we have had a major triumph. Our appeal has been won: Little Nutter’s disability category has been upgraded. The department has finally accepted that they didn’t read the information they were given correctly.

His care allowance has been increased by 65 pence per week, to cover our expenses in being woken up between five and twelve times every night.

Second, we have formally instructed an estate agent to sell the house. This involved booking appointments with half a dozen local companies to value the house on the understanding that we would go with the average valuation and the best combination of agency services/price. Only three agencies turned up, and one of them sent a teenager who thought we wanted the house let, and not sold. That agency has since phoned us six times, desperate for our business – but I think their competitors are slightly more professional…

The other two gave exactly the same valuation, but one charges twice as much as the other.

Finally, the Child Development Centre have got wind of our intended move – and have withdrawn therapy…

Darling Wifey cannot deny it! Not only do I know that it is all her fault, this last weekend has proven it!

Our guest and her two year old daughter have provided the proof, with lots of help from Little Madam. Girls are genetically programmed to be sanctimonious bossy-boots.

For the past seventy two hours, these little madams (both of them!) have relished every opportunity to boss everyone else around, remind us all about how good they are and pointing out when others are doing something wrong.

It is obviously a girly thing.

Finally, the decision has been made. The house will be put on the market this week. We have to sell it because the oven needs cleaning.

I was up at 6:15 today sorting out breakfast for our three little ones and the two year old daughter of a friend.

They were a delight, utterly charming, and full of energy and joy.

And when they are all teenagers, I am so going to get my own back on them for this morning.

On May 1st, the sentence will have been ten years. I would say ‘ten years of penal servitude,’ but that would be tempting fate. What makes the sentence all the more severe is that there is no chance of remission, no parole review, not even the chance of a pardon. I said, “Til death us do part,” and unless I behave myself, it will be mine that parts us.

Amnesty International should have a website dedicated to men like me.

Looking back, Darling Wifey got more than she bargained for. I lost my job about six months before we married, and it was three years before I was earning again. We started out with less income than the monthly rent for a damp, draughty hovel, and now we are looking for a “des res” in the posh town of Harrogate.

The family has also exceeded expectations – the children are a constant delight (even if I do have to buy a new carpet for Little Nutter’s bedroom after last night’s Coco Pops and plums incident.)

So, I’m approaching 35 and I still don’t have a Jaguar. Chances are I’ll get a minivan and complain about the performance. But who cares?

Darling Wifey is the secret of happiness. Happy 10th anniversary, my love.

PS What kind of Eternity Ring do you want?

Hi. I am so pleased to speak to you. This is such a thrill. I can’t believe I’m speaking to you!

You have reached the voicemail messaging service of John Doe. Did I tell you how delighted I am to speak to you? I am really perky about it!

I’m afraid that John Doe is not available to speak to you right now. Did I say “afraid?” I really mean “traumatized!” I mean, I totally understand the planet-stopping importance of your call, and the life-or-death necessity that John Doe hears from you as soon as possible. I am positively overcome with grief at John Doe’s inability to take your call right now. Almost suicidal. And I promise that I will carve your message in stone and personally ensure that John Doe reads it at his leisure and comfort at the appropriate time.

Taking your message for John Doe will be the greatest thrill of my life. Just to ensure that you understand how to do that, in a moment I will beep, and you can speak your message. I will record your message and treasure it close to my heart. I will guard it with my life, until John Doe is ready to hear it.

If you wish, you can check your message to John Doe. Once you are satisfied that you sound sincere enough, you can press *1* to listen to me again, and bring untold joy into my life.

Can I now take this opportunity to thank you for improving my day with your conversation? It has been a delight to speak to you, and I hope that you continue to enjoy fruitful interaction with all the people you meet today.

Well, I have an extra 60 coursework assignments to mark this week, because a colleague cannot tell the difference between a grade ‘A’ and a fail. Meanwhile, Darling Wifey, who returned to work on Monday to discover that her maternity supply teacher did not set any of the required examination courseworks, has to mark 5 pieces of work for each of 24 students by 3:30pm tomorrow. (The students started writing their coursework on Monday…)

It’s Tuesday: I have already attended four meetings.

On top of that, I put a brand new red t-shirt into the laundry with all of Tiny Flirt’s pjs and his lovely white coat.

Boys can wear pink, can’t they?

Little Nutter’s nursery school had a large aquarium of tadpoles. The staff were quite concerned about what the little things should eat – they begin by eating the matter around their eggs, but by the time this has all gone, they are carniverous. So, unless you feed them pretty quickly, they will start to eat each other.

I promised to do a little research, and came up with the astounding discovery that cat food is the best thing for them. I don’t know if they have any preferences as to the flavour, but it seems that 9 out of 10 polliwogs prefer Mr Frisky.

However, before a fresh tin of moggy-chunks could be supplied, disaster struck. A gang of boys from the “Butterflies” class (2-3 years) paused on the way past the aquarium with their cups and plates… they were supposed to be tidying up after their snack… It’s too horrible to contemplate…

But one thing is for certain: if a princess kisses a little boy in Durham this spring, it is distinctly possible that a frog will be involved in the consequences.