Flora Day

Traffic jams afoot on way to college this morning – Helston's annual knees up, or rather genteel furry dance down and around the town. Lots of ladies in posh frocks and Ascot stylee hats jigging about with blokes in morning suits. Still haven't made it there for the day – skirting the edge is as close as I've been so far. Maybe next year.

A day of electronic paper shuffling, tweaking and printing in readiness for this Friday's hand in – the end of Study Block 2. Think I might even be able to get the work done without having to stay up all Thursday night for a change. Hope so. Am planning on staying in Falmouth for student celebrations (sorted the kids out overnight as well as arranging a lift for Billy to a chess competitionso incredibly on the ball – even for me)!

Speaking of forward planning, called in to see Wendy after I'd dropped kids at scouts and over a half in the noisiest pub ever, she tells me to keep July 17^th free. Why? She's bought me a ticket to see Amy Winehouse at the Eden project – Yay!!!! It's going to be a fun summer I can tell already. Will be tricky to stay focused and crack on with writing my book though with all the distractions that are filling my diary already. But I will do it (power of positive affirmation) I know I can, and I will. (I'm probably supposed to repeat that to myself ten times a day in front of a mirror. Ha. About as likely as me flexing my pelvic floor muscles on a daily basis, or using moisturiser, or drinking 2 litres of water and all those other things I'm meant to be doing).

Eddie and Rosie were watching this hideous documentary about the seven sins of England: Binge Drinking, Consumerism, Hooliganism etc... Sat down and joined them for a rare ten minute interlude between chores, while I ate some of Rosie's leftover, fizzy (fermenting) strawberry cheesecake. Chavs & Chavettes, Lads & Ladettes, thugs and bimbos and raving loonies.

Welcome to Britain.

Found myself grinning as I stood at the sink, washing the never ending pile of dishes with Eddie practising his circular breathing on the didjeridoo. Can't say that happens very often. I still remember him as a tiny, skinny 9 year-old boy, ochered up and wearing a bright red nappy/loin cloth a la Mowgli, playing the didj with his Koori (Aborigine) 'brothers' on a massive outdoor stage in Kempsey. The only white fella, doing his bit for race relations. Fucking brilliant.