Tuesday again

Breakfast should be a time of slow contemplation, many mugs of tea and the Today program. It should not involve lifting the milk carton to read scary advice from HM Customs to phone immediately if my partner has moved in, so they can cut my child tax credits. There was a stab of guilt until I remembered I'm not guilty, at least of that one. That's John Reid for you- meet your next PM, the face of caring socialism.

H. will be over soon to kick my sorry ass. She's so scary that the kids always arrange to be out of the house, and woe betide me if I've failed on chores or opening mail. Today we will be making chutney, so watch out.

Put on the freshly laundered T-shirt worn when I had the apple-injury 10 days ago. It has a big rip in the back, explaining how the lower dorsal graze was acquired. The knee of the trousers are shredded too. Schade!