What The Record-buying Public Need to Know

Dear Reader, you find me, demi-reclining on a duvet day. I shall not be ashamed of my duvet day. Indeed, we all need recuperation.

What the record-buying public need to know, is that behind every great drummer, there's a great wuman who looks after the kids. Unsung. You see, I'm not trying to blow my own trumpet here, but the trumpets of every darn man or woman who is the home-maker, the ones who do the crucial, but less celebrated, domestic dance.

Tess's drawing of flowers

Teenage Fanclub have been recording in Hamburg all week and I am worn out with general child-care and menopausey-nonsense (it's a medical term). 

I have also sacrificed a trip to the Basque Country (wearing a Basque is still optional, if I weren't so knackered). This weekend, the lovely Rachel Newton will be reading out my poems and playing her harp with native, 'cool-chick' Uxue Alberdi.

It was lovely to be invited, but I  feel torn and conflicted about the environmental cost of flying, and it's a long way on a train, when your man is drumming in Hamburg. I wish the festival luck and look forward to seeing photos.

Meanwhile, the kids and I survive by watching Glee on Netflix. I am not in the least ashamed of this either. It is fabulous, jazz-hands escapism. 

Afterwards, the kids asked me to name a few Elton John songs.

'Sorry seems to be the hardest word.'

Tess replied, in utter sincerity  -'What?! Surely pharmacist or acquaintance are the hardest words?' Spelling homework is going well then. 

Ah well, the December sun is falling fast. Next stop, school pick up. May your duvets be warm and wide, when you need them.