Monday mornings are vile.

They really are truly vile when you temporarily forgot you had work the next day and decided that a gallon of vino collapso and a bowl of chips was a good idea on a Sunday Night. Oh, and did I mention that I consumed all of this whilst dressed as a cheerleader?

Oh god, it's been a long weekend.

On Friday I cracked open the champagne early (by myself initially) and discovered that there's little else better in the world that belting out Wham's greatest hits whilst in the bath and quaffing Moet all alone. It really is quite liberating, considering that a few months ago a bath, a razor blade and far too much alcohol would have meant quite a different scenario; it was wonderful to realise that now it simply meant smooth (well, fairly - I was a bit squiffy) legs and the prospect of a rather good night.

I was interrupted from my ablutions by my brother and his fiancee who had brought round a bridesmaid's dress for me to try on so I had the rather odd combination of telling them all about me sending off the divorce papers whilst dressed in acres of taffeta and wearing a tiara. The dress was lovely although a little big (a gaping bust is never a good look and even half a pound of chicken fillets couldn't pad it out!)

Anyway, we ended up cracking open even more champagne until Tom arrived. Poor lad. He was greeted by a half cut wannabe bridesmaid clutching copies of divorce papers and grabbing him round the neck whilst wearing a sparkly headband. God alone knows how he puts up with me.

We all eventually went out for dinner at a local gastro-pub (God, I hate that expression). We drank the bar dry, not least because we managed to wangle free drinks (and it wasn't because we were posing as a wedding party - I had thankfully removed the dress by this point).
It was because we got embroiled in an elaborate wind up where we were asked to pretend to the visiting local manager that we knew him from another of his pubs down south. we invented a whole evening he had apparently hosted for us and poor "Alan" was eventually so taken in by us that he ended up agreeing with us and pretending he knew us. The local manager thought it was so funny we were treated to free run of the bar. Oh dear, what an error.

I felt like death on Saturday morning and ended up not being able to give Tom a lift to the garage to take his car in. i think i'd have still been over the limit. So, the lovely boy ended up catching the bus back from the garage but not before he'd stopped to buy me croissants and fresh fruit for my hang over. I woke up to a tray from him and a copy of heat. The little love.

I left Tom to his own devices which meant that he was on "project car" as I'm finally putting my old car on the market. If anyone wants to buy a 2006 2L Fiesta ST in red then let me know! He was busy with his chamois and I was busy trying not to lose my croissants in the toilet. My mother turned up in the middle of it all and wondered why I was walking around with haystack hair and pastry all down my front whilst Tom was buffing my alloys and scoring "perfect boyfriend" points.

After settling my mother down with a tin of Fox's family favourites I managed to sort myself out and get dressed but by this time, Tom's sister and fiancee had turned up. I wanted by now to lock myself in the airing cupboard as my mum was yelling up the stairs that Tom's sister was now polishing my bonnet and why was I being a lazy cow. She then answered her own question by falling over all the empty champagne bottles in the pantry on her search for some turtle wax. Only my mother could think turtle wax would be next to tinned tomatoes and a sack of onions.

After despatching everyone to either football or "a brisk walk around the village" I managed to get it together enough to go and meet one of my mates for lunch. We compared hangovers, (I didn't win) and had a great chinwag over a few pots of very necessary tea. It was great to see her as I only meet up with her every few weeks cause she's run off her feet with three kids. I felt all warm and fuzzy and decided to celebrate my happiness and dissipating hangover with a spot of shopping.

I decided then to go next door to buy Tom a pressie. I chanced upon the wedding section of gifts and was just about to go all weepy when I saw something that gave me a complete reality check. There was a woman in the shop who I kind of recognised. She was blonde and very very very thin with a kind face but a very strained look. It took me ages to work out who it was but then I did and realised that all my problems kid of paled into insignificance.

It was the mother of Madeline McCann.

The gift shop was in the village where they live and she was chatting to the owner. she said something so innocent but it really struck a chord with me. The shop owner said that Mrs McCann's hair looked nice and asked if she'd had it done. Mrs McCann then replied, "No, it's the same as always but I can never be bothered to blow it". It wasn't said sadly, just completely matter of fact but I nearly wept.

Suddenly nothing that ST had done to me mattered at all. Here was a woman who must go through hell every day yet she was up, dressed, out and about and obviously trying to live a normal life. She was looking for gifts for someone and she passed by me several times. I thought about saying something but felt that it would be better not to. She probably wouldn't want reminding of anything if she was absorbed in something "normal". I gave her a smile but suddenly I felt better about my own life too. What does it matter that some silly boy has been horrible to me? Here was a woman who really had truly lost something so precious and she was managing to function. It was a complete reality check.

After I'd bought my pressy for Tom (a mug with a pig on it with a rose in its mouth and the words "You romantic swine!" underneath it, i drove home and began my clear out of another room in the house. I'm trying to de-ST the whole house and keep attacking one room at a time and leave no piece of paper uninspected and no drawer unsearched. Am I the only woman in Britain to have escaped single tampons, hairgrips and bundles of biros in every single drawer in every single room?

By the time it was pitch black I was bored off my gorge so decided to go and see Tom. i drove over to his and we spent a lovely evening watching back to back episodes of Come Dine with Me on sky plus. Are we the saddest couple in the world?

Sunday was much the same. I went home to my arctic wilderness of a house and carried on de-ST-ing the house. However, my new blue mini skirt and white knee boots were freezing so I put on a huge Gap hoody but then looked like an extra from high school musical! My mate then rang to get me to meet her at the local as she had had a man dilemma so I ended up dashing up there and only realised I resembled an aged cheerleader when I stood at the bar. I decided that the only way to relieve my embarrassment was to drown myself in red wine and try to forget that I looked as if I was going to cartwheel across the pub with pom poms.

I ended up crawling home and closing time and falling asleep fully cheerleadered up. Not my finest hour this morning when I had morphed in the night from "high school musical" to "hammer house of horror". God, there's nothing more disturbing than a 33 year old hungover fancy dress cheerleader reeking of rioja. It ain't pretty!

Anyway, this all leads me back to arriving at work this morning feeling as if my liver wanted to book itself into the priory and my hair looking like knitted string.

I'm safely installed back at Mum's now with a medicinal sherry whilst I search the internet for recipes I can cook for Tom tonight that only include the ingredients from my pantry as I'm skint til I get paid on Friday. So, if anyone knows any good recipes for dinners which consist of onions and turtle wax then I'll be eternally grateful!

Will update again soon.
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