My daughter says she wants me to stop writing about her.

This is going to be a short-lived blog.

I didn’t set out to write about my kids, or my dog, or my annoying husband but, write what you know and all that, and anyway, I can’t think of anything else.

The great Sue Townsend, when starting her regular column for The Sainsburys Magazine, vowed never to write about her kids or her dog or her husband (I don’t know if he was annoying) but then admits that’s all she ever wrote about, so I’m in good company.

But if I can’t write about my daughter then what am I meant to write about?

It started like this.

I was on a mini spa break with someone who may or may not have been my daughter.

We were sat at dinner. We’d done the whole pool and jacuzzi thing, (can I just say what is it with sharing a jacuzzi with someone you don’t know? Like, how can that even be allowed? Some rando joining you, with his Speedo’s and his hairy belly, asking if you’re grand. Well, I was mate, until you got in.)  

We’d had our treatments and then sick of talking to each other, we (the person who may or may not have entered the world through my vagina,) were sat reading, while elderly passersby commented that you didn’t see people reading anymore, and at least one person asked us what we were doing.

So, at dinner, the one opposite me, (she who must never be named) started telling me about some lass who is always asking people’s time of birth so she can do their astrological charts.

Now to be fair, my dining companion has read this blog. She knows I’m a writer, so everything is fair game. I get some of my best lines from her.

Me: You were 7 lbs 10.

Her: I didn’t know you were counting in 10p’s.

See, pure comedy gold.

But then she got all huffy about me writing that down during dinner. And how I was going to suggest she was the kind of woman who would want to know what time she was born, just so I could write about it.

It went further when I suggested she could get all sassy at me for not knowing what time she was born, and I could write about that, and everyone would laugh.

But then she did get all sassy at me for suggesting that she might get sassy in some imaginary blog post and I kind of lost track of things because I was trying to write it all down on my phone really quickly, (because, er, comedy gold) but I have a new phone, well not a new phone, I’ve had it for a while but, I switched from Apple to Android which is a disaster, don’t ever do that because it’s all different and you will never find anything again and while I’m typing it keeps changing to handwriting and I can’t turn off the predictive text so its all ducking bollocks anyway.

Where was I?

Yes! I can’t write about my daughter any more.

This is a relief really, because I am sure when she reads this there will be follow-up questions and for the life of me I can’t remember what time she was born.

A quick hello!

I’ve decided to make the blog monthly rather than weekly (and not just because a certain person says they’ll sue if I mention their name again.)

Here’s the thing, when you sell a book, they actually expect you to write it! Mind blown, I know. I had the exact same response as you.

So, what with writing a whole book, not mentioning you-know-who, and the mad dog, and the annoying husband ( have you noticed I rarely mention the three sons,- that’s because they ignore me and don’t deserve to be in print.) Well, with everything going on and not wanting to write any old shite to you, I’ve decided to focus on quality not quantity.

Unfortunately I don’t imagine there’ll be much improvement in the blog, but we can but dream.

Writing to you really is one of the highlights of my week and not just because all of my family have stopped talking to me in case I print what they say.

And just think, you’ll lose track of time and suddenly I’ll appear in your inbox like an old friend. Or haunt you like an enemy.

So, I’ll see you in a month when I predict the book will be finished and I’ll get a special prize for being the fastest book writer in the West. Or I’ll be sobbing incoherently, struggling to find any words.

Have a great month xxxx

Speak soon.