"Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us." (Oscar Wilde)

Not one of his wittiest. My diary, or in this case my D.A. journal is not a very thick tome, because my memory is so short. What's more I feel worked ragged these past couple of weeks. I have had to do a lot towards my 'other' (ie boring) job, I have had random older brother uninvitedly turn up on my doorstep looking for a place to sleep and someone to fed him, then had my two younger brothers come up for a (planned and invited) holiday for a week. Still, brother number one has thrown all plans out of kilter for a while, and I am trying to finish both lots of work in the evenings whilst keeping the kiddlywinks entertained in the daytime.





and so shuffling piles of postcards is at least enjoyable. I also have a little branded rubber stamp, which I have used to good effect, first stamping my return address on one of the twin brothers' foreheads when he refused to wake up after half an hour of protests, an then on boring things like envelopes.

My partner and I took the boys bowling in Morecambe today. We were walking along Lancaster high street with banks of photographers with zoom lenses taking pictures of our every step. Paparrazzi. I was most put out as I was looking exceedingly tired. We looked a couple f feet to the left and it turns out that David Cameron was walking alongside us up the high street. Oh, what japes.

If you see an pictures of an exceedingly harassed, tired and slightly pissed-off looking woman alongside David Cameron in the newspapers tomorrow, that's me.