Presentation

This week I have ten articles to ghost write which involves interviewing ten ghostees and then editing or padding what they have said into 500 words. There is also the small matter of moving out of the house to be attended to. The furniture has now all gone leaving only piles of dust, dead flies, crusted socks, atrophied apple cores, dusty half-read books, a pile of sharpened sticks which I can only assume my son in stockpiling for the revolution and loads of clothes. Who knew we had so many? Lots of them don't fit any of us any more and will be edited when I come back here to visit from our rented house, where there are beds, on Sunday morning. The moral dilemma I will be grappling with then is do I launder and dry clothes for the charity shop or wheech them straight into the skip? The cupboard under the sink, which will also need to be cleared in the next 72 hours is already stuffed with ex-clothes dusters, enough to be surplus to my requirements for the rest of my life, even if I live to be 150.

Amongst this chaos this morning, as my seven year-old daughter packed a costume for her first disco after school today (her godmother hopes she doesn't have her first cigarette at her first disco) she wondered if we had remembered to get a present for the birthday girl. Ehh, no. It was five to eight. Five minutes until we had to leave and I had to be straight back home after the school run to do an interview. I didn't think the birthday girl would want a sharpened stick, even if my son could be persuaded to part with one and I am not the kind of organised mother who has a present drawer, even when my house isn't half empty. (I wish I was.) My husband suggested giving her a bottle of wine. I suggested an IOU and taking her present to school on Monday. My daughter looked disgusted at the prospect of arriving empty handed. Then - a victory - I found a card. I could give her a tenner. Vulgar, but a solution. Yes! No. Chavvy, horrible. No, no, no! Half a clove of garlic wouldn't do or an apple or a even a brand new unopened tub of jalapeno houmous. I consulted everyone and they all said no. So I reached for my bag, fished out my wallet and found a limp tenner. It might have spent a week tucked away in a tramp's pants waiting to buy a bottle of Thunderbird on a rainy day but, I reasoned, it was worth the same as a crisp one. We wrote the card, closed it on the note and shoved it in the envelope, which fortunately my daughter didn't notice had a water stain on the back of it. Lets say it was water. It was a horrible present but better than no present.

As soon as my daughter got out of the car at the school gate bearing her shameful present, her best friend came running over, pigtails flying carrying a pink gift bag with tissue paper stuffed in the top and the corner of a beautifully wrapped present peeking enticingly out of the top. There were curled ribbons, there was glitter. My heart sank. The BF held the ultra present out to my daughter and said, "I can't go to the party, would you give this to the birthday girl for me?"

"Of course she will!" I beamed, grabbing the bag from her and stuffing the stained envelope into it. I put it into my daughter's hand and waved them off.

I think the Patron Saint of Rubbish Mummies must have had a hand in that. Bless her.