Well, my holidays are coming to an abrupt and wholly uninvited end. I’ve had a lovely time, but don’t they go quick? In a flash, one might say. So, in an effort to combat the blues, the countdown to Glastonbury now begins, proper. It’s like 14 weeks away. That’s like nothing. Speaking of which, we booked our coach yesterday (cue lots of excitement about the reality of the situation) – let’s hope it doesn’t take the 15 hours that it did last year (no, seriously, it took fifteen hours, proper), not least because they are showing the football at the Pyramid Stage at 3pm on the Wednesday. I can’t miss it, it wouldn’t be right.

In other news, the wardrobe is still shiningly/spankingly/stupidly tidy. Two plus two definitely equals four in my wardrobe. (If you don’t already know, that was a beautifully subtle reference to the fact that I: a) tidied my wardrobe earlier this week, and b) went to see 1984. Not so subtle anymore, huh?) I hereby vow to run more and shop more. The two are inextricably linked, don’t you know.

So far today I have cooked a pot of chilli (beyond impressive, I know) and bought the paper and April’s Vogue. The boy has tidied my desk for me; it’s ever so immaculate. I love nothing more than an immaculate desk, the Sunday paper, the new Vogue and bowls of fresh chilli! That’s my Sunday afternoon sorted then.

By the way, the soundtrack of the week has been Francoise Hardy mixed with a touch of Bo Diddley. Did you know that no-one makes me want to be French more than Francoise? You do now.