I went to pick up my mother from the station this Monday, only to find out I was a week early. Quite funny except I had cancelled all my childcare arrangements. Completely my fault, just seem to be living in another time zone to everyone else - my daughter told me all about her parents' evening but it was only the night before that I registered when it was and then had a huge hissy fit saying I had not realised it was tomorrow and how was I going to manage after a full day and late night at college and Daddy away? Once I calmed down, and apologised, obviously I managed. That's what I do. Manage - not always well, but we get through.

I also found out from my 7 year old son's teacher that he was being bullied by an older boy at school - has he said anything? No, seems a bit dark of late (obviously because he is getting his head kicked in on a daily basis). It took his little friend, who was so upset by what was happening to my son, to tell the teacher about it, who told me. He did suggest that maybe Thomas didn't realise he was being bullied as he probably "rough houses" at home - I think I was being insulted. The boys might rough and tumble a bit, but they don't slam each other's head on concrete steps. Even when Thomas said his head hurt, on both sides, when I was checking for our little creepy friends in his hair, did it register that something may be amiss.

Not a good week. 

A cliched difference between my new Cornish life and my old London life - I am going up country tomorrow, as they say here (I used to go into town) for an interview and, fortuitously, a party. The party is an all girls 40th at a posh London address with, allegedly, naked waiters. Meanwhile, in Cornwall, I have had to decline a night out with the mums from 3T to go for a curry and clubbing....The truth is, I would enjoy them both just as much as the other, although I could live without the naked waiters (nibbles? I don't think so) and the clubbing.

Started script writing course and sat wondering what on earth I am doing. I was older than the oldest by at least 10, probably 15 years - despite wearing black and dying my hair to hide the grey, I felt very silly. I guess the crunch came when we were asked to discuss films we had recently enjoyed - Stanley Kubrick's name flew around and a list of great sounding films that I had never even heard of, let alone seen. I then had to admit the most recent film I had seen was Bedtime Stories - amusing, but not exactly cutting edge.

I held my own more solidly with TV, but again, I am less clear about life outside of Balamory than perhaps I should be.  Jane, the long suffering tutor slammed in the final nail when she said - "Oh yes, you've got kids - how many?"

I love being the mother of a big family, but I want to be just me sometimes. The question is who is that me?

Lost in the depths of leftovers, an extra layer round my waist and an overriding need to make each day special for the children. As each day passes the crackling excitement of Christmas chips at the edges just a little more, so that even today's trip to the panto did not reach quite the expected height on the ho ho ho'meter - probably because I refused to buy a flashing, strobe, glowing plastic thing to swing around and agitate the epileptic among the audience.

I can no longer force my youngest to behave well with the threat of Father Christmas watching him, so have to employ the more traditional raised eyebrows and the, obviously, very rarely used raised voice. Which means we are slipping out of that lovely protective Christmas bubble that made the days so special, and back into ordinary life which means washing, cleaning, shopping and writing...Well, this is a start. My computer taunts me to get going on my story plan and required 30 pages before the start of term, but my mind is as empty as the kids stockings before they FINALLY went to sleep on Christmas Eve.

Please do send me ideas, if you have a great one but can't be bothered to write it....

Very dangerous to post after night of too much wine, but celebration in itself as spent in the company of people I would choose to be with. Actually quite an achievement after 18 months in the wilderness that is Cornwall. Finished first part of MA - race to finish line, obviously, otherwise what's the point? Feel slightly detached and not exactly of this world...all normal then.

A surreal day. Big plans to write a novel in the morning. Big plans to write a TV script in the afternoon. Home to real life. Feed kids. Take one to ballet. Nip to Sainsbury's. Back to full on house. Bedtime routine x 4. All quiet now to write - except it's tomorrow. Time ran out...

Blogging. The whole blasted concept of blogging is still one I am struggling with. I have spent the best part of a week clearing up after one end or another of my various children's anatomy, added my own to the mix yesterday and I am thinking in those quiet moments - this will be good for my blog! Why? No-one reads it and the few that do - me - knows what's going on anyway! Is it helping anyone? Do please comment (note to self).

I have to do this, it's part of my course - practice writing every day, they said. I would like to practice not writing. I used to go running, have fun with my kids, do stuff - now I sit here eating the kids' fizzy sugary snakes while I write, or worry what to write.

I'm not really complaining. I will be bereft when the course finishes - maybe I will become a true blogger then as no one will be reading my work but I can kid myself a whole secret cyber world is hanging off my every cleverly constructed sentence. Wondering whether I am going to use a Latin or an Olde Worlde Englishe rooted verb.