Friday 21 July

8st 13, alcohol units 4 ( modest), cigarettes 21 (fine), instants 4 (a mere nothing).

At four o'clock in the office, just when Perpetua was breathing down my neck so she didn't end up late for her weekend in Gloucestershire at the Trehearne's, the phone rang. "Hello, darling" - my mother - "How are you, I've been so worried about you." So worried that she hasn't rung me for two weeks. "Listen. I've got the most marvellous opportunity for you."

"What?" I muttered sulkily.

"You're going to be on television," she gushed as I crashed my head on to the desk. "I'm coming round with the crew at 10 o'clock tomorrow. Oh darling, aren't you thrilled?"

"Mother. If you're coming round to my flat with a TV crew, I won't be in it."

"But you must," she said icily.

"No," I said, but then a horrible vanity got the better of me, "Why, anyway?"

"Oh, darling," she cooed, "They're wanting someone younger for me to interview on Suddenly Single, someone pre-menopausal and suddenly single who can talk about, well, you know, darling, the pressures of impending childlessness and so on."

"I'm not pre-menopausal, mother," I exploded. "And I'm not Suddenly Single, either. I'm suddenly part of a couple."

"Yes, but you were Suddenly Single until five weeks ago," she hissed. I could hear office noises in the background.

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I wasn't. I was Single, but I wasn't Suddenly. I hadn't had a boyfriend for 18 months," I said, suddenly glancing over my shoulder at Perpetua, who was smirking.

"Oh please, darling. I've told them I've found someone."

"No."

"Oh pleeeeeese. I've never had a career all my life and now I'm in the autumn of my days and I need something for myself," she gabbled as if reading from a cue card.

"Someone I know might see. Anyway, won't they notice I'm your daughter?"

There was a pause. I could hear her talking to someone in the background. Then she came back and said, "We could blot out your face."

"What? Put a bag over it? Thanks a lot."

"Silhouette, darling, silhouette. Oh please, Bridget. Remember, I gave you the gift of life. Where would you be without me? Nowhere. Nothing. A dead egg. A piece of space."

The thing is I've always, secretly, rather fancied being on television.

Saturday 22 July

9st 3 (why? from where?), alcohol units 7 (Saturday), cigarettes 27 (positively restrained considering), number of correct lottery numbers 0.

The crew had trodden a couple of wine glasses into the carpet before they'd been in the house 30 seconds, but I'm never too fussed about that sort of thing. It was when one of them staggered in shouting "Mind your backs", carrying an enormous light, bellowed, "Ere Trev, where do you want this brute?" then overbalanced, crashed the light through the glass door of my drinks cupboard and stepped in a vase which was standing by the rubbish bin, then knocked over an open bottle of extra virgin olive oil on to my River Cafe cookbook, that I realised what I'd done. Three hours after they arrived they were still crashing around saying, "Can I just cheat you this way a bit, love?" By the time we finally got going with mother and I sitting opposite each other in semi-darkness, it was nearly half past one.