I'm writing again. For myself, I mean. It started after the historic lunch at Hakkasan. The following week, I breakfasted with an agent. "Having fallen off the big horse," he said, "it's time to return to the saddle." "I've already polished my stirrups," I replied. But it was Christmas. And I had a lurgy. So the writing got forgotten. Then yesterday, I pulled up the file on screen. And realised it worked. By end of play today, the word count had doubled. Ooer Missis. Meantime, the youngest is covered in indelible red spots. From my 24 hour lipstick. Which she used as make up. For a film she's making in the back room. And the eldest is elbow deep in mocks. "I used some great words in GCSE English," she trilled. "Atrabilious, sophomoric and rebarbative. Do you know them?" I don't, but I'm guessing at least one is appropriate to my relationship with our local hospital. About, and to, which I recently complained. After finding my elderly neighbour sitting in dirty incontinence pants. Unchanged for at least two hours. Today the local paper ran the story. So I'm keeping my head down. That said, my head was the best part. "Nice picture, Mum," said the youngest. "You look ten years younger."