Sunday night, Madam Butterfly. My first time. I don't particularly like the music. Apart from the arias. But I thought the spectacle might be fun. Glory be. I wept from the moment she arrived on set. Despite her being a tad bulky for a teenager... The woman in the next box howled loudly, thrashing around like a bull elephant with a hyena on its back. Emerging into the night where a golden Prince Albert sits in his eyrie on Kensington Gore, even my mum and the kids were wet eyed. The next night, dinner with a political posse near Millbank. One of their number had bought new shoes. Orange and buckled. They were passed around and admired like rare artifacts. I couldn't help wondering what their male counterparts would make of this. On Tuesday, I took my ma to 11 Downing Street. For a book launch. An anthology to which I've contributed. A Mother's Day special to raise funds for children's charities. The young Browns were there and the Chancellor popped by to see them. Quick as a ferret, my mother was at his side, proffering a hand. She then insisted I do the same. I refused. Inverted snobbery. Misreading the scene, Mrs Brown gently ushered Ma in her old man's direction. With great charm, he shook her hand. Again. "I think we've met already." She saw Tony on the patio. It made her day:-) Yesterday a shared birthday lunch in Islington. Suffused with joy my fellow celebratee and I ordered a huge platter of desserts. "I don't know why we ordered the meringues, I hate them," I said. She popped one in her mouth, "Me too."