More detail then, to keep the flow going... Tonight, a birthday party at the Commons. I am ready-primped in anticipation, but the overcast skies and a lunchtime pizza with my tragedian eldest, who at this minute is answering GCSE questions on new poets, has temporarily stemmed my enthusiasm. Because I'm over-full and middle-of-the-day sleepy. It was easier to 'get in the mood' when young. In those days, friends got ready together. We passed round the vodka, tried on each other's clothes, danced to Sunday Girl and told jokes while comparing lipsticks. Now we lock ourselves away, grappling with skin tighteners, wrinkle fillers, magic shading and stomach suppressants, emerging like Dorianna Grays to listen to The Archers before hitting the town. My particular problem today has been scrubbing red shoe polish off my arms. It's a long story. To do with a handbag I bought off eBay. One of two. Signing for the parcel, my eldest said crossly, "Why is it that whenever we're broke, you throw money away? We've had a delivery every day for a fortnight." I explained the principle of reverse psychology to her. "It's like being on a diet," I said. "The more you tell yourself you can't have food, the more likely you are to gorge on any old rubbish that comes along." She looked at me in horror: "Is that why you've not pushed me over revision? In case I stop revising? Is it reverse psychology?" I nodded proudly. "Oh no!" she howled. "I thought you didn't care. And I haven't done any..." I await her results with trepidation.