I woke up this morning in an absolute panic. I've got two months to sort out this business or we're down the swanee. It's been a shitter of a week. Started off brilliantly, then one marriage almost down, and now one of the most fantastic women on earth - my friend L's mum - on her way out. Ninety years old, she was booked for Botox on Friday, but Dr Death blew on her the day before. I was in Kent when the emergency bleepers were going off, away with the eldest enjoying lunch with the most contumacious family on earth. They ask you a question then answer it themselves, each pulling the others' views apart. It's stonkingly good entertainment. My mate's son is another of the godchildren. Off to uni this autumn, he's got a job cleaning his own school to save up. His mum can't afford the £65 a week hall fees. Neither, shockingly, can I in our current circs or I'd have offered. Instead, I'm poring over the property mags looking at flats in readiness to downsize:-( All these factors have insidiously, and possibly not before time, put me in a flat spin. It will pass. It's not as if we'll end up in a paperbag in the middle of the road, living on cabbage soup, is it?