Paul McCartney serenades my son on holiday!

Monday

It’s been a long time since I darkened the doorstep of the gym but after being weighed on Friday, drastic action is needed. It must be an age thing. I don’t eat more than used to but my belly is now less spare Mini tyre and more John Deere tractor.

My gym guru, PK, does well to disguise her shock as saunter in trying to hide behind Dynamite Di, which is impossible as she’s 5ft nothing and a size 10. Still, PK gamely steers me away from the coffee machine and towards the instruments of torture.

First off is a couple of minutes on the bike. She thinks I’m joking when request an oxygen tent. I’m then plonked on the cross-trainer for three minutes but I feel seasick and get off after one.

Thinking this is fate’s way of saying “embrace your podginess and run for the changing room”, I try to escape but am foiled as PK manoeuvres me on to a mat to attempt some sit-ups, buttock twanging and general bendy things. Just 40 minutes after arriving I am back in the car, dazed, confused but strangely exhilarated

Tuesday

Spend entire day hunched over computer and burning no calories. Do humps come with age? My posture is appalling, so I trawl the internet for an inflatable ball thing that you can sit on and it sorts your spine alignment out. Apparently, you exercise your tummy muscles while just sitting.

It’s my birthday next week so when Louis asks me what I would like say a ball. He looks surprised, excited and horrified all in a moment at the thought of his mother taking up football, playing in public and embarrassing him to a degree previously unimagined. He is relieved, if a little confused, when say it is just for sitting on.

In the evening, Dave and I go out for pasta then off to the cinema to see Redeye. It’s a great thriller by Wes Craven set on an aeroplane. Halfway through I turn to see Dave with his eyes out on stalks looking suitably terrified. Afterwards, he claims it wasn’t that convincing. Oh, yeah

Wednesday

Back at the gym. Last about 40 minutes and take a vow to attend regularly to try and make a difference to my tummy.

And at my tender age, is wearing one of these Victorian shirts that are all the rage mutton dressed as lamb? I didn’t think so until Dave said I looked like Whistler’s Mother. Not speaking to him ThursdayMy old pal James Curran comes up from London He is a muso deluxe, so we sit in The Baillie drinking beer and arguing about new albums.

Several lagers later, Dynamite joins us and the conversation turns to after-dinner speaking. I have committed to doing one at the end of November. I am informed that people fear standing up and speaking in public more than death. Not the words of encouragement I was hoping for.

By the time we leave the bar, Di has decided I should talk about Hair Through The Ages. I call a taxi – death would, in fact, be preferable to that

Friday

Louis is on Virgin Radio. The breakfast presenters are doing a feature where they get a child on air and ask them if they have any grievances against their parents. Louis’ complaint is I don’t let him play loud music before he goes to bed.

The judge then decides who is in the right, the child or the parent. But they don’t warn him that the judge is none other than Paul McCartney, who is in the studio talking about his new album. The DJs Pete & Jeff ask Louis: “What would you like to ask Paul McCartney?”Louis clams up and throws the phone at me. I throw it back to him.

He goes bright red and intimates by way of running out of the room that he is not saying another word. Paul McCartney, the lovely man, took pity on the “the wee Scottish boy who went all shy on us” and sang Yellow Submarine to him. Wow.

chased Louis round the house, telling him it was the most amazing thing in the world to have an actual Beatle singing YOU a special song. He grinned and agreed. Tremendous compensation for temporarily being the quietest person in Britain

Saturday

Dave is away golfing, so I go into town with Dynamite. It is hot and we are stomping up and down Princes Street. By 4pm my feet are sore so we head home.

Going out tonight to Big Fish, a place only open every second weekend. But at 7.15pm, Dave phones to say he is still at the golf club. I grit my teeth, stroll from the room and make sure Louis doesn’t hear my message to him.

The golf course is 20 miles from Edinburgh and we are meeting our pals at 8pm. I have to drop Louis at his grandma’s in between and am not amused. Still, after a fabulous meal of blackened monkfish and carpaccio of tuna, all is forgiven

Is that an inflatable ball or my reflection in the mirror?

Monday

It’s been a long time since I darkened the doorstep of the gym but after being weighed on Friday, drastic action is needed. It must be an age thing. I don’t eat more than used to but my belly is now less spare Mini tyre and more John Deere tractor.

My gym guru, PK, does well to disguise her shock as saunter in trying to hide behind Dynamite Di, which is impossible as she’s 5ft nothing and a size 10. Still, PK gamely steers me away from the coffee machine and towards the instruments of torture.

First off is a couple of minutes on the bike. She thinks I’m joking when request an oxygen tent. I’m then plonked on the cross-trainer for three minutes but I feel seasick and get off after one.

Thinking this is fate’s way of saying “embrace your podginess and run for the changing room”, I try to escape but am foiled as PK manoeuvres me on to a mat to attempt some sit-ups, buttock twanging and general bendy things. Just 40 minutes after arriving I am back in the car, dazed, confused but strangely exhilarated

Tuesday

Spend entire day hunched over computer and burning no calories. Do humps come with age? My posture is appalling, so I trawl the internet for an inflatable ball thing that you can sit on and it sorts your spine alignment out. Apparently, you exercise your tummy muscles while just sitting.

It’s my birthday next week so when Louis asks me what I would like say a ball. He looks surprised, excited and horrified all in a moment at the thought of his mother taking up football, playing in public and embarrassing him to a degree previously unimagined. He is relieved, if a little confused, when say it is just for sitting on.

In the evening, Dave and I go out for pasta then off to the cinema to see Redeye. It’s a great thriller by Wes Craven set on an aeroplane. Halfway through I turn to see Dave with his eyes out on stalks looking suitably terrified. Afterwards, he claims it wasn’t that convincing. Oh, yeah

Wednesday

Back at the gym. Last about 40 minutes and take a vow to attend regularly to try and make a difference to my tummy.

And at my tender age, is wearing one of these Victorian shirts that are all the rage mutton dressed as lamb? I didn’t think so until Dave said I looked like Whistler’s Mother. Not speaking to him ThursdayMy old pal James Curran comes up from London He is a muso deluxe, so we sit in The Baillie drinking beer and arguing about new albums.

Several lagers later, Dynamite joins us and the conversation turns to after-dinner speaking. I have committed to doing one at the end of November. I am informed that people fear standing up and speaking in public more than death. Not the words of encouragement I was hoping for.

By the time we leave the bar, Di has decided I should talk about Hair Through The Ages. I call a taxi – death would, in fact, be preferable to that

Friday

Louis is on Virgin Radio. The breakfast presenters are doing a feature where they get a child on air and ask them if they have any grievances against their parents. Louis’ complaint is I don’t let him play loud music before he goes to bed.

The judge then decides who is in the right, the child or the parent. But they don’t warn him that the judge is none other than Paul McCartney, who is in the studio talking about his new album. The DJs Pete & Jeff ask Louis: “What would you like to ask Paul McCartney?”Louis clams up and throws the phone at me. I throw it back to him.

He goes bright red and intimates by way of running out of the room that he is not saying another word. Paul McCartney, the lovely man, took pity on the “the wee Scottish boy who went all shy on us” and sang Yellow Submarine to him. Wow.

chased Louis round the house, telling him it was the most amazing thing in the world to have an actual Beatle singing YOU a special song. He grinned and agreed. Tremendous compensation for temporarily being the quietest person in Britain

Saturday

Dave is away golfing, so I go into town with Dynamite. It is hot and we are stomping up and down Princes Street. By 4pm my feet are sore so we head home.

Going out tonight to Big Fish, a place only open every second weekend. But at 7.15pm, Dave phones to say he is still at the golf club. I grit my teeth, stroll from the room and make sure Louis doesn’t hear my message to him.

The golf course is 20 miles from Edinburgh and we are meeting our pals at 8pm. I have to drop Louis at his grandma’s in between and am not amused. Still, after a fabulous meal of blackened monkfish and carpaccio of tuna, all is forgiven

Join slimming club and put on weight – what?

Monday

Louis is off on a school camp for three nights. He is not great at overnight stays so is far from happy. I go to wake him up and he is lying in his bed wide awake but obviously not happy. Try to jolly him along. ‘Come on it will be great fun,’ say, trying not to let him see the tears in my eyes. I think the only school trip we had from Aberdeen was a day trip to Edinburgh Castle and the zoo. After our year, the trip was stopped as we were so badly behaved but I must have been about 14, not just 10. Still, get him up and off he goes, reluctantly.

Dave takes me out for lunch to keep my mind off the upset. He unplugs my computer and drags me out the door, driving us an hour north to The Seafood Restaurant in St Andrews. The setting and the food are gorgeous. I order halibut which is white as the driven snow and as thick as my thigh – not inconsequential! Cheer up no end as we swig a little white wine, then a lot of white wine and then, because Louis is away for a few days, we revert to being 21 again. Have a great laugh but end up face down very early. awake at 2am having had loads of sleep so get up and watch TV – Trisha, Loose Women and the end of a John Grisham film with Denzil Washington which has me in tears after 10 minutes. What a state – just as well Louis doesn’t go away very often

Tuesday

A cursory look at my body in the bathroom mirror confirms that tomorrow’s slimming class is going to be hell. Still, I drink lots of water and then have an overwhelming urge for carbs so we hit the pub for a bar lunch. Off to The Barns Inn in Kingsbarns, Fife, a great wee pub. It claims: ‘Friendly staff and great food’ and you get what it says on the box. Have a really lovely chilli – just what the ailing gut required. Feel much improved and go for a long walk in the hope that by midday weigh-in tomorrow I will be Kate Moss superslim

Wednesday

Meet slimming friend Catherine, who lost 6 1 /2lbs last week. In we go. take off my necklace, watch, shoes and sweatshirt and get on the scales… I look expectantly at the lady as if smiling will make her lie to me – it doesn’t. She tells me gravely I’ve put on 2lbs. I am not surprised but completely hacked off nonetheless.

It was pointed out the amount have eaten and drunk would sustain Pavarotti and Oliver Reed combined. Go round the corner with Catherine for a salad and quiz her on how she has taken off another 3 1 /2lbs – that’s a total of 10lbs in a fortnightThe answer is not rocket science it is simply – stick to the diet.

My phone rings it is the lovely Dynamite who I have not seen in ages. She suggests as it is such a lovely day we should meet for an early drink on the terrace at Oloroso in Edinburgh at 5pm – a quick one then, agree. I shuffle home to work all afternoon writing while clenching my buttocks and then head off to meet Dynamite. That in itself is a mistake. The sunny terrace, the amount of gossip to catch up on, Louis still being away… it is no surprise we get home about 10pm, squawking: ‘Life is not a dress rehearsal, you know. This is it! Might as well enjoy it.’ Goes some way to assuaging the guilt

Thursday

Not enjoying this morning much. Yuk. Slip back into mum mode and cook Louis a big pot of mince and tatties for his triumphant return. Go to pick him up at 3.30pm, not sure what to expect. Well, if he isn’t swaggering round like John Wayne, grinning from ear to ear. As I refrain from running towards him and scooping him up, he casually says: ‘Hi, mum’. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ I ask. ‘Great,’ he says, like a 25-year-old professional golfer who has just come back from tour. Phew! He won’t be suing me then. Exhale

Friday

Meet up with Dave and Hugh Teacher who call the Arthur Negus of the new millennium.

Though based down south, Teach is a valuer for auction giants Dreweatt Neate and was up to value people’s family jewels – so to speak! Last year a table they found in Perth was auctioned off for pounds 240,000! Buoyed up by the whole idea, I fill my boot with bits of tat have bought at auctions which Teach kindly values for me – worth bugger all! Still, I shall keep looking

Saturday

Can’t believe have the lurgy that Dave has just shaken off. He was full of it last week and now I am not just thick but thick with the cold. Cancel going out tonight and lie wounded in my room feeling sorry for myself. ‘Burning the candle at both ends,’ says my mum. Huh!

Having just written this diary, though, she may very well have a point. Tomorrow is another day. Sunday, the day of rest – well it would be except I’m off surfing in Dunbar with Louis! YAHOO! I’m a teenager trapped in an aging body – not fair really

St. Andrews home of golf and chocolate frenzy.

Monday

In the cinema the other night saw a big advert for VisitScotland so looking at my spotty white face call my friend and ask her if she fancies escaping for a couple of days. It’s Easter hols and Dave and Louis are away. My friend has breast cancer and this is the week she should feel OK as she is in the middle of her chemotherapy treatments plus she is going a bit mad being stuck indoors all the time so happily she doesn’t hesitate.

We don’t want to go too far so off we go just one hour north of the central belt to St Andrews. Every time I go up to St Andrews I remember what a lovely town it is with its huge clean beach and great sweep of white sand for endless walks and fun for kids if the weather is good enough for sandcastles and paddling. If not, thermal underwear and a cosy hat are all that’s required so we head off into the wind for a bracing walk before the food and drink ensue.

We are staying at St Andrews’ Bay Hotel, a few miles out of town with the most fabulous views imaginable. You sit perched on the edge of the two golf courses and the hotel looks back over the sea to St Andrews and beyond. The hotel itself was built and designed by an American company which explains the generous proportions of the rooms, corridors and facilities. Although this is high season, it felt ultimately luxurious and spacious as we swanned about feeling very Bette Davis descending down staircases and reclining on gigantic comfy sofas sipping large gins. We have a quiet night in preparation for our hard day ahead

Tuesday
The hard day starts with a Swedish massage followed by a facial. It’s a hard life. Phone Dave – he and Louis are having Boys Own adventure type fun and God love them for it, I think, as I stretch my massaged leg out for inspection.

Being foodies we try the hotel’s new fine dining restaurant Esperante. We are seated on a romantic little balcony so we can oversee everything going on. Great gossiping and giggling. The food is fabulous. We start with cauliflower pannacotta – no have no idea what it is but by God will never forget it for all the right reasons! On to our pud a chocolate pudding which spills out melted chocolate from the inside. We are so excited we insisted in giving the chef our compliments personally. The poor guy, Scott Dougall, comes out and is duly showered by endless words of praise and yums and oohs and ahhs. If this man doesn’t have a Michelin star within two years will eat my hat – and that’s not an appetising thought I can assure you. Eventually when we are finished – first in, last out – we are happy, excited and eager to phone all our friends to tell them about our meal but we think better of it and off we go to bed as by now it is 1am
Wednesday
Wake Dave up with a phone call – telling him I am taking him here for his birthday. He had a sausage and bean camp fire tea last night. As inhumanely describe what I had in great depth, it is no surprise he eventually puts the phone down on me. More girl stuff to be done so we go off to explore the shops. We are on red alert to spot any members of the Royal Family and of course, having clocked Clint Eastwood on the golf course up here a few years ago, we keep our make-up on at all times because you just never know. Reluctantly we head back home after a large coffee and talk about the food we ate all the way back
Thursday
Through to Glasgow for a couple of meeting s sporting a boil on my chin. Why is it when need to go somewhere and look vaguely reasonable the middle-aged hormones play a trick on me? Meet up with pal Barbara for lunch in Antipasti in Byres Road. order a Caesar salad with swordfish. Good God, it is the size on an elephant. So much for my low cal option – I eat the lot
Friday
Dynamite calls to remind me she has postman Pat staying with her. A few years ago Dynamite was in the stage version of Postman Pat and she played both Mrs Goggins, Postmistress, and Granny Dryden and the cast have all stayed in touch. Although Postman Pat has a real name, Di still calls him Pat! He is up performing in Boogie Nights at The Playhouse with David Essex so Di is going along then partying afterwards and asks if I fancy it. With my full belly and chin boil I decide against it – I don’t want to put her off her tea SaturdayThe weekend is here and Dave and Louis are home. They had a great time being outdoors and healthy whilst I had a great time being inside and foodie. Call from Dynamite asking for number of detox place we went to last week as both she and Postman Pat are in need. I ask her if David Essex is going too – the answer is a no so I put away my Lamplight single wanted him to sign.

Thank goodness Easter eggs time is coming to an end. I’ve eaten my weight in chocolate. With tummy hanging over the top of trousers I sign off. I’m off for a jog – honest.

Ancient column – dusted down, hoovered and published on here….

MONDAY

DINNER at Howie’s with Pete Irvine, author of Scotland The Best and eventmeister of Scotland Hogmanay, Capital Christmas, Lomond Shores and general tourist guru. Talked about everything… food, TV, holidays, music and only at about midnight does it slip out that Pete was made an MBE MBE (in Britain) Member of the Order of the British Empire. Huh! Modest or what? I would have been wearing my “I’ve got an MBE” T-shirt at all times – which probably is exactly why I’ll never get anything like that. Good chat, too much wine, but it almost all came to a premature end when we realised we hadn’t taped Six Feet Under. After an emergency call to the babysitter we resumed our evening.

TUESDAY

DRY. Felt like I was 6ft under after I got up. Did two voiceovers in the morning. I was required to sound husky in one, which was my speciality today… sounded husky and coincidentally looked like a husky. Got a call from Dave who suggested lunch. A cursory look at my old black jeans, off-white t-shirt and rumpled sweatshirt made me say, “OK, but just a wee sandwich in the back of the car.” So he took me to The Bonham, a super-smart hotel in Edinburgh. I sat in a corner trying to hide. Fabulous lunch and I was just starting to relax when I heard an “Alison, is that you?” Luckily, it was Marie, a good friend who also had a hangover. She sat at a neighbouring table, shaking and drinking water . Had a lovely lunch. Normally the pressure to wear shorts keeps me on the straight and narrow but I’m still swathed in woolly jumpers cos it’s cold, so what the hell.

WEDNESDAY

TOOK about two hours to drive to my cousin’s house cos the Open golf was on and I forgot. Spotted lots of people in Slazenger V-necks. Saw Robbie Corbett again… he’ll think I’m stalking him. Got tickets for Saturday, drove home and collapsed in the bath when David answered the doorbell. It was John Whittle, from Optical Solutions, with my new glasses. He knew I had to drive to Glasgow tomorrow so delivered them personally. As I lay in the bath David plopped them on my nose. Now that’s what I call service.

THURSDAY

GUESTING on Fred MacAulay Show with Steve Irwin, the mad Aussie who wrestles crocodiles and snakes for fun, and Pete McCarthy. His new book, The Road to McCarthy, is the follow-up to his incredibly successful McCarthy’s Bar. He’s very entertaining and I know from personal experience he has a great sense of humour On Room At The Top a couple of years back a researcher asked him if he had fully recovered after being held hostage. Yes, he mixed him up with John McCarthy. Last Playing For Time this week, then off to Aberdeen to do Radio Scotland’s afternoon show for a few weeks. Cousin phoned very excited, Tiger Woods has been going to her health club to train… though she was not quite as excited as her husband Mark as Tiger was there with his gorgeous Swedish girlfriend. God, it’s enough to make you turn to drink… or at least food. Dinner out with pals when I got a call from the babysitter… the wee man Louis was ill for the first time ever so had to whizz home. He wasn’t well, poor scone. He clambered into my bed where he stayed, sweating, tossing and turning.

FRIDAY

LOUIS slept brilliantly but I was like a half-shut knife after 12 hours brow mopping. Decided not to be Snow White in panto Am I mad? Probably, but everyone says it is ten weeks, two shows a day, only Christmas day off. Thought long and hard, but it would mean no Christmas, no life, no Louis, no chance. It’s bound to be the last time he believes in Santa. I won’t miss it for anything.

SATURDAY

OPEN golf. It was like monsoon, 3ft deep in water. No way I was going to watch men hitting balls with sticks… so I just hit the hospitality. Call from friend Fiona who was to have her 40th birthday party in Queen Street Gardens in Edinburgh… rained off. Panic – where can we have it? Happily, friend Derek volunteered his pad which was duly decked out with stuff, including copious quantities of food and drink. Danced the night away. Still enjoying someone’s hospitality at 1am.

SUNDAY

GULP. Woke up fully clothed on couch. Asked long-suffering husband why he didn’t put me to bed. He said he tried but couldn’t – and besides my snoring would have kept him awake. Does Kylie have such problems? Tired. Old. Face strange shape. Yuk . Off to Aberdeen tomorrow to do Tom Morton Show on Radio Scotland for three weeks. Going on Slimfast diet as I’m becoming like a house – a two up, two down with large outside patio.

Doggone – the dog’s gone!

MONDAY

WENT to a Callanetics class and was told by the teacher that soon my bum would look like a peach – aye, I’m sure she meant James and the Giant Peach. Legs seizing up as I drove through to Glasgow for a couple of meetings. My personal trainer Pauline phoned as I was stuck in traffic on the way back to Edinburgh. “Clench your buttocks at the lights,” she instructed. “I’ve been here for ages,” I protested. “Exactly,” she said, “Clench one, two, clench one, two.” Hobbled in with a sore bum when I got home and still not a peach in sight.

TUESDAY

PANCAKE Tuesday. Dave, who is not used to cooking for under 40 people, whipped up some pancakes for Louis and his pal. He then left the rest of the batter lying around before he went out. Managed to ignore it when my niece Sarah came round for tea – I had hit Marks & Sparks earlier in the day to buy a low-fat extravaganza of chicken and not much else. Ate that and felt very thin. Then after a few glasses of high-alcohol wine I remembered the batter and got that out. I had vaguely watched Dave earlier in the evening, so I gave it my best shot. As it turns out this pancake malarky is not as easy as it looks. I seemed to produce something more akin to thermal vests than pancakes, but if you pour enough syrup on them they are edible. So we stuffed our faces and then lay down in front of the telly feeling really sick. I don’t think they were cooked properly, if the truth be told. God knows what’s in batter, but I can’t say I’d recommend it nearly raw. When Dave arrived home I quizzed him, but he just smirked. I detected a distinct lack of sympathy.

WEDNESDAY

OFF to London for the day. Whoopeee. What a place. People ask, “Why don’t you go to London and try your luck there?” Occasionally, I think: “Why not?” Then about 25 seconds after arriving in the great, grimy hole from hell, I remember… that’s right, I HATE IT! Happy to be back on the GNER train and relaxing all the way north, or at least until York, when man with verbal diarrhoea climbed aboard and selected me as his victim. Got his entire life history, with photographic accompaniment. Lovely. He gave me his address as he got off in Newcastle and I waved goodbye, smiling through gritted teeth, then opened my Hello! magazine for a bit of mental stimulation for the remainder of the journey.

THURSDAY

LOUIS on half term and we’ve a full programme of events planned. Packed our stuff and ran to my folks’ place for a few days. Idea was to have lungs full of fresh air and walk the fat dogs around so we all return looking and feeling better at the end of our break. God, the thing with being away from home is the desire to pig out. Indian carry out? Och yes, why not? Maybe a wee bag of crisps to keep you going, too. Decide to turn my mobile off as my personal trainer keeps calling. Even seeing her phone number gives me the guilt pangs, as I sling another chocolate biscuit in my gob.

FRIDAY

TOO cold for the exercise thing today. So stoke up a big fire, light it and watch rubbish on telly. Sit through a really bad film starring George Hamilton – why is he famous? Surely he must have been something other than actor, mainly because he really can’t act at all. Was he a sex symbol? I doubt that, too… maybe he bent spoons or something, like Uri Geller. Enjoy a day of fatness and slobbery. If fatness and slobbery were ways to aspire to lead your life I would be a guru.

SATURDAY

LOSE the dog. Panic. My wee Flora! This is the hairy wee mongrel I got last year in the cat and dog home and it has taken this long for her to really settle and be happy – and now she is gone. Run round the streets sobbing and calling her name. Several women turn around and look at me – I suspect they may be called Flora, but not the one I want. Don’t know what to do, as it is now dark. So I sit with a glass of wine, exhausted and sad, mourning the loss of my dog – and the fact Pop Idol is finished – when there is a great kerfuffle at the door. Louis opens it to find a very wet, very waggy and revoltingly muddy Flora there. Despite the mud, she is welcomed back into the bosom of the family and we all lie around feeding her our tea.

SUNDAY

TAKE Flora out for a big walk in case that’s why she ran away. Try to clench my buttocks and do Callanetics at the same time, which may explain why an elderly lady came up and asked if I was OK. Start humming, “Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking.” Yeah, right. More like, “Short, and white and old and grotty, the girl fae Aberdeen goes hobbling.” You’ve either got it or you ain’t – and I ain’t.

Ella Fitzgerald half close yer eyes I still look nothing like her.

Monday

A new kids’ film  previews at the Fountainpark Cinema. I took Louis and his pal who are off school today. Sitting in the cinema at 10.30am on a Monday feels very decadent Unfortunately, none of the shops were open so had the unique experience of watching a film without stuffing my face with a hot dog and vat of popcorn. The kids enjoyed the film once they stopped talking loudly about how big the seats were and asking why there were only two other people in the place.

Tuesday

HEAD off to the Aircraft Museum in East Lothian . Arriving we see Clarissa Dickson Wright driving off. Remember she’s in charge of the aptly named Parachute Cafe at the museum, so we treat ourselves to lunch… just snacky stuff but absolutely delicious. Go outside and play with the pounds 1.99 plastic helicopter we’d just bought. Can I just apologise to the family who were enjoying a quiet snack until the helicopter ploughed its way into the window they were sitting at. Sorry and hope the stain comes out of your trousers.

Wednesday

Had a great time at Radio Forth Help A Child Appeal Burns Supper. Hosted by Grant Stott who was hilarious. Later in the evening ended up in the piano bar
A cocktail lounge featuring entertainment by a pianist  with my old muckers Dynamite and John. I like to think we were singing but unfortunately my pregnant pal Fiona said the collective noise we were making didn’t sound like it came from a human. Funny, I thought I sounded like Ella Fitzgerald Lost my bracelet but found four new German friends. They made the mistake of checking into the hotel as I swanned past on my way to the loo. “Come into the bar you boring things. You can’t go to bed – this is Scotland,” I squawked. So bravely they joined eight of us, all largely incoherent by this point. One of them was Germany’s equivalent of Bill Gates and he joined his poor sober countrymen – under severe pressure – to sing Hey Jude, which they did remarkably well considering. Not playing the wild drunken Scots cliche card there was I? Sorry.

Thursday

NO more drink – ever. Presenting  Fred MacAulay who today at 9am . The star guest was a guy called Jack Cardiff who is an 86 year-old cameraman off to LA to get a Lifetime Achievement Oscar next month. Jack has worked with Marilyn Monroe, Ava Gardner, Humphrey Bogart… all the biggest stars in the world. He said Ingrid Bergman was the most photogenic . woman he has ever seen and that she could stay up all night and still look fabulous in the morning. Unlike Ava, who could look rough as you like after a night on the tiles. A glance in a mirror confirms my suspicions that I’m more in the Gardner school of recovery and, sadly, starting with so much less in every department. Which is a shame as straight after the show I started  filming a corporate video. Luckily, I was to play a manageress in a bank so I decided my character was 53 and didn’t put on any make-up. I looked a bit like Ava – deceased.

Friday

DINNER out with all the mums from school. Still convinced I am ailing from the Burns Supper night so swig water and generally behave impeccably. Highly amusing night hearing all the stories of what their respective six-year-olds say about the world. Someone said: “I believe you’re related to Royalty.” It transpired his father had told my son if you trace any family tree back far enough we’re all related. So he takes that to mean we are cousins of The Queen, which he has obviously told the class. The best story, though, was about the wee girl who had found a condom in mum’s chest of drawers. She opened it and put it on her Barbie’s head thinking it was a swimming cap. Tee hee. Safe Sex

Barbie.

Saturday

INSTEAD of being at my pal Sarah Spence’s 40th birthday I’m face down in bed, suffering badly from a virus. So Saturday Night Fever takes on a whole new meaning. Have to say I preferred the original.

Sunday

COMPLETE nightmare cos I lost my wallet. Cancelled all the credit cards after turning the house upside down and the car inside out which means I’m bound to find it in the next 10 minutes. Phoned the police who inquired: “Have you looked right round your house?” “No officer, what an innovative idea but I thought if I phoned you could send round a SWAT team to look for it instead! No, I didn’t say that – I thought spending a night in a cell for being cheeky to a policeman was the last thing I needed.