Page 3 of The Bad Mother's Diary

A garden is more important than a marble wet-room with waterfall shower.

We have a budget and there are priorities. Sacrifices have to be made.

Nick was grumpy anyway, because his new casting photograph had arrived. It’s black and white, so doesn’t show the ‘dazzling contrast’ of his blue eyes and dark-brown hair. Plus, according to Nick, the angle doesn’t highlight his ‘manly’ jaw.

In my opinion, the photographer got it right. Nick is good-looking. But when he poses looking all serious and brooding, jutting his jaw, it just looks stupid. Far better that he comes across natural.

Already broken a New Year’s resolution, but Candy Crush is SO addictive.

Spent the afternoon making Christmas thank you letters, supposedly from Daisy. I got a bit ambitious and decided to photograph Daisy with each and every present. Then she fell asleep, and it all looked a bit weird.

Nick’s mum turned up and asked me what the hell I was doing arranging a set of Neal’s Yard toiletries around a sleeping baby.

I said, ‘Helen, for once could you knock?’

But I don’t think she heard me properly, because she said, ‘Yes alright then, I’ll have a decaf.’

Sunday January 4th

Train back to Great Oakley to see Mum and Dad.

Nick had scripts to read, so he couldn’t make it. Probably for the best – he hates the countryside.

Oakley-on-Thames station is only an hour from London, but that’s a long time with a baby.

Daisy cried from the minute the train door closed. She only calmed down when a nice old lady rattled a box of denture cream at her.

I love Oakley village. It really is the perfect place to get married.

Helen just doesn’t get it – this is where I grew up. I spent my childhood running around these woods and paddling in the river. That’s a million times more special than some fancy London hotel.

Laura and Brandi met me at the train station, and we had lovely warm sister hugs. Then we walked up the little woodland trail, along the waterfront and across the maypole green to Mum and Dad’s pub.

Dad had scrubbed the Tudor beams and whitewashed the walls for the Christmas, so everything looked like a pretty winter postcard – all frosty, lattice windows and cosy, uneven walls.

Shame Mum’s neon-pink nativity scene was still flashing away on the roof.

Choice of beef, chicken or pork for Sunday lunch, plus half a pint of Guinness. It’s great being a landlord’s daughter.

As usual, Mum wanted to give Daisy a teaspoon of beer for her runny nose, and I had to wrestle the spoon away.

How does she not get that alcohol isn’t good for a baby?

Mum said, ‘Don’t be so paranoid. Youlivedoff Guinness when you were her age. And you turned out just fine.’

The ‘just fine’ argument.

According to Mum, Laura, Brandi and I crawled around on broken glass eating lumps of raw chicken. And turned out ‘just fine’.

Ate our family lunch upstairs, away from the regulars, and had a good old catch-up over beef, Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes, peas and gravy.

Laura is thinking of becoming a vegan.

Brandi has (another) new boyfriend.

Dad saw a meteor in the sky last night.

Mum’s been teaching next-door’s dog to sing ‘Let it Go’.

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