Avoid diary owing to total absence of remarkable events in life, then recall that such is point of said diary.

Oversleep. Frantically force-fed Nipper with porridge, let dogs out, scrape hair in bun, drag Nipper to school on scooter, race back to house, shove anything work related in bag, defrost car and manage to leave house on time, only to pull into station car park to see train smugly pulling away from platform in direction of work.

Await next train in low spirits. Make up face with contents of handbag (elderly lip balm, bronzer sample as eyeshadow).

Vow to achieve, if nothing else this day, completion of Hellish Spreadsheet. Fail, on every conceivable level.

Leave work at 4. H must attends phonic workshop at school. Agree that I will drive home, collect N, drive to Diet Saleswomen, get weighed, buy diet products, bring N home. Do so. Discover phonics workshop has been cancelled and H has gone to bed for nap. Call in at M&S and purchase cheese. N has meltdown over Paddington advent calendar. Add bottle of red wine to basket.

H goes to play squash. Open draft of novel with intent of completing difficult scene. Open internet explorer and read chats on Mumsnet. Feel guilty, and conduct quiz of US states instead. Fail.

Contact sister in law. Arrange visit this forthcoming weekend. Contemplate tasks to be achieved in interim period. Open Facebook.

Note, with passing regret, persistent incompetence in maintenance of this journal, and decide to move smartly onwards with life.

Rise in the dark and gloom to attend to Infant, now 4, who has a) fallen out of bed b) spilt cup of water on floor c) urinated on mattress. Ascertain that it is in fact six minutes past twelve and not twelve minutes past six, and immediately manage situation by confining H to Infant’s bed and taking Infant back to the Big Bed. This statement misleading, as rest of night spent on extreme outermost edges of said Big Bed whilst Infant stretches out horizontally, snoring heavily.

On waking, vow to leave house on time and swiftly ignore whingeing from all human and canine sources and briskly sprint through morning routine, dressing in black suit, applying make-up over last night’s application, allowing to hair to cascade in bohemian fashion down back in wild curls (viz. mass of unbrushed frizz), force-feeding Infant on generic multigrain cereal, dragging him cheerfully to school on three-wheel scooter, navigating school run vehicle and pedestrian traffic to alight on A624 with an impressive fifteen minutes to complete twenty five minute run to station instead of usual ten. Make good progress for first two miles; become stuck behind irritatingly slow white van for remainder of journey. Arrive five minutes late for train which, fortuitously, is running six minutes late.

Morning and early afternoon pass in vague haze of irritable tedium, filing emails, answering questions, and generally failing to accomplish any meaningful work.

Shocked and stunned to learn of sudden and untimely death of Equity Partner’s formidable and female superior at work (gender not normally relevant save in this profession). Ponder meaning of life and work in great detail. Concerned to note remainder of colleagues largely unmoved and continuing about daily business. [QUERY: Does this speak of their lack of human decency, or my over-abundance of hysteria? ANSWER comes there none].

Return home, contemplate to do list, open bottle of Rioja. Infant regales me with tale of Alan the Dragon and French Rabbit. Am unable to identify provenance or destination of said tale, but mystery cut short by bedtime.

Resolve, on going to bed, that today shall mark start of New Beginning, in positive sense, in terms of a) health b) family c) work. Outline results as follows herein:

5am: Awake, owing to over consumption of water (Cambridge Diet). Contemplate, whilst in bathroom, ideal opportunity presented to me to reinstate excellent habit of morning yoga, meditation, and writing of Novel.

5.05am: Return to bed.

5.50am: Am awoken by H to medicate Large Dog, involving a) ramming of piece of ham encasing 3.5 antibiotic tablets down Large Dog’s throat and b) wedging of Large Dog between H’s thighs in order to apply various eye drops.

6am: H leaves for work. Contemplate commencing morning routine as aforesaid. Return to bed.

6:01am: Infant enters room, carrying ukulele and large plastic dinosaur, demanding cuddles and children’s television.

7am: Venture downstairs. Make porridge and coffee. Serve porridge to Infant in bed. Take coffee to desk. Attempt to log into work computer. Servers down.

7.15am: Irate conversation with IT department whilst Infant deploys large plastic dinosaur to smack me round side of head and demands further episodes of favourite cartoon to be streamed to television in bedroom.

7.45am: Shower. Dress in clothes from bedroom floor. Take Son to nursery. Let out Large and Small Dogs.

9.00am. Return to study. Systems still not online. Phone doctors. Make notes regarding own mental health.

11am – 2pm: Work.

2pm: Wrestle Large Dog to floor. Apply eye drops. Wrestle roll of lavatory paper from Small Dog’s mouth. Hoover up remnants of lavatory paper. Make diet shake and coffee. Spend twenty minutes attempting to coax Small Dog in from garden. Remove H’s underpants from Small Dog’s mouth. [QUERY: How, and why, have H’s underpants found themselves in Small Dog’s mouth? ANSWER comes there none].

3pm: Review To Do list. Entertain feelings of panic over extent of work To Be Done. Watch Netflix with occasional glance at inbox.

4pm: Hoover landing. No appreciable difference to carpet. Resume work.

5.50pm: H and Infant arrive home with shopping. Determine that this shall not allow deviation from work or diet.

5.55pm: Cuddle Infant. Consume entire packet of ham.

6pm: Resolve, fervently, that despite course of day to date, shall not open bottle of Sangiovese on kitchen sideboard.

6.01pm: Drink large glass of Sangiovese.

6.10pm: Return to study to work. Examine Facebook and Mumsnet for developments of interest.

7pm: Recall balance on Spanish Holiday unpaid. Rectify situation urgently.

7.20pm: Light dinner of chicken, salad and Sangiovese taken at desk whilst pretending to  work.

8pm: Realise Game of Thrones starts in one hour. Take Small Dog for long walk.

9pm: Game of Thrones.

10.30pm: Extensive telephone analysis of Game of Thrones with Brother and Sister in Law.

11pm: Medicate Large Dog. H fiddles about with mechanism of upstairs toilet. Valiantly offer to iron his shirt for tomorrow. He consents.

11.20pm: Observe H’s silent dismay at my absence of ironing skills.

11.40pm: Bed. Read two pages of book. Feel, on reflection, that perhaps not every unforgiving minute filled with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run. Fall asleep.

Awake early, mildly anaesthetised by Nytol and luxury of having bed to self, and wallow in bed listening deliriously to Farming Today whilst vaguely contemplating tasks to be accomplished before 10.30 am (wash, dress and feed self and Infant; deposit Infant at nursery; deposit car at garage; attend IVF clinic 20 miles away for Totally Unnecessary Blood Test; complete urgent review of contract that I wildly promised would be delivered to client this morning). Despite urgency of situation, fall back asleep and awake an hour later in state of some agitation [NOTE TO SELF: Snooze function on alarm clock utterly pointless device, since neither coerces me to get up or allows me to return to acceptable depth of sleep to benefit from extra hour in bed].

Realise, as sit in traffic at 9.15am on way to clinic, that prospects of accomplishing all tasks in time available very slim indeed. Have blood test, return home and commence contract review at 10.25am, five minutes before deadline. Recognise that this is poor time and client management.

Clinic rings at 1pm to confirm, helpfully,  that according to results of Totally Unnecessary Blood Test latest IVF cycle has failed. This news unilluminating, as diagnosis of Non-Pregnancy already confirmed with three previous blood tests, also scan and rather obvious symptom of Miscarriage. [QUERY: is it permissible to be slightly relieved that there has been no miracle resumption of hCG levels, as one sometimes reads on The Internet, in view of quantities of Gin Mixes consumed over Christmas during said Miscarriage? ANSWER comes there none.]

Husband, on night shift, and suffering from severe cold, emerges occasionally to cough and shuffle sorrowfully about the place. I do not assist.

Complete contract review at 10.55pm, having broken only to collect car and Infant, make unnecessary yet expensive trip to Tesco’s [QUERY: how can one go in to Tesco’s to purchase only cat litter and dark chocolate, yet emerge some fifty pounds (sterling) the lighter? ANSWER comes there none], make sandwich for Infant, which is ignored, bathe Infant, attempt unsuccessfully to brush Infant’s teeth with new Spider Man toothbrush, read Infant two stories and sing three lullabies, and stand outside Infant’s room for five minutes neurotically checking his breathing after he has gone to sleep.

Consider going to bed immediately, perhaps with camomile tea, to maintain new year’s resolution of 7 hours sleep per night (yet to be achieved), but instead “make” dinner of miscellaneous continental meats and large glass of Rioja, and fritter away ensuing 2 hours on Internet [NOTE TO SELF: Really must try harder with new year’s resolutions]

Little satisfaction derived from eventual completion of work as in fact only amounts to approximately one third of total work planned for day. Impossible to contemplate further intellectual exercise at this hour. Decide instead to reply to email from Equity Partner to demonstrate commitment to job by working at such an hour. This elicits no response,and I resume consideration of Facebook.

Leave house for first time in approximately one month to present Infant, now 2 weeks of age, to Registrar at local market town. Rise at 6.30am for 9.30am departure, which transpires to be uncharacteristically prudent decision, as Infant requires 2 hours 55 minutes to prepare himself for first outing, engaging in 90 minute breakfast in bed whilst watching television, two nappy changes and somewhat violent struggle to get him dressed in babygro, vest, hooded top and cap with picture of cat on it before being well wrapped in blankets and laden in car in expensive and complicated car seat with pram, carry cot, toys, and bag filled with nappies, two changes of clothes, two muslin squares, packet of wipes, roll of kitchen paper (NOTE TO SELF: am forcibly reminded of own preparations for Saturday night in local pub), whereupon drive twenty minutes to destination, unload and unwrap Infant, assemble pram, load Infant in with weather shield and rain cover, and wheel a distance of precisely ten yards to town hall. Infant, now yelling with some vigour,  is extracted from pram and presented to Registrar, who studies him in disapproval and completes paperwork. Infant duly Registered within a few minutes, and we celebrate by driving to B&Q, where Husband attempts unsuccessfully to purchase piece of wood for unknown masculine reasons which I am not prepared to investigate. Rest of day passes in sleep deprived haze of feeding Infant, moving piles of laundry and ironing to different locations about house, and watching extremely bizarre staging of Handel’s Messiah on Sky Arts 2.  [QUERY: Is this likely tenor of coming days of maternity leave? ANSWER comes there none].

Determine, after interminable day spent lying on bed with laptop working from home [QUERY: does six hours of aimless internet surfing and occasional trawl of work emails legitimately constitute work in any meaningful sense? ANSWER comes there none] that this journal ought to be resumed without further delay. Urgency arises out of combination of a) desire to find some means of occupying time as late pregnancy prevents enjoyment of usual pastimes (wine-drinking, pubs, etc.); b) misplaced optimism that c. 10 days available between departure on maternity leave and birth of child will present ideal opportunity to establish remunerative literary career; and c) deep-seated and far more realistic fear that impending maternity leave will present Equity Partner with ideal opportunity to form comprehensive view of my failings as employee and terminate employment. Delighted by impending arrival of first child, and have many idle fantasies of spending leave carrying rosy-cheeked Infant through flower-filled fields in spring sunshine, notwithstanding that a) live in wettest part of country; b) flower-filled fields are few and far between vast expanses of bleak moorland that in fact surround house; and, crucially c) leave is infinitely more likely to be spent in hellish sleep-deprived cycle of tending to Infant’s needs and rowing violently with Husband over variances in domestic hygiene expectations and where to leave dishcloth. Home-working today enforced by sudden and unexpected arrival of Snow, which though much promised has hitherto avoided local area this winter, waiting until today and important antenatal visit in hospital before descending with some violence, requiring Husband and I to spend several hours in grim silence in stationary traffic in local market town, before silently and resignedly turning round and going home. Frustrating day then ensues, as Husband repeatedly thwarts my attempts to work/discreetly research baby websites, whereas my presence clearly preventing Husband from spending day off watching daytime TV, which despite protestations would clearly and perfectly reasonably form substantial part of his normally solitary daytime regime. Marital tension abounds.

Find self awake, inexplicably, at 2 a.m. [NOTE TO SELF: perfectly explicable, in fact, when recall have drunk 2 entire pots of green tea on own this evening]. Contemplate the many useful things that could be accomplished in this unexpected window of free time, namely: working on novel; working on vastly over-ambitious knitting project; tidying study; reading improving book; undertaking any one of a number of seriously overdue household chores. Instead, decide most efficient use of time and insomnia is to start up blogette once again, so unbearably fascinating is the day to day minutiae of my life.  [QUERY: was this rational decision? ANSWER comes there none]. Spend quiet evening at home without Husband, who is at work, and effectively without Dog, who is tired and goes to bed at 6pm, but with Cat, who helpfully decides she will lie wantonly across my midriff, now and then savaging the pathetic looking scarf that have been attempting to knit for past 3 months. Watch Doctor Who, avidly, and then highlights of Muse at Reading, which is highly enjoyable and edifying as attended the same performance seven days ago at Leeds, and could see Not A Thing, owing to untimely failure of big screens and insistence of other festival goers of pushing in front, sitting on each other’s shoulders, and throwing chips.