Yesterday’s sudden confession from Huhne, that he had been lying about this incident for ten years (TEN YEARS!) does, at least, prove that the courts will no longer allow MPs to get away with everything short of murder. Huhne has spent a fortune, and an age, trying to get the case dismissed on various legal technicalities. I’m glad, for all our sakes, that it proved impossible.

But we are now brought back to the nub of the matter. The story that Huhne’s wife had taken his penalty points for him only came out during their highly toxic split. All right, her husband was leaving her after 27-odd years of marriage. And yes, he apparently told her he was off during half time while he watched football on TV. And, it’s said, he went right back to watching the match after saying he was choosing a younger woman over her. Obviously he richly deserved the usual treatment – having the pockets snipped out of his suits, his claret redistributed around the area and having jumbo prawns sewn into his new love-nest curtains. These are all, now, time-honoured means of revenge for a woman scorned. But reneging on a deal to take his penalty points, if that could possibly be what happened? A dangerous game, which has involved both of the players having a closer brush with jail than either would, surely, wish.

And now we all know the full extent of the family’s breakdown, thanks to text messages between father and son being released. I understand that these could have been kept out of the public domain, but they were not. I suppose most of us would say that Chris Huhne has got what he deserved. But his children? To send an expletive-filled text to your father on Christmas Day is surely to betray deep signs of damage. That is in neither parent’s interest. However tempting it is to get your children to take sides – and however clear it is to you that one side represents good, and the other evil – it does take two to make a bad marriage. No one can really say that they take no share of the blame when a relationship fails. Or no one rational.

This may seem like a victory for truth. But I’m afraid I see it as a defeat – for all members of the Huhne-Pryce family.

As my friend Lucy at familyaffairsandothermatters points out, things suck even more if you are divorced. Do you, as Mr X and I have agreed, take it in turns to have the children on Christmas morning, then swap them over during the day in a tense hand-over like a Cold War thriller? If you do, you’ll know that the present-opening/lunch preparing/eating and making merry then have to be conducted to a strict timetable, in case one parent gets more than their due allocation of precious time. And, of course, the parent doing the long drive to the drop-off point on the windswept bridge between East and West Germany (ok, so I am getting carried away with this spy analogy) can’t drink until the handover is complete. By which time they will need to neck a vat of booze pretty quickly to blot out the whole spectacle of children wrenched from their new playthings/erstwhile spouse being all hurt/vituperative.

As I was driving back from the school this morning, I heard Woman’s Hour’s round-up of the worst possible things divorced parents could do to their children over Christmas. ‘Don’t make the children choose who they will be with. The parents should sort this out.’ ‘Show them that you can co-operate – probably all they want for Christmas is for both parents to get on.’ Keep to your old, pre-split traditions.’

Well, I may not have finished my cards, got all the presents or even started to think about what I’m going to cook. But at least I’ve got one list all ticked off. Great.

All present and correct?

I don’t think it does.

To be fair, normal parenthood can be pretty damn stretching. Many is the time I’ve hit the bottle after a day with the girls and watched crap telly, my brain reduced to mulch by the demands of umpiring their squabbles. But, with your own children, there is somehow an insulating layer of love, which never goes away, however poisonous the behaviour meted out. I try to believe that the increased objectivity you have with other people’s children is actually a useful thing – any disputes do not have the fire you can feel with your own nearest and dearest. There is nothing like your own flesh and blood for winding you up. But, in the end, you can just sometimes feel the distance and sense of otherness more strongly than anything else.

Of course, there is one family to blame for all our high expectations of blended life. Yes, that’s right, the Brady Bunch. Those six impossibly cute kids, with a light sprinkling of problems that could be easily resolved to everyone’s liking in half an hour, with ads.

Most importantly of all, the two parents, charming, blonde haired Mom and the handsome, dark-haired Dad, did not have exes hanging about. Whether they were conveniently dead, or whether their respective divorces had been so heinous that their names were never mentioned again, there was no sign of them at all. No one changed a plan at the last moment. No one objected to the kids being taken away with certain friends, or insisted they had to be back with them by 6 on the dot. No one, subtly, dripped poison into children’s ears about the unfairness of life and they way they had been martyred by their former partner. No one accidentally forgot a cheque, double-booked or whined.

That’s not to say that life can’t be fun in the blender. It can, and often is, and I’m sure will be more often. But a blender is a blender – by its very nature, it chops everything up and squishes it all around. It can be a bumpy ride. But one day, maybe, we’ll make it – and become a smoothie family, like those blimmin Bradys.

From blender to smoothie?

Until I bought them new brushes the other day. One of the awful things for divorced children is that they get used, in theory at least, to travelling between parents, constantly on the move. This was an aspect of the whole business that I didn’t consider at all at the time that Mr X and I were in mid-split. I didn’t really know anyone else who was divorced and, even if I had, I’m not sure anything would have diverted me from my course. But anyway, the children absolutely hate being nomads, constantly leaving something crucial in one place or the other, and I’m also not too delighted to get those late-night phone calls saying, ‘I need my piano music/blue boots/best earrings NOW!’.

Of course, they are actually lucky that both their parents love them madly and want to spend time with them. They know, at some level, that there are lots of children who are much worse off, who’ve lost contact with one or other of their parents, voluntarily or involuntarily, and are coping with far worse travails than the odd missing sports sock. But, equally, it’s hard to get things in perspective when you’re a teenager whose blood supply is 95 per cent hormones and 5 per cent moans.

So when I got them hairbrushes to replace some which had been lost in transit this summer somewhere between Mallorca, France, Wales and Italy, they were very sweetly thrilled. So much so that they asked me specially to write about them. They are called Tangle Teezers (and no, I am not being paid one penny for this mention) and they are brilliant for those, like us, with very thick but at the same time fine hair. They get through any tangles without tugging, goodness knows how, and leave your hair all softy. Fab. And they’re a British invention which was, best of all, turned down by the Dragons’ Den.

Tangle Teezers to the rescue!

I well remember the days when the divorce was going through the worst of many bad patches. We’d been to mediation and it had broken down, much to my ex’s fury. My lawyer looked over the terms discussed in mediation and pointed out I’d be left in a perilous position. I had no choice but to soldier on with my legal advice instead of going via the mediators.

It was unpleasant, it was stressful, it was very time-consuming. I had emails at all hours of the day and night, I had to photocopy documents constantly, I was always on the phone, I felt as though I was running a very inefficient, under-staffed, one-woman company whose sole output was misery.

But it came to an end. I got my scrubby piece of paper, the decree absolute (or is it the decree nisi? Lovely not to be able to remember) cancelling out that other, more glorious piece of paper, my wedding certificate.  And, though at the time my guilt at the end of the relationship meant that I kept trying to appease my ex, my lawyer constantly told me to curb these impulses. It was good advice. Though I didn’t accept it at the time, and made some very costly concessions just because I had been left feeling so awful about everything, I now see it all differently. It takes two to make a happy marriage, so why would anyone assume one person can make the whole edifice collapse all by themselves? It takes two, most definitely. So remember, however guilty you feel (and whatever reasons you may have to put yourself in the wrong) you would not be in this position at all if you could continue to live with your ex.

Don’t do what I did, do what the lawyer tells you. If you don’t have a lawyer – get one! Maybe try the Law Society’s list, maybe get a recommendation from friends, maybe look at Online Divorce Experts. Whatever option you go for, good luck.

I hardly ever let anyone write a post for me – 99.9 per cent of the witterings you see here are mine alone. But I really liked this post by Carly Morson, suggesting clever ways of keeping yourself together during that whole splitting up/divorcing process. Hope you find it useful.

Staying sane through divorce by Carly Morson

It sounds flippant, but I’m only half-joking with this title. The stress of divorce can stretch your tolerance so thin that sometimes madness can seem just one more bureaucratic solicitor’s letter away. I became so tense during my divorce that I began snapping at everyone, and that really isn’t a good way to live for long. Amidst the stack of divorce advice you’re no doubt receiving from friends, family, and those late night scourings of the internet, the most important is to make time to relax.

If you’re constantly tense, you may have to teach yourself how to relax again, be it through deep breathing exercises, swimming, watching old favourite films… Whatever you choose, and however busy you feel, it’s essential that you make time to relax, regularly, because maintained stress physically stops your immune system from functioning properly, and makes it much harder to make intelligent decisions about anything.

Breathing

Deep breathing exercises physically relax your diaphragm and get oxygen to the stressed-out parts of your brain that need to be fully functional right now. Two of my favourite tips:

- taking it slowly but not asphyxiating yourself, breathe in for a count of five, hold for five, then out for another five. Pause, and then repeat – five times! Do this every couple of hours, when on the loo, on the bus or whenever you remember.

- imagine that your chest is naturally filled with air. Push your breath out. Then feel your chest refill, like a sponge expanding again after you’ve squeezed it.

Meditation, or mindfulness

These are essentially the same thing, but meditation has a more spiritual reputation. Both are methods of letting your thoughts drift off while you stay still and grow calm as you watch them go. People talk about the benefits of bringing yourself into the moment – if this commonly spouted phrase means nothing to you, just know that the physical and psychological benefits are provably enormous. Find a guided meditation that doesn’t put you off with dolphin noises or talk of spirit guides, and give it 20 minutes once a week, until you’re hooked.

Seeing friends

You may expect to struggle with friends who are also close to your ex, but I’ve found that most folk are amazingly tactful, with never more than a few seconds of awkwardness when names are mentioned. It’s probably best to avoid the topic of your ex if you can, for everyone’s sake, but it’s important that you spend time relaxing with friends. If you have maintained friendships that weren’t shared with your ex, all the better – make time for them, as they’re crucial to your sanity right now.

Watch comedy

On stage, or on the telly – just because you’re going through a traumatic experience doesn’t mean you should feel guilty about laughing. I would tell you about its medicinal benefits, and all the neurochemicals it releases that improve your mood, reduce your stress levels and make it easier to handle life – but that might make it less funny.

Go out amongst nature

Nature is scientifically proven to be relaxing! Unless you’re very unlucky, there will be a little patch of it somewhere close by. I live in the city, but volunteer at the tropical conservatory in my local park. It’s only once a fortnight, and I only water the plants, but I get to spend an hour, all by myself, in a nice warm miniature jungle, so it’s perfect even on cold days.

As if divorce itself is not hard enough, parents also have to worry about the impact it is going to have on their children’s lives. It’s impossible not to feel guilty about inflicting this huge upheaval on your little ones. But how much do they really need to know about what is actually happening?

When my husband and I decided to divorce, we sat down with the children and told them the news, which was the worst single moment of the whole process. Before we spoke, they belonged to a family of four. Afterwards, they were the shell-shocked children of parents who were officially no longer together.

We decided to be honest with them about the process of divorce, but to draw a veil over its causes. Coming clean over the reasons for your split depends on the ages of your children, but ‘Mummy ran off with someone else’ or ‘Daddy doesn’t love Mummy any more’ is not appropriate for children to hear at any age, from two to 22. Marriages are complicated – even those inside them may not understand what is going on – and the intricacies of the parents’ relationship are not a child’s business.

What you will need to tell the children, loud and clear, is that the divorce is not their fault. They could not have prevented it by behaving better or finishing their broccoli. Stress that they are not to blame and that both parents love them.  Your children should already know this, but this is the moment to stress it.

You should also tell your children honestly that things will change. The children will now have two homes instead of one.  There will be to-ing and fro-ing at weekends, and there will be the odd tussle over parents’ evenings or school concerts. Everyone is going to have to be patient and kind to each other, including the separating spouses, until things settle down.  Establish some new routines, make sure they are clear, and try to help the family get used to the new situation quickly.

Of course, it is nigh on impossible to go through a divorce without a cross word or a terse conversation. After all, the reason you are getting divorced is that you don’t get on. But bickering should be kept away from the children.  Above all, resist the temptation to bad-mouth your spouse, whatever the provocation. Your children will work out who’s behaved well and who hasn’t and, if you ask them to join in a rant against your ex, you are asking them to divide their loyalties. They are your former partner’s children too, and of course love that parent too. They will also share characteristics with your ex so, if he/she is criticized, your child may feel under attack.

You and your ex may have decided to split up, but you have a commitment to your children for better or for worse. With forethought and plain speaking, you can demystify divorce and tell the children everything they need to know.

Tradera, the Swedish version of eBay, sent me a very pleasant email, sympathising with my situation and suggesting that I contact the seller.

Doh! As I had exchanged upwards of 16 increasingly grumpy emails with the seller at this point, I was not particularly impressed. Tradera also said they could not get involved, as this was a private deal. Altogether, I thought this was a bit hopeless. In the UK, it is illegal to sell fake merchandise, particularly when it has been marketed as genuine, as my teapot had been.

But there we go. In the end, I had a strong feeling that, even if I were to send the teapot back to the perfidious seller, she would say it had met with a sad accident en route and I would be without compensation or teapot, and would have paid the postage charges to Sweden twice – and that, alone, is the price of many, many teapots.

So I’ve decided to cut my losses and enjoy the teapot for what it is. It’s really quite a nice little teapot. And I’m getting rather fond of it. Erm, anyone want to buy a jolly little blue and white teapot, one – no, two – careful lady owners? No? Thought not. Meanwhile, many thanks to the very nice Swedish commenter who suggested some Swedish websites which might have Ostindia pieces. I haven’t found any yet, but I’m looking

And another update, while we’re at it. Poor old Birgitte in Borgen is getting divorced. Not nice, as I know full well. I can’t really understand why she doesn’t just jack in the political career, put on a pinny and do her best to drag her husband away from the mysterious Sacha. But I suppose endless shots of her weeping into the washing up wouldn’t get such good ratings. Ah well, maybe she’ll meet a dashing new suitor in the next series. I hope so. She deserves it.

I do rather wish I’d left them closed. Among the sad discoveries were all the cards from the last Christmas I spent with Mr X, as well as all the children’s drawings and paintings to Mummy and Daddy, and a thousand more small everyday tokens of a married life which is now dead and gone and has the official stake of a decree absolute sticking out of its once-beating heart.

It’s been a grisly week, all proving, I think, that outward appearances can be misleading and what seemed like the perfect set-up was obviously not so – otherwise how could it be dismantled and destroyed so easily?

Oh well, it’s done and dusted now. Onwards and upwards.

First we have the classic wriggly MP, allegedly trying to get speeding points taken off his licence. Well, that’s standard practice. Is there an MP in the country who doesn’t do a bit of Del Boy ducking and weaving when he has a spot of bother? John Prescott seemingly managed to get out of having an MOT when he was Transport Minister, for goodness’ sake. But wait a minute, who is this ‘friend’ who is so kindly taking the licence points for Hulne? Oh, his loyal wife. Well, again, the loyal wifey is a stock political figure, from the ‘fragrant’ Mary Archer turning a blind eye to goodness knows what, to Hilary Clinton paying off those who accused her husband Bill of sexual harrassment. And yes, there’s Hulne’s loyal wife again, stepping up when he is disqualified from driving for three months. She gamely taxis him everywhere, even though she is hardly a stay at home mum, being Chief Economic Adviser to the Department of Trade.

But then it comes out, about a year ago, that Huhne, all this time, has been having an affair with his former press aide. This being the Telegraph, mention is made of the fact that his lover is bisexual and had been in a civil partnership. Suddenly, loyal wifey is most definitely not standing by her man any more. Barely a week after news breaks of the affair, she has filed for divorce. Then it trickles out about the speeding points.

And now, it turns out, there is cast-iron proof that Huhne’s wife could not have been driving the car and getting the speeding tickets at the crucial moment. Instead of driving her husband home from the airport, where he had just landed, she had another engagement. Not in front of the telly with a take-away, but at the London School of Economics with a host of the great and good all verifying her presence.

It looks as though the ‘estranged wife’ as the Telegraph insists on calling Vicky Pryce, has got her husband bang to rights. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or not. Obviously he shouldn’t be telling public lies. And she is still clearly furious with him for the public humiliation of his affair. I understand and I agree. But I do feel grubby, having been dragged through the low points of their marriage. I could have turned the page quickly. I didn’t. It was too gripping, and life is quiet here in Dulwich. Well, apart from the builders.

The only thing I do know is that I won’t be reading the Telegraph again for a while. I used to work there, many moons ago, and a very jolly place it was too. I’m sure it is still. But having read it, I need a shower. The main news section is 30 or so pages long, and included stories on bondage pornography, a serial killer cutting off women’s hair, rape, sexual assault, infidelity, injunctions, blackmail and a woman murdered and stuffed in a freezer by her boyfriend. Do all men hate women? Do all men lie? Are all men unfaithful? In the real world, I don’t know, but in Telegraphland, the answer is a resounding yes. Well, I won’t be going there again in a hurry.

In the meantime, did Chris Huhne really get his wife to take his speeding points for him? His defence, so far, seems to be that he can’t remember what he was doing that day. If he manages to get off, I predict there won’t be a man in the country with a functioning memory from now on.