My publisher was glad I liked my legs but pointed out sweetly I’d have to wait a bit before getting my own copy of the new edition. It won’t be out for eight months. I think I got my German in a bit of a tangle over at www.amazon.de . Even though you might think that a date is a date and is pretty clear in any language, being, ahem, numbers, it certainly wasn’t to me. I also copied in my lovely agent on my email.

My lovely agent then emailed back and pointed out that it would be very nice if I could show her, and my publisher, the odd page or two of the sequel to Schokoherz, which I have now been working on for, erm, two years. Well, that’s working off and on. More off than on, obviously. I’ve had some good excuses. Divorce, emotional turmoil, blah, blah, erm, the weather. And the cat sits on my keyboard! How on earth can I be expected to write under these conditions?

All right, all right, Lady Antonia Fraser managed to pen several whodunnits and a biography while running off with Harold Pinter, and he himself dashed off a play or two while trying to get divorced and remarried. I know this because I was given a copy of Must You Go?, Fraser’s account of her life with Pinter, for Christmas. I am much reassured by the fact that they had twenty or thirty happy years together after the traumatic bit was over. But obviously they were not made of really sensitive stuff, despite winning great cupboards-full of awards for their literary oeuvres, as they just kept on writing no matter what hoo-has were erupting around them. Or maybe they just didn’t have cats sitting on their keyboards?

Anyway, I accept that the time for prevarication is over. I have to show my publisher 35,000 words by April. I’ve written nearly 60,000 already, but unfortunately they are not in the right order. So I’ve absolutely got to get right down to it. A deadline is a very, very useful thing for concentrating the mind, for making sure that the endless evasion is over. I’m going to get on with revising the first draft straight away.

I’m starting tomorrow.

Yikes! Though this is rather thrilling and flattering, for some reason, it makes me feel as though I have been caught behind the bikesheds, doing something unspeakable. Which is ridiculous. I was never caught and, besides, of late this blog is as fully sanitised as a scalpel in a hospital without MRSA, swine flu or C difficile. Erm, so that’s a hospital outside the UK. Oh, but you know what I mean. You could absolutely eat your dinner off my blog these days. I never moan any more about Mr X, TL, his offspring, my offspring, the horrors of divorce or even my washing. No, absolutely not. From now on, it’s full on gratitude all the way.

Speaking of which, I am slightly being held up in my quest for total happiness and inner peace by my inability to fix on a notebook to fill with my lists of blessings. I could use an old one, but somehow I feel only a really special new one will do. And, if I go to the special notebook shop in the village, I will inevitably end up buying armfuls of things which Mr X and TL would unite in condemning as useless junk but which I, and all womankind, recognise as essentials without which no home can truly function. Scented candles and cushions, obviously.

In the meantime, I am idly listing my gratitudes in my head, which is pointless, because it gets all blurry and confused. Instead of my children, the health of all my loved ones, my wonderful friends, my beloved catty and my garden, it ends up as the health of my garden, my beloved loved ones (a tautology, surely) and my catty children. In any case, my affections are so changeable these days that if I did ever commit a list of loved ones to paper, certain names would keep on getting crossed out. Names beginning with T, I expect.

Oh, it’s a tricky business, life. I might just put a little list in a shady corner of my blog so that we can all keep an eye on it.

The idea of lists reminds me, there are loads of lose ends I must tie up, to get all sorted and ready for the autumn. Yes, I know it’s already started, but at least I am trying to get organised, all right?

So, in no particular order:

Huge congratulations to the beauteous English Mum on her rewedding, I wish I could have been there and know you will live happily ever after.

My lovely friend Erica at Littlemummy is having trouble with her links – go and see her fab interview with author Kathy Lette of Mad Cows fame

I have so far managed one go on the Wii Personal Trainer and must now be officially recognised as untrainable. So sorry, lovely Wii people. The girls enjoyed it though.

Would anyone like a Pampers Golden Sleep kit? It comes with a lovely soft blanky with lots of labels on, apparently babies really like them, plus money-off voucher and CD of incredibly soporific tunes. Just say in the comments section. I’m not sure how many are available so first come, first served.

I still love my HP printer, though it took weeks to get the right refill cartridges – I tried to do this like a normal person to see how efficient the system was, but stupidly filled in the wrong cartridge type. The cartridges arrived the next day but I couldn’t use them. I sent them back and never heard another thing. Weeks later, I confessed my blunder to the lovely PR people who gave me the right cartridges. I would say the printer is quite heavy on ink usage, but in all other respects a winner. I am rather the dreading the inevitable day when the lovely HP folk will notice I still have it and demand it back.

I think that’s it, I’m all squared off now. Just got to do my gratitude list …well, maybe later. Not that I’m prevaricating, you understand. I can’t prevaricate now, I just haven’t got time. I’ll do it tomorrow.