A frightfully successful couple of days, what.

This cartoon shall be explained in the last paragraph.

How did it get to be Monday evening already? Not that I'm complaining as it means a) the children are in bed and b) it's nearly Tuesday. Not that I had a bad Monday. In fact, it was quite exciting as my shiny new Organised Mum Life Book Planner thingy arrived. I plan on spending my evening morphing into super geek girl (which involves a fetching cape thrown over elasticated pants) and writing in super neat writing everything that I have to do.

I've collated the several thousand newsletters from schools and invitations and doctors appointment cards and address books and the Sunsail brochure (just in case I need to add their holiday hotline number to my emergency contacts) and enter each item with great dedication so that I am the very picture of Organised Mum. In fact the Organised Mum people might want to hire me to be their new model as few will be able to compare in organisedness.

What's more, I am positively glowing in domestic goddess-ability as I whipped up a triumphant batch of courgette chutney last night using up the last of our triffid-like vegetables and used our home grown apples to make my children apple crumble for their pudding (it was pearls before swine as one wouldn't eat the fruit and would rather have had an ice cream in a cone and the other didn't like the crunchy bits because they stuck in his teeth - not to mention that he had a sore bum bum that was putting him off his dinner).

I still however, have about 1000 apples and pears to deploy in a cooking crusade but they can loiter on the kitchen counter and indeed on their trees for a while longer.

I've had a fairly successful work day, remembered to take a friend's childs birthday present to pre-school, found someone to mow our lawn and had the world's strangest chat with a mental health charity from whom I made the grave mistake of ordering some pirate aprons from.

You see I need the aprons for son 2s birthday party this weekend. And despite scouring the interweb could find no pirate aprons that wouldn't cause me to remortgage the house, except these. So I ordered them last week. Today I received a note saying thank you for your order. We're processing it and you can expect it in 10 days. The party is this Saturday.

So I wrote back explaining that I would be having 8 three year olds dressed as pirates in my kitchen ready to make pizzas but not without their pirate aprons. So a very charming chap named David gave me a call. He congratulated me on being the first person EVER to buy anything off their website, which is why they were caught a bit off guard, not realising they might actually need the products that they sell. I asked if that qualified me for something complimentary, forgetting that I was talking to a mental health charity. So he chuckled and said, 'erm, yes we might be able to rustle something up.' I do hope it's not a mental health problem as I have enough of those already.

Anyway, David said that he was terribly sorry but they only had enough pirate fabric for four aprons and could he send me 4 with lighthouses on instead. Now what, pray tell, are you supposed to do in this situation? Do you say, 'Abso-bloody-lutely not. I paid for 8 pirate aprons and the theme of the party is pirates and without the pirate aprons the whole thing will just fall apart as all the little beasties argue about who's going to get the pirate one vs the WI inpired lighthouse ones.' Or do you think, 'These kind people are trying to raise funds for people who don't have a lift going all the way to the top and perhaps I should just accept it and go.' So I reluctantly agreed to support the mentally ill and accept the lighthouse aprons, knowing full well that I would be the person breaking up fights come Saturday morning. In fact, by donating money to the charity, I'm probably just investing in my future as my sanity is on the brink anyway.

Then hallelujah! David rang back. They'd manage to find some more fabric 'stashed away at the back'. The back of what, I wondered? So the good people of the charity will be whipping up another 4 pirate aprons and that he would personally endeavour to get them to me before the big day, because he wouldn't want me to have a riot on my hands. Problem solved.

So all in all, a fairly successful day. And indeed, we had a lovely weekend too. We got to go to the theatre on Friday night which was both entertaining and allowed me to feel cultured, not a feeling I have very often. And I got to guzzle gins and tonics before the show and during interval.

On Saturday we attended a friend's 40th. It was meant to be a summery party in the gardens of a rambling manor house. All of it was true except for the summery part. So instead we marched in heavy downpours across Salisbury plain, which was very pleasant, but not particularly good for my hairdo that evening. We had a fabulous, if somewhat surreal, evening (or maybe it was just the wine that made it all a bit blurry and strange around the edges). All the men were asked to make a contribution to the entertainment by regaling us with tales, poems, anecdotes about the birthday boy. This varied from limericks, piano playing, to the Jabberwock poem, to singing ABBA songs. It was all very 1890s and I expected at any moment for the ladies to retire to play a game of whist while the gents had whiskey and cigars. What's more, as a foreigner, I found the frightfully proper English accents almost comical. I felt sure that I was on a black adder set. I found myself speaking as though I had several large hot potatoes in my mouth, which when combined with a South African twang is probably a little odd.

However, the best part (besides the tremdendous quiche starter and fabulous fillet of beef and gallons of wine), was the cartoon place settings created for each person. The host and hostess spent hours trying to find cartoons that they felt most accurately reflected each guest. Mine is above (it would be below except for some reason I am unable to put pictures on my blog anywhere except at the top). I believe that I have never seen anything that quite so accurately sums up my life. And the lady in it even looks like me (albeit it a rather more glamorous and skinny version of me).

Waste not, want not, pick it up and eat it.

When the prime minister told us recently to stop wasting food, I felt it my duty as newlyish British citizen to do as he said. So I've been making a concerted effort to ensure nothing goes to waste. And given my current financial situation, it's become even more important to turn my potato and carrot peelings into a hearty soup. Perfect for this fine summer.

I have come to the realisation that the biggest food wastage in our house (bar half opened bags of lettuce that go slimy - mainly because I think I will be a healthy eater but decide against it quite often) is the food my children ask for and then don't eat. They, for example, plead starvation and beg for something to eat. So I present them with an apple. They take one bite and say they've had 'nuff'. Two minutes later they'll say that they're hungry again. What that actually means is that they want something out of the red tin up high that contains the sweeties.

So I end up eating an apple, whether I want it or not. Supper rolls around. Tonight it was lamb chops (those cost a fortune I'll have you know) with rice, peas, courgette (grown in our very own garden - talk about saving pennnies) with gravy. I was told by son 1 as he sat holding his head in his hands, gazing at his plate in a very sad way, that "this supper is boring. It's the most boring supper I've ever seen." At which point we had words, and there was definitely a mention about children starving in Africa, which obviously led to a discussion about Mama Mirabelle's home movies because Mama Mirabelle is from Africa.

So child 1 ate the rice and vegetables but refused the lamb. Child 2 ate the lamb but refused the rice if it had gravy on it - "only the white bits mummy" - and certainly ignored the vegetables including our beautiful first ever home grown courgette. He then insisted on a second lamb chop, but obviously he couldn't have his brother's rejected chop because it had been given the plague the minute it hit his brother's plate. So after coercing him to eat more rice and peas, I finally agreed that he could have another chop. He had one bite, then pronounced: "I've had nuff."

So, having eaten my already rather large portion of dinner, I was faced with two half chewed lamb chops, quite a bit of rice and lots of veg. The price of the lamb chops alone could have bought child 1's new big school trousers so there was no way they were going in the bin. And I could have put them in the fridge, but something about day-old half-chewed chops doesn't really appeal. So I had to eat it. All. Waste not want not and all that. Except that my waist line is in no way wanting.

If I keep having to stop our family wasting by eating all of my children's food, I am going to become the model used on the NHS anti-obesity campaign posters. The solution is to cook less, hardly cook anything for me, and then just eat the kids leftovers. We save money. We cut down waste. I don't eat as much. We're all winners. Except that eating half chewed left overs isn't a fab culinary experience. I think for now I'll just have to keep being a good samaritan and eat for all of us. Once husband gets off his mega slimming drive, he can take over. Or we need to get a dog.

P.S. During the dinner that wasn't eaten, son 2 said: "Daddy's in Merica." Son 1 had just finished telling us all how we live on planet earth. So upon hearing his younger brother's comment, he thought for a second and then said: "Is daddy still on planet earth?" Good question lad, good question.