6 March

Today I fell over. A real comedy fall, one that would have been mortifying had I done it in public. As it was, it was just really painful. I was full of verve and vigour this morning and determined to clear about the detritus littering the house (I’m sure you all know what I mean; Barbies with one shoe missing, a couple of plastic knives, a hallowe’en ghost that shrieks when you step on it, and a rather menacing cyberman). Anyway, I tried to put something away on a tall shelf (a cunning ruse, in the hope that little hands would never find it again), but, instead of standing on something sensible, such as a chair, to reach, I decided to stand on my daughter’s trike. Great idea. The trike immediately lurched one way, I went the other way, my oh-so-svelte backside hitting the trike, my head hitting the table. Luckily, there were only a couple of pheasants (careful how you read that word, it’s not that time-warped in Suffolk) peering through the window, but the yell I gave sent them squawking off in that ridiculously fussy way they have. It was a really, really stupid thing to do and also ill-timed, given that I had five minutes to race up the lane to collect my daughter from pre-school. I staggered up there feeling badly bruised, tearful and shaken, but had to soldier on (cue violins). Just to bore you all with my tale of woe, for I have no-one else to bore, my head has a lump the size of an egg on it, by tailbone is so sore I can barely sit down (I’ll have a lovely bruise, but, sadly, will only be able to show it off to those closest to me) and a swollen wrist. I told my husband when he happened to phone, and he did that really annoying male thing of pointing out that I should never have stood on the trike. No, really?

That set the tone for the day, really. I have had meeting after meeting throughout yesterday and today. I’ve been trying to think of a suitable collective noun for a bunch of meetings, but am foiled. An annoyance, perhaps? Our part of Suffolk is about to go through one of those disruptive and expensive periodic reviews of education, and although the tiny village primaries are safe, thankfully, the way they are structured will be affected. I had a governor’s meeting last night, and have a PTA meeting later. My daughter has been dispatched to play with a friend, quite happy to go because she thinks the friend’s mother looks like Snow White (irritatingly, she does). There is something about meetings, I find, which brings out the worst in people. In the ones I go, at least, which these days are usually about school, there are always several mums desperate to prove that they are educated, had careers prior to children or still count themselves as high flyers, and as a result try to run them like board meetings. They always try to get the upper hand and drop in a few anecdotes about the days when they were head of finance or whatever. The rest of us sit in embarrassed silence while they talk over us, getting louder and louder. It’s usually pretty hard to get a word in edgeways (and that’s saying something, coming from me, as I can be quite vocal). Then there are a few pedants who also love the sound of their own voice and like to ensure that we have every, but every, little detail covered. Generally male and often, but not always, fifty-plus, they tend to talk over you as well. Usually I find all this quite amusing but I wasn’t in the mood today. I had to read something out at one point and I had the most embarrassing and hideous feeling that I was about to burst into tears. My voice was catching slightly and I knew my nose had gone bright red. I was horrified and just about managed to pull myself together (I think) – I don’t think putting my head on the table and bawling would have created quite the right impression. It must have been just delayed shock, as I am perfectly OK now, although a hot bath and bed would be far preferable to another meeting in an hour and then dashing to collect the children. Once all meetings are over, there is a little pile of badges waiting to be sewn onto J’s Cubs uniform. I feel like they’re looking at me every time I go into his bedroom. Is any one else hopeless at sewing, or am I the only completely non-crafty country dweller? My poor boy always has the scruffiest uniform with lopsided badges. I do have one particular talent, however; I am unbeatable with a corkscrew, and I plan to put my modest but handy talent to good use tonight. Cheers.