Rather alarming – The Mail on Sunday seem interested in me and her and our ability to write together as part of their drive to feature young and attractive women in the paper. They’ve asked us to send a picture of ourselves first before they progress any further with ideas for a piece about us and our glorious career, and some promo for Instuctions for Bringing Up Scarlett. Well, no disrespect to her or myself for that matter, but young we ain’t (though I still strong believe I am only actually 17), and attractive? All things are relative I know, but if they were planning a cover for Vogue, it is unlikely we’d get passed the first heat. 
The picture you see here was (cough) taken a few years ago now, and, as every woman knows, is much the more flattering for being in black and white but hey? If they can touch up piccies for magazines all the time, aren’t we allowed a bit of artistic licence?
So whilst we wait to see if the readers of the Mail are going to be subjected to our mugs, I am feeling a bit peckish. All lined up for dinner last night was one of those pre-cooked chickens from the store that is gud with fud – until the newest member of the household discovered it and ate the lot. Mack, rescued in February from a small plastic box on the side of the road with the lid firmly down, aged just 11 weeks, is rapidly becoming an adolescent. If he were human, he would be a hoodie. The result of his indulgence? Well, put it this way, it was back this morning – all over the kitchen floor.
