Now I’m back to just regular laundry and I wanted to share a finding with you.

We have about 20 pairs of very grubby white socks that I would like to be less grubby and I have found a formula that works for restoring them to some sort of presentability.

1 soak socks in very hot water and a good squirt of Fairy Liquid for at least an hour.

2 now soak the socks for at least an hour in very hot water, a cupful of Vanish powder AND a few squirts of Dr Beckmann Stain Remover for mud and grass.

3 Wash in the machine on hot

And hey presto!! Your socks will be considerably whiter.

I finished all the laundry, I might add, with no help from bloody LaundryHeap. I have been devoted to this app for years as a way of sending out heavy laundry when there is a bottleneck of it. And it has been very good until last week, when four of my pillowcases came back bright yellow.

I alerted their complaints department via the app and was told that it was my fault. The pillowcases were too dirty!

Certain substances, I was told, such as body oils, perspiration, deodorant or perfume, can sometimes leave invisible residues on fabric. While these may not be visible before cleaning, they can become noticeable after the item has been washed or exposed to heat during the cleaning process.

My first response was shame. Oh god! My laundry is TOO FILTHY to be cleaned. I am an oily, perspiring pig, soaking my pillowcases in sluttish perfume and deodorant.

Then I thought… hang on a bloody second. This is a laundry service! Why would I send linen to a laundry if it wasn’t stained with body oils, perspiration, deodorant or perfume? If it wasn’t stained with body oils, perspiration, deodorant or perfume and I was some miraculous being that didn’t give off oils and sweat or need deodorant or perfume, I would just keep the sheets on the bed!

Anyway I said as much to LaundryHeap and they are taking my pillowcases back for “reprocessing”, which I guarantee will do absolutely nothing.

Speaking of dirty laundry, there isn’t nearly enough of it in Rachel Cusk’s new book, Life of M.

This book is widely accepted to be a thinly-veiled work about the actress Natalie Portman. We know this because we are told the actress Cusk is writing about starred in a film as a child, (Leon), then won great acclaim for a film about a ballerina, (Black Swan), and also starred in a film about a singer who survives a school shooting and goes on to have a nervous breakdown (Vox Lux).

It is a short book and endearingly barmy. Cusk writes with her usual massive intensity yet great restraint, which is a much-copied style.

The city we are in is not named, (but it’s obviously New York), and the vignettes are incredibly detailed, but say almost nothing at all. Where, oh where, is the dirty laundry?

Instead, we get interiors described with agonising thoroughness.

It is a trailer, approximately four metres by six. There are trainers of all sizes and standard, from basic to luxurious. This one is luxurious. Inside it resembles a hotel room. There is a bed, a couch, some armchairs groups around a coffee table. There is a standing lamp with an ivory shade. There is a rug, beige, with a rain geometric pattern. There is a large television like a rectangular void on the wall.

That’s just the start of the description of the trailer, on and on it goes. At other times Cusk describes meeting rooms, museums, cakes in a cake shop, a spa treatment - there are pages and pages of description that seem to bear no relation to any story or wider meaning except: here we are. Like I said, other writers try to do this and the results are dangerously boring. I would not tolerate this from any other writer.

In the same way that the interiors are describe down to the last window treatment, the interiority of “M” is also meticulously picked apart and displayed, like a rug that has been undone thread by thread and then all the threads laid out on the floor.

For example this, from when “M” is being interviewed by a journalist.

M finds herself wondering whether the interviewer finds her attractive. She isn’t sure. She feels suddenly encumbered by herself, by the impossibility of anyone ever understanding what she is. She feels her own unreachability as an almost physical expanse around her that no one will traverse.

And then, after so, so many interiors and so much detail about tiny fleeting feelings that this actress has, or think she has, or may once have had, the whole thing is upended. “M” tells Cusk that she doesn’t like the book, doesn’t like the way she has been portrayed.

I don’t like the way you portray me, she said. Actually, it’s hurtful.

But it isn’t you, I said. It isn’t anyone

What?! Hang on… so who is it, then? If it isn’t anyone, then why the detail about the movies? “M” wonders this, too.

[“M” says] I had made her identifiable while filling the book with things she herself didn’t recognise. To begin with she had tried to keep track of the countless factual errors but in the end she had given up. She had never been to any of the places I’d described, nor done the things I had narrated.

So what on earth are we to make of this? Is it true? Not true? It is either a dizzyingly clever rug-pulling exercise of towering literary merit, or it’s lazy and faintly exploitative. Either way, it’s short.

Last thing: I think one of my children might be anaemic, which would explain shortness of breath, fatigue, random dizziness and so on. We are due for a blood test but in advance of that I was wondering if anyone has experience of this with their own children?

Please leave anecdotal medical advice, as well as any thoughts on laundry or the work of Rachel Cusk in the handy box below.

2 If you are feeling absolutely wild with wordless claustrophobia and rage, immediately send all the laundry out to a laundry service using the app Laundry Heap.

3 It’s fine to have chicken again for dinner. Although, having said that, I just subscribed to the Mob recipe app in a bid to liven up my cooking repertoire - has anyone else used this?

4 I wrote a piece for You Magazine about “food noise”. I started the piece in a jolly way, with the grabby words: “I have always felt fat,” because I think it’s important to start a piece of writing with all-caps D R A M A.

But then as I wrote, I realised that this is absolutely and completely true. I have always felt fat - and minded it. It’s quite tragic, really, that so much brain space has been devoted to such a futile quest to be “thin”, when I will never be “thin” because in my own head I will always be “fat”. Read the piece here. I’m sorry to say that it is paywalled - the Mail may let me re-print it here in a few weeks’ time, I will ask.

5 I’m looking forward to the new Sense and Sensibility film - I heart George McKay forever. I love the idea of a bit of realness when it comes to hair and make-up in a Jane Austen adaptation, rather than e.g. Jennifer Ehle wearing red lipstick at bedtime. Otherwise, I am excited about the rain we had this morning and I now know for absolute certainty that if I had to choose between living somewhere with too much rain and too little rain, I’m Team Rain.

6 Considering my lack of perspective, re: fatness, I thought I ought to just get a grip. So I went and bought this very 90s dress from Massimo Dutti (a shop I have hitherto never understood). It is made of crepe (?I think?) and it holds me tight… no need for a bra! Hallelujah. It’s a dress that means business. My tummy sticks out a bit but I’ve decided that this is what a pair of Spanx is for. If you like the look of this, get the smaller size if you are between sizes. I am a large 10 or a small 12 and a 10 fit.

It has zero hanger appeal but trust me, it’s good.

7 At the airport on the way to Greece last week I went mad and bought a pot of Creme De La Mer’s La Mer Night Rejuvenating Cream in Duty Free, because there was a big discount off the duty free price. Even then, it cost a fortune and I felt a bit faint. But I told myself this: I do nothing else to my face - no botox or peels or anything - I don’t have a gym membership, I don’t have massages, facials, manicures or invest in any other way in my grooming. So, I thought, I am going to buy this, because I’m pretty sure Creme De La Mer is amazing.

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Let me tell you: opening the front door of a house infested with flies is an experience that stays with you.

And flies bloody love a heatwave! The rotting carcasses! The filthy streets! The moist, food-spattered drains! The warm air-drafts! Our five heatwaves have made 2026 my year of War On Flies.

Here are my top tips.

Fruit flies and drain moths live in the food detritus in your sink u-bend. Even if you are a good citizen and don’t haphazardly rinse food down your plug-hole, but use a catch-all, there will be food and grease. Rather than using a very harsh drain cleaner, try a bio-enzyme drain cleaner, like this one. You use it overnight and with regular use you can say goodbye to those bastards.

I would quite like an InSinkErator - one of those under-sink food grinders. I’m convinced they would end the fruit fly problem once and for all - and also be very convenient. Can anyone with one report back on this?

Houseflies or bluebottles can be deterred a few different ways. My problem is that I want to have the back doors open for a breeze, but the minute I start doing any food prep, (which is three times a day, for about an hour each time), every fly in Kentish Town seems to get the memo and starts buzzing round my head. You might say “just close the doors” but I don’t see why I should have to!!

The first thing I did was to get a little fan. It had never occurred to me to use a fan in the kitchen before and I can’t believe I’ve wasted so much of my life not having one. I only ever thought of desk fans as noisy and useless for my main problem in hot weather, which is sleeping. But our five heatwaves have made me see that desk fans are brilliant for the kitchen. I’ve got this one, which is small, unobtrusive, quiet and rechargeable. It’s not one of those huge metal things that you see on desks in cop shows set in hot cities, but at top speed it deters flies and provides a pleasant breeze for the hot and sweaty cook.

Second, flies are put off their flight course by shiny, reflective surfaces. I toyed with getting an old-fashioned 70s beaded fly curtain for the kitchen doors, but went instead for one of those foil party backdrop curtains. I stick it to the lintel of the doors to the garden to put the little shit-heads off.

It works very well. Usually if I am cooking chicken, I turn around and suddenly there are ten flies in the kitchen - with my new foil fly curtain I had raw and cooked chicken lying about all over the place for a good half an hour and there were NO FLIES.

The positives of a foil curtain are that it is light, inexpensive and easy to pack away when the summer is over. The downside is that very small gusts of wind can send it flying sideways, creating a gap for flies to get in. It also makes your kitchen look a bit like a second hand car dealership in North Finchley.

The gold standard of fly curtains is an aluminium chain one, like this. They do the job very well and don’t fly about in the wind. But they are more expensive and require fiddling about with screws and so on to attach. It all depends on how much you hate flies, really. So I’m seriously considering one.

Third, you have probably seen these marvellous little spinny things in fishmongers and bakers that keep flies away from food sources without endangering fingers. Now they can be yours to use at home!

Other things: we going to Greece soon and are due back late on a Wednesday night. I am already dreading the return to empty cupboard and fridge because I neurotically dispose of everything perishable before we go.

But then I thought, hang on a bloody sec - we’re only gone for ten days. If I bought a pint of milk the day we leave, it will be fine in the fridge!

This led me to start thinking… what else will keep for ten days? Then I started designing a whole self-care package for me to find when I drag my burnt, dehydrated carcass through the front door after my “holiday”: in the fridge - milk, butter, cheese, tonic water and gin. In the freezer - ice, sliced sourdough and a pot of bolognese (for Sam) . I will leave myself clean sheets and pyjamas! What else? What else!?

What do you do for yourself before you go on holiday?

What level of fly infestation is there in your house right now and what are you doing about it?

Please inspire us all in the handy comment box below.

Why won’t she wear something weird and directional that doesn’t suit her, damnit? Like the rest of us have to? And anyway, where does she find these dresses? I never see their sort around. I wonder if she has them made.

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One of the challenges of a UK holiday, for me, is what to bring from home. When you go abroad, you are limited to a suitcase. At home, I am only limited to my car. I want, of course, to bring my entire house with me. Those rubber gloves, my waffle robe, all of my t-shirts, that frock, 40 pairs of shoes, my entire skincare system and so on.

My instinct is to resist - a holiday from home is also a holiday from all my bloody stuff. So I consult the list I write for myself each year from the house, about what I do and don't need and try to stick to it.

I noted the “MUST BRING OWN PILLOWS” instruction and so allowed myself this mad luxury. I was aware that last year, I brought threadbare pyjamas that ripped across one bumcheek on the first day and trainers with no insoles. I can sometimes go a bit far the other way in resisting over-packing. So this year I really tried to get it right.

For skincare I brought only face wash and hydrator lotion from Hada Labo, plus a box of MediCube’s excellent exfoliating pads. SPF is this from CeraVe. At the last minute I stuffed in a can of BaliBody Express self-tan, which at the time felt like an Elizabeth Taylor style over-pack, but I’m so glad that I did. It’s really good, this stuff.

I had to leave it on for 2 hours, rather than just one, but it’s got serious staying power (even when knocked about in the sea) and Giles was totally fooled, saying “Are you actually a bit brown… or is that…?”

My new favourite way to put on fake tan is with a brush - I know people swear by those mitts, but they make me all furious and my hand sort of slops about getting hot and sweaty inside it.

This year I have also done a thing I have wanted to for years, which is to buy items for the rental house. We are here for two weeks this time and I didn’t think I could take certain annoying things for that long.

Mainly, the lack of food composting here freaks me out - I have been trained by Camden Council to separate my food waste and the idea of scraping it all into the same bin as non-recyclable stuff turns my stomach. So I went to the tiny DIY store and got myself a little green food waste caddy and some liners. Eventually the food waste - sob - has to go in the general waste bin at the end of the lane, but at least it isn’t stinking and attracting flies in the kitchen.

Next problem: no draining rack for the sink, and so everything must be piled up on the wooden sideboard, to drip and mould. The draining rack problem bothers me all year round but even though I searched I couldn’t find one in town. And then I thought… omg… does Amazon deliver here? Of course it does! Directly to the Post Office window in the local grocery store!

Ooo, but this is now dangerous. Because I did order myself an extremely handsome wooden folding drying rack and it arrived in 24 hours and I was thrilled with it. It has changed my life here. Other things followed: good tea towels. Face-cloths from Pai.

And then: Kitty has never expressed an interest in her face and finds the multi-step skincare regimes pushed on teenage girls exploitative and clownish. But she did concede that a long summer term combined with London dirt and hard water had left her skin with a certain greyness and breakouts. So I dialled up more MediCube, having been so impressed with the exfoliating pads and got this face wash, which she uses with the Hada Labo hydrating lotion. It’s very a very fun face wash - it has a star-shaped nozzle so the cream comes out like cake icing. You only need the smallest blip, genuinely a pea-sized amount, and it foams up into a rich lather.

At first she was still a little sarcastic about all this, saying “Would you tell Sam to do this?” I was able to reply with 100% glee, “Are you kidding? I’ve had Sam doing this for about a year.” She went quiet after that. Within a few days her skin was absolutely transformed and it is now glowing, radiating with that magic teenage bounce they are blessed with. In the end, she rather enjoyed it, saying it was like a science experiment.

This week I have read The Fortnight In September. The world is broadly divided into those who have and have not received the memo to read this. It was first published in 1931 and it is by RC Sherriff, who wrote the WWI play Journey’s End. It - The Fortnight in September - has recently enjoyed a resurgence in popularity thanks to Kazuo Ishiguro naming it as one of his favourite novels. Persephone Books now publishes it in a really glamorous edition - it’s a squarish thing, that lies flat on a table. It’s a really wonderful book, about a family holiday to Bognor Regis. Nothing much happens, but really good writers don’t need much to happen - Sherriff can make a moment with a slow luggage porter feel like a tense scene from Hitchcock.

I’m thrilled to learn that the book is being developed into a film by the same people who made The Dig, so it’s going to be super classy and I cannot wait.

We also watched Tuner, now streaming, which is a recent film about a piano tuner starring - of course - Leo Woodall, who is now in every single film that gets made. Can’t wait to see who he plays in The Fortnight in September! Tuner is a great film: it’s a balanced blend of wry comedy, action, romance and there is a sort of super-hero element to it as well. “He’s a very beautiful man,” said Giles about Leo Woodall, a bit sadly: twenty minutes previously he had been railing against the fact that Woodall is in every film. “I’m not sure he’s beautiful,” I said, “but he’s got that indefinable thing that makes him hot.”

One last thing! Kitty is reading Pride and Prejudice over the summer for school. Despite being a perfectly competent reader, she is finding it a bit of a struggle, (as well as not being into skincare, she’s not entranced by romance or high-mannered social dramas). Thus we are divided as a household into those of us who think it is useful to also watch the 1991 Colin Firth BBC adaptation (me) and those who don’t (Giles). I won! I never saw it first time around, but it is available on BBC iPlayer and it’s great fun. Although, as Kitty points out, they have Lizzie Bennet wearing lipstick to bed, which is stupid.

How are you all getting on!!?! Where are you, what are you up to, what are you reading? If you could Amazon anything to your holiday lodgings, what would it be? Please post a card into the slot below.

Which is that my publisher, Bedford Square, have five copies of my novel Well, This Is Awkward, to give away to you - if there are even five Spikers who haven’t yet read the book. Or, I suppose, you could give a copy to someone you don’t like.

Substack won’t let me upload an image of the book so you will just have to imagine it - it’s blue. You can also see the book on its Amazon page, which is here.

Either way! To win: just comment under this post GIVE ME THAT BOOK and the first five will get a book.

Thank you again, by the way, for all your wonderful support for me and for this book, which was absolutely critical to it a) getting written b) finding an editor c) selling any copies at all. You were also so game and willing and brilliant at leaving Amazon reviews, which is, like, wildly important.

Anyway that’s it! Smash that comment box and I’ll get a book to you. I am now going to pack up for my holidays to Wales and try not to vomit.

Peace out.

I couldn’t sleep, so I was stressed. So I drank. So I couldn’t sleep. So I stayed at parties too late. And drank. And then slept worse. And so on.

Saturday just gone Charlotte hosted a cards-n-football party at her house and it turns out that no-one else has been sleeping, either. BFF Simon was so tired he had considered not even coming and he was, duly, almost speechless with sleep deprivation. Some others had also been on my no-sleep/drink repeat rollercoaster. We were all so tired and also, having learnt nothing, still reaching for wine as the answer.

As the evening went on, it was like being in a science experiment where oxygen is slowly sucked out of the room. We slurred our words, put cards on the table the wrong way around, couldn’t remember any rules, whose turn is it? Edwina put her head down on the table twice, dissolved in giggles or in despair (this is totally out of character).

Towards the end of Oh Hell!, where Charlotte - who is very strict about correct card play - nearly stabbed everyone when a box of Maltesers was passed around mid-play and shouted SHUT UP ESTHER when I queried whose pile of cards that was - Mills piped up and put this question to the table: “What do you think are the negative things that people say about you when you’re not there?”

This rendered the entire table silent. It’s a terrible question, because there’s the answer you automatically give and then there’s the real answer, the answer you can’t ever really acknowledge because it’s the Terrible Truth About You.

My automatic answer is that I'm blunt and undiplomatic but I fear, deeply, that the real answer is that I’m boring. Or worse, mean? Mean and ugly? Rude? Snappy? Touchy? Thoughtless? I can’t bear it, I can’t bear to contemplate it. It’s been bothering me ever since and thank god I’m seeing my therapist on Friday - she will have to deal with it.

This is not an invitation, by the way, for those of you who know me to tell me the negative things that people say about me when I’m not there. I’m not sure it’s good for us to know stuff like that.

But while we’re all here, yawning and recovering from the hot nights and dreading more to come: go on, try that thought experiment on yourself today: what are the negative things that you think people say about you when you’re not there?

What’s your automatic answer? And what’s the REAL answer, the one you fear. Let’s workshop this. Go!

First the party for Charlotte Edwardes’ debut novel Trouble Was, which is a tremendously atmospheric and extremely accomplished 1970s Nightmare Summer story. Unsettling, highly readable.

Then to see Wendy Holden for her new book, The Queen’s Painter, which is a terrific page-turner about Hans Holbein. She has a brand new theory about Holbein’s influence on the downfall of Thomas Cromwell. Really fun to search up the paintings as you read.

It has taken me my entire career, and a marriage to a Times columnist, to get invited to The Spectator summer party. I once crashed it in c.2005 when they were still in Doughty Street. Boris was the editor and I saw him fall up the main staircase and it was absolutely hilarious.

Anyway, now I have an actual invitation - ha! The Spectator is in a very grand building near Westminster with a huge garden and woweeeee they put on a smart party. Great fronds of jungle plant decoration everywhere, tremendous amounts of alcohol and tiny amounts of food. Absolutely and totally rammed with people. At its busiest I think there were probably 500 people there and 495 of them were very tall, young men wearing blue suits.

One of the five others was Gyles Brandreth, who was wearing a green sweater with Winnie-The-Pooh knitted on the front. Gyles Brandreth worked as a Whip for years and then wrote a book about it, which other Whips thought was treachery, but it was very interesting for the rest of us.

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No.1 is a teacher in need of instruction.

I’m 40 and about to start re-training as a teacher and I have no idea how to dress for this.

I’m addicted to leggings and tea dresses but now I have to go into a school, every day, and look presentable and authoritative. Tights, I think? Blazer? And shoes? I’ve no idea.

And from where?! White Stuff? Hobbs? When I was 20 my mum bought me ‘office clothes’ and I looked like a child playing dress up. I can’t imagine I’d look any better now. I’ve no idea what clothes will do and there will be teenagers looking at me.

If I was doing this I would wait until the Autumn new season stock and then go straight to OtherStories, who do very good trousers and get some. I recently bought a white t-shirt from Colourful Standard and was very impressed. Once you find the size and style that suits you, you’re away, with a rainbow of colours to suit all occasions.

Then I would add one or two of the famous crew-neck fine-knit sweaters from Uniqlo.

I actually wouldn’t bother with a jacket for now - if “office clothes” freak you out.

Shoes: the one thing I know about teachers is that they spend their whole life on their feet. I’m pretty sure schools are relaxed about shoes, unless you are e.g head of department. Are Adidas Sambas allowed? Otherwise a nice pair of stout loafers - comfy and also on-trend.

If you’re into tea dresses and leggings and have worked in creative industries for a long time you will probably be drawn to a lot of pattern and colour - and that’s fine, but it’s also okay to wear very plain clothes. Don't forget - these clothes are on your lively, friendly person with your hilarious head on top. You can also add your best earrings or a necklace to liven things up.

A few really solid and comfortable things from the above stores will get you started: once you’re on your way and more steeped in the teacher culture, you will get style ideas from colleagues.

But teacher-Spikers! Please help our Miss Honey wannabe with teacher outfit must-haves in the comment box below.

No.2 - a keen wedding witness.

At the end of July, Gina will be a witness at the wedding of her beloved sister to her long-term partner. This is not a big church thing requiring hats, but more low-key event that still wants to feel special. Gina has a very generous budget - £700! Whoop!

My instinct is to say: go directly to Me + Em. I love the dress I have linked to and am waiting for it to go on sale.

Those bishes know how to cut a pattern to an actual lady’s figure - all my smart dresses are from there and they never let me down. I’ve said this before but I will say again: the company uses very slender models in its marketing, which is madness when the clothes are so good and flattering on regular women.

If you are in London, Me and Em have this service called ‘Harper’, where they will come round with a van and a selection of dresses and you keep the one you like. It’s mad! I’ve never tried it, but I see the van buzzing around Hampstead Garden Suburb sometimes.

My other top tip is to use the John Lewis styling service: everyone makes fun of me when I suggest this, but I’ve had great success with it in the past. If you are anywhere near a John Lewis store you book an appointment and then a nice lady will whisk around the store fetching you a collection of appropriate dresses and it’s very relaxing. The only thing is that you have to know you are okay to be firm and say “Sorry, not my lucky day” if nothing is right, rather than buying something out of guilt.

Just generally, if you’re ever looking hard for any “just right” bit of clothing, I always say over-order online and be very VERY strict with yourself about sending things back. Only do this if you know you can be ruthless and very efficient about returning things that don’t work.

Last point: if a dress is a 99% hit but there’s just something slightly wrong - tiny bit too big or the sleeve is too baggy, don’t forget that you can take it to a tailor who will be able to fit it to you perfectly for about £30.

How about you: if you had a budget of £700 and a wedding to witness, which posh dress shop would be expecting your visit?

Leave all your teacher and wedding witness suggestions in the handy box below. And don’t forget to pop the Like button on the way out if you had fun today xx

This year I have insisted on two weeks in Pembrokeshire in Wales, because it’s my favourite place in the world and then later on, we are going to Greece for ten days.

I have sworn off Greece in recent years because it was just too hot. But my children are now capable of adjusting to a Greek schedule of sitting in air-con from 11am until 4pm.

You know how much I love a list, in order to both calm but also ratchet up my anxiety, so here’s what to take.

Before you even start packing:

I have looked very hard and found that the best rucksack is the Kipling Seoul Lap. It is roomy but not enormous and has sensible storage sections, including a section for your laptop and an uppermost zipped pouch for your sunglasses. Ignore the silly monkey dongle, you can remove that.

I also love this EastPak Travelpack, which is one of those suitcase/rucksack hybrids and converts to be carried on the back or in the hand. It has two zipped compartments, plus a padded sleeve for a laptop. It holds a huge amount and I love it a great deal.

TOP TIP

Write your family’s first names on the outside of your passports, which saves time when handing them out.

If you haven’t been away yet this year and are off to Europe, you will encounter the absolute shitshow that is the EES (entry-exit system) that now exists across the ‘Schengen Area’. This is a phrase I’ve never heard until this year and it means the 29 country border-free area in Europe that no longer includes the U.K.

You have to fiddle about at individual machines at Border Control, inputting biometric and other data - and if it worked it would be fine. But it doesn’t, at least not reliably. And when it doesn’t and you end up on the other side of a country border from your confused and alarmed child, it’s a total bastard.

This year we have travelled to Italy and Spain and Sam’s passport has not worked at any of the booths, both times, and I can only assume it will fail to work in Greece, too. If this happens to you my advice is to appeal charmingly, in your best lingo, to the border control official sitting in the plexiglass box, rather than the airport staff.

The airport staff don’t care if you live or die, but the border control officials all plainly think the new system is unspeakable bullshit and are more likely to sort you out.

The deployment of the EES in Europe this summer seems to be an ever-changing situation so have a quick google before you take off. I think May half term opened many eyes to the fact that there will be chaos unless they can either fix the system or be flexible.

Moving on!

THINGS TO HAVE IN YOUR CABIN BAG

A baseball cap

I now understand why everyone at the airport is wearing a baseball cap: they are very good for plane travel as you can pull it down over your eyes and doze and it shields you from the terrible lighting. If you have always found that you look bad in baseball caps, (I do), you might try a trucker-style, like this one.

A slim roll of compost bags

We generate a shameful amount of rubbish when travelling and I can’t bear it littering the car, the train, or airplane seats so I take compost bags to keep things tidy. Also a packet of Wet Wipes, even if you’re travelling with grown-ups. Sticky hands are so gross.

A reusable bag

For buying lunch at the airport before your flight. One of those slithery packable ones are best, but a thin cotton one works, too. I have too many of these to consider buying a new one, but I love this from Dock&Bay, which can be used as a beach bag, too.

Kit for very small children

My children can now entertain themselves on journeys but my question for you is - if you have smaller children are there any new and wonderful gadgets or tricks that you deploy? If so, please let us know about them in the handy comment box at the end.

THINGS IN YOUR HOLD LUGGAGE

Star stickers

Yes, like they use in schools. These are very useful to differentiate hotel room keys if you have booked more than one room. Saves minutes of your life tapping first one card on the handle, then the other.

Sandals

I am so fed up with Havaianas - the look of them, the sound. And the slight decline in manufacturing quality, meaning that the toe post pops out six months after you’ve bought them. This year I am living in these Tevas, which are SO comfy and have had many admiring looks and enquiries.

A note on chargers: I have called ahead to our hotel to ask if they have ports where you can plug your charger directly into the wall - and they do! This will save me messing about with enough adapters and charge plugs for 4 people.

Zip-Loc bags

Many, many hotels openly expect you to make your lunch from the breakfast buffet - a few ZipLoc bags will help with toting your creations around.

Packable hat

It’s not that I worry about looking like a dork wearing my fedora to the airport, it’s that I know I will lose it. So I have this packable one.

BEACH KIT

If you have younger children, I highly recommend:

Day-glo hats and rashies - if they like to go for a wander, as Kitty did and still does, it’s nice to be able to locate a bright orange hat or top amongst the rocks or paddle-waves.

This is helped along enormously by a pair of binoculars. Binoculars blow my mind every time I use them and I’d say they are vital on a beach. My last pair broke and so I upgraded to this pair and I love them.

This anti-chafe gel for wetsuits.

Talcum powder, to get sticky wet sand off feet

Safari hats

Sometimes for children only a massive wide-brim thing will do. We have used these so much over the years - of course they wouldn’t be seen dead in front of their friends in these, but are grateful for them in high sun/heat.

I also have for each child a pair of inexpensive sporty sunglasses with UV protection (literally from Boots). When my children were very small they refused to wear sunglasses but now they are older and have experienced the sweet relief of not having to squint, they're quite into them.

CLOTHES

The inferno we are living through is actually very useful for concentrating the mind as to what you really want to wear when it’s blistering hot.

I believe in packing very light on holiday, as I regard it as much a break from my stuff as it is from everything else. If you are a heavy packer and go on holiday IN ORDER to show off all your lovely clothes, (which is fine! why not?), perhaps don’t bother to read this section.

To Greece I will take three swimsuits - one green, one blue, one brown - and with them a co-ordinating sarong (when did everyone start calling sarongs “pareos”?). I will take beach trousers and a sleeveless top for travelling. These trousers from Amazon were a life saver in Costa Rica last year, where it was not only very hot and humid, but livid with mosquitoes. We have plain pairs in black, red and navy blue.

I always take a very light cotton robe dish-dash type thing, a bit like this, to keep for wearing strictly after a shower and before dinner so it remains unsullied by sunscreen or mosquito repellant.

I will also take at least one linen shirt from Rails, which are expensive but really lovely to wear when it’s boiling. Go one size up for breeziness.

For the evening, I will take two all-black outfits and a bag of jazzy jewellery. No-one will notice or care that you are rotating two outfits with the different earrings. Consider long trousers and shirts at dinner because in Europe you will be eaten alive by mosquitoes. Don’t skimp on repellant.

I don't kid myself that I’m going sight-seeing or to a smart lunch. I pack for breakfast, pool / beach and dinner. That’s it.

If you’re staying in hotels, don’t rush to take many white items, unless you’re okay with spending literally all your money on laundry.

One more thing: in the summer Sam lives in slithery Nike Dri-Fit sports kits sets. I obviously disapprove of sports kit on holiday but a matching set of Dri-Fits is a lot better than a QPR shirt and a random pair of shorts.

It can be irritatingly tricky to track down a top and bottom in a matching colour and size but you want to search for ‘Nike Dri-Fit Academy T-Shirt’ and ‘Nike Dri-Fit Academy Shorts’. I’ve linked to Next, but you can also find them at the Nike website and e.g. Sports Direct and so on.

For size reference, Sam is 5 feet 5 inches tall, feet UK size 7. He is at the skinny bean stage of adolescence and takes a Men’s M in this.

SUMMER READING

I will keep this short and direct: if you haven’t already, read -

The Calamity Club by Kathryn Stockett. An absolute tome, 600+ pages of rip-roaring saga, which will keep you glued to your sun-bed and entertained for the entire outwards and return flight.

Famesick by Lena Dunham. Even if you never saw a single episode of Girls, (me! never saw it!), this book is a gripping account of the rollercoaster ride of extreme success and fame.

And my book is out in paperback on July 16th! Just in time for take-off.

Over to you! The HIVE MIND. Please let us know any genius travel items/ideas that you deploy or have come across recently. We are all listening.

If you have found this list useful, please plink the Like button on your way out, or re-stack in order to increase the visibility of this post so that it may reach other people in need of inspiration.

Well, I say “my cleaner”, she’s not my cleaner she’s my whole life. Priscilla is her name. She is ten years older than me and she’s terrific. She has been with me two mornings a week for five, sun-filled years. Anyway so I thought she had quit for good, not coming back. And I slid sideways into a kind of delirious abyss at the prospect of losing her: my rock, my home girl, my semi-parent figure.

And losing the person, along with my husband, who makes my life of parenting, housework and work work possible. My life, as it looks like usually, is not possible without Priscilla.

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Then I dimly began to understand that these are fun parties and it was a great compliment to be invited. So last night I went to their summer party, which was held on a very smart lawn at Lincoln’s Inn, which is where they keep all the lawyers.

Discreet enquiries revealed that both Rebecca from Fancy and Sophia from Onwards and Sideways were going, so we met at Chancery Lane station.

“I saw Rosamond Dean go that way,” I said, pointing down Staple Inn Buildings. “So it’s probably that way.” I was pleased to see Rosamond Dean, but it did make me suddenly remember that one of the other reasons why I don’t go to parties like these is that I will immediately see someone I don’t want to see and have to spend the rest of the evening making sure I am not in the same quadrant of the party as they are.

Anyway off we three merrily went, nattering away like old friends, because we are. I mean, I’ve never actually met Rebecca, but I read her Substack and it can quickly feel like old friends if you do that.

We arrived at the party and I immediately saw not one BUT TWO people I didn’t want to see. I swerved a hard left and went to talk to Amol Rajan, who doesn’t have a Substack, so I said, “What are you doing here?”

“Substack is the future, innit,” he replied. We had our photo taken and I think I squeezed him a bit hard, out of panic. I do love Amol. We briefly overlapped at The Independent and he always bowled around the place in loud Hawaiian shirts but I didn’t realise that he was a genius until he started at the BBC.

Then I took a nice girl who works at Tatler, whose name I didn’t catch, back across the party to talk to Sophia, who worked at Tatler for a long time. Next I spotted Katie Razzall, who lives round the corner from me, talking to Matt Cain.

“What are you doing here?” I said to Katie. “I’m the BBC Culture and Media editor!” she said, and gestured round the party, which was filled with Culture and Media people. I went to find a drink for me and some fizzy pop for Katie and also saw Natasha Polisczuk and said hello.

By now the party was quite busy and I had found a drink and looked down at the glass and it was empty! But a man filled it up for me again. “I mustn’t have a third glass,” I said out loud, to no-one in particular.

There were a lot of faces that I knew very well but hadn’t met so introduced myself (thank you, white wine!) to Hattie Crissell and the aforementioned Rosamond Dean. I caught up with Rebecca Armstrong, who is an old friend from newspapers.

Rebecca Thornton arrived and we discussed how slightly wild everyone looked because, while we are all perfectly normal people, we don’t go to parties like these very often, with people we do know and don’t know and also occasionally don’t want to see.

“This is the Substack office party,” said Farrah Storr, who is the Head of Content (?) I think. Something important anyway. I remember when she recruited me, years ago, in a café in Soho. Back then Substack was just me and, like, four cancelled American comedians.

Sophia and I decided we ought to eat something (me definitely). We went to the barbecue stand - there was beef, chicken or a vegan option.

“What’s best?” I said to the chef and he gave a nasty laugh. “There’s beef, chicken or a vegan option,” he replied. So we both had the beef. We ate our beef and I explained to Sophia why I didn’t want to see the people at the party and she laughed and said she wasn’t surprised.

Then we went to find a loo, me draining my third glass of wine on the way (I didn’t have a fourth!!!). As we wound our way through the maze of streets through Lincoln’s Inn I started lecturing Sophia on why she ought to move to Kentish Town. As my voice hit a certain hectoring note I was grateful that I was sensibly heading home and not still talking to people at the party.

As I got into bed I saw that the next book on The Book Club - the book podcast from Goalhanger, to which I am devoted even though it makes me feel inadequately well-read - is The Code of the Woosters, so I downloaded that. Surely even I can manage a P.G Wodehouse.

How about you? What’s your favourite PG Wodehouse book? What do you do or say at parties that lets you know that it’s time to leave? Please leave an amusing comment in the handy box below.

I took them out of the packet, held them by the waistband, then closed my eyes and said, please, please let these be the ones.

What do I mean by “ones”? Well, I just mean a good pair of jeans! Just a pair of throw-on, old favourite, go-with-everything JEANS. Like I see any old bloody idiot wearing. Why can’t I find a pair? Why, why, why??? I have for years been wearing a pair from Dr Denim, (now discontinued), but they have been patched up twice, are ratty at the hems and have holes in the crotch and are generally a bit of a disgrace. I have been looking for a replacement for a full two years, now. Maybe three.

Anyway, I said my prayer and put on the jeans. And God did answer. He said: “No.”

I swiftly took off the jeans and folded them sadly back into the whimsical Free People delivery bag.

In despair I dispatched myself in person to H&M, because it will take me another three years to find jeans if I’m ordering them to the house one at a time and I’ve always had good luck with jeans in this store.

I tried on 15 pairs, laughing and raging at their completely inconsistent size labelling, and came away with a pair of Straight High Waist Jeans. I think I have linked to the right pair, but with the Wild West that is H&M who knows?! These are, I’d say, 90% there and will do a job for the moment. I still believe that the perfect jeans are waiting for me out there, somewhere. I’m just slightly frightened that they might be from Mother and cost £400.

Onwards!

I really enjoyed Two Weeks In August, a BBC drama starring Jessica Raine. A mixed group of friends and family go to Greece and the story unfolds from there. Usually I’m not that keen on seeing middle class people do middle class things because it’s a bit of a busman’s holiday. But Two Weeks In August descends into semi-madness with a touch of Greek mythology chucked in for extra woo-woo points, so this pressed all my buttons and I thought it was terrific. Give it a whirl!

I was also delighted to receive a copy of Receipts From The Bookshop, by Katie Clapham, which is the book of the extremely popular Substack. It’s terrific and very readable - especially good if you’re in an attention deficit or reading drought phase. This will get you back on the horse. Buy with confidence!

How about you? Where are you in your endless quest for good jeans? Please leave a comment to instruct and inform the group in the handy box below.

But then I was up in Kitty’s room the other day and suddenly realised that she has three sets of quite worn-out, mismatched patchy stuff. One of her three duvet covers - (one on the bed, one in the wash, one in the drawer) - is a gloomy two-tone grey thing with a huge black ink stain on it, leftover from my husband’s bachelor days.

I mean, true, Kitty doesn’t give AF about stuff like that. She wants medium-brow contemporary literature, snacks and to be left alone. Not interested in: make-up, clothes, bed linen.

But she also freaked me out a bit the other week while I was musing to her about the responsibilities you have as a parent. I said, “The incredible thing about children is that they endlessly forgive their parents.” My point being that it’s important not to take advantage of that.

“Of course we forgive our parents,” she said, snappily. “What choice do we have? We are completely dependent on you.”

I paused my teacup on my lower lip. I’d never thought about it quite like that.

So it was in this spirit that I vowed to treat Kitty to a new set of bedlinen, to replace the ugly two-tone bachelor horror. But as I looked at The White Company, Cologne and Cotton, John Lewis and so on I was overcome with a crushing ennui. Just acres of white, white, white… blearrghhh… more white. How dull. And also impossible to the apart in the wash. How about something jazzy? To lift the spirits and also tell easily apart from all the other acres of white.

I decided to have a look at Piglet in Bed, as it is endlessly advertised to me on social media. John Lewis also stock it and that’s a good sign isn’t it. But, oh my god, £189 for a double duvet cover! Are they mad? The duvet set bundle even with a 15% offered discount was £253.93. Just who the hell do they think they are?!

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What do I mean by “grifter”? Technically a grifter is a con artist, but in this instance we meant that this woman has wildly talked up a quite basic amount of talent, is devious, ruthless and a social climber. If there’s no-one more interesting at a party, she will glom on to you like a cheap dress riddled with static, but by the next time you see her she will have forgotten your name.

We discussed how much we dislike this woman, then moved on to other grifters we know and how much we dislike them. We became quite shrill as we discussed how frustrating it is to see other people fall for the superficial charm, for the con. There are grifters in all industries but both Edwina and I work in the media, which is livid with this personality type.

The Edwina voiced what we were both thinking, which was, “I wish I was a bit more of a grifter.” This is Edwina who has won actual awards for radio production and is, just generally, the opposite of a grifter.

But I knew what she meant. There is something about the shamelessness of the grifter that is extremely admirable. Shame is one of the emotions that I am quite sensitive to and it’s a bummer. It stops you from doing all sorts of fun things, really slows down the very necessary ‘fake it until you make it’ part of a career. I admire shameless people, I really do. But I could never be one, I could never overpromise and underdeliver, I could never tread on people in order to get to other people. Not just because you’ve got to try and be a good person most of the time, but because people talk. They put two and two together and find out that it adds up to the fact that you’re a grifter. And yet! What fun it would be to reap the rewards of the con, of the grift - because it does work. Up to a point.

But then I remembered a conversation I had with the child psychologist Jen Wills Lamacq for a piece I wrote about “people pleasers” for The Sunday Times. People pleasers and grifters have quite a lot of crossover in terms of attitude and habits. Jen explained that people pleasers do very well initially, and then it tends to fall to bits. “Having integrity,” she said, “is very important.”

So I looked at Edwina’s wistful face, as she contemplated changing her personality completely, or perhaps idly wondering what it would be like to have the freedom to tell lies and be reckless and I said, “No. Having integrity is very important.”

And she laughed. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was surprise. Or perhaps it was relief. It’s a relief not to have to be a grifter - because it does sound exhausting, doesn’t it.

How about you? Do you wish you were more of a grifter? Maybe you ARE a grifter? Please leave a fascinating comment in the handy box below or I will have to go and talk to someone else more important bye.

“A lot shorter than last time!” said the stylist.

“That’s fine, I want it short,” I said. In my head I was thinking of Jesse Buckley, of Pandora Sykes’ sassy little pixie head when she had her super-short bob.

So snippety snip went the scissors and it was really fucking short. And the stylist, of course, dried it into a terrible mushroom shape. Why! Why, why do they always do that.

I looked like the cross-section of a sausage roll, or a pencil with a blob of blu-tak on the end. I looked like I had giant dog-ears. Ears made from hair. What I did not look like was Pandora Sykes. Perhaps like a distant, demented cousin, newly returned from documenting the remaining descendants of the Arawak.

“Thanks!” I whispered to the stylist and sprinted home with my hands clamped to my head.

Giles just regarded me, silently.

“Shut the fuck up!” I barked. “I’ve had enough of your sniping and jeers.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said it with your eyes!”

Anyway, I washed it and dried it into a normal shape and now it looks alright - but not before I had to do a photoshoot, naturally. So that will be on the internet forever.

Onwards! Readers with better short-term memories than mine might remember that I was sucked into buying an entire skin system from Froya Organic, which makes face-balms out of sea buckthorn, or algae or Norwegian surfers’ toe jam or something. Anyway I have been using it faithfully for weeks, now, and the results are in.

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And I couldn’t get through it! It was just so interminable. There were so many words! Words upon words, just piling up, endlessly, like those machines where you drop 10p in and the mechanical arm shoves the pennies inexorably (but never finally) to the edge of a shelf.

I gave up and listened to the podcast on it and I felt like a total B+ person as the hosts foamed about what a compelling page turner it is.

Also aghast at this thing about how the Mill on the Floss is the best book ever (or was it Middlemarch). Like omg I had to read both and those books are borderline impenetrable. Do you know what’s a genuine page-turner? The Da Vinci Code.

I conclude that, yet again, I’m possibly not very bright. I also think I might be boring. I was talking to Kitty and I was setting up a story about something or other and she made a twirly-finger motion and said, “Yup, can you just skip to the end?” I described this to my husband and said, “Am I actually boring?” and he laughed and said, “Not boring,” which I took to mean yes, I am actually a bit boring.

Two more things: if you are a terrible cuticle picker like me and take out all inner frustrations, anxieties, stress on your poor digits, what you need is Vitamin E oil. The pure stuff. It’s very sticky but if you have really gone to town on a finger, (and why is it always the thumb?), apply oil to the area, wrap in a strip of tissue and then secure with a plaster and leave overnight. In the morning it will have done an incredible speed-healing job.

Also very good for scars. I had one of those eternal zits that remains a little lump and then a dark patch for what feels like years and I think that dabbing some Vitamin E oil on it at night has helped it fuck the fuck off.

I am also trialling the Sleep Please patches from Patch Please, (not a gift, a personal purchase), because even though I am down to a tiny 6mg dose of Nytol, I know that it wrecks my short-term memory. My house is covered in little lists and post-it notes because I otherwise can’t hold to-dos in my head.

So far I am impressed with the patches. I apply one to the inside of my arm an hour before bed and it knocks me out pretty effectively, using melatonin and some other stuff.

Have you tried these - or any other - sleep patches or other sorts of patches? I wonder if they do ones that can make you clever. Or not boring.

Please leave an instructive comment to amuse and inform the group in the handy box below. Let’s have some first-time commenters!! Don’t be shy, say hi.

Here is a map, if you need a visual.

I have known Zoe since I was 22 - we started at The Times on the same day. Zoe is refreshingly unusual: she toes no party line, isn’t scared of anything and doesn’t want to be in your gang. She's a little bit of a nutter, but as I hope I’ve made clear over the years: I don’t think there’s any point in writers who aren’t slightly nuts. I hate gangs and despise platitudes.

Zoe’s new book, Good Slut, has an out-there proposition: that life in 2026 is actually pretty good for women. It was published earlier this year and, to put it bluntly, it bombed. The reviews were so bad they bordered on malicious. She has been left feeling like a pariah. And of course, this is where I think it gets interesting. What does the reaction against this book say about us? About what is preferable and acceptable for female writers to say about the female condition? It’s fascinating to see how Zoe has coped with the fall-out.

Join us! There will be jokes and books and I can imagine that you will be able to buy a glass of wine somewhere. At least I hope so for my sake.

Next: there is a restaurant in London called Dishoom, which is famous for its curries. But one of their standout dishes is, in fact, a salad - made mostly of broccoli. I absolutely love this salad, it’s extremely craveable. The other day online I was offered recipe for it (sometimes Instagram is just the best) and I made it and it was superb.

I recommend it to you highly. It is quite spicy - if you want it less spicy just reduce the amount of chilli and it will still be very flavourful. It goes with mild curries and also unobtrusive things like white fish or perhaps poached chicken.

Dishoom broccoli salad, serves 2 on its own or more as a side dish

For the salad

1 head of broccoli

1 fresh red chilli

handful pistachio nuts

4 dates, chopped

mint and coriander leaves

assorted seeds (if you have them lying about, if not don’t worry)

for the dressing

2tsp fresh grated ginger

small bunch of mint

5 slugs of olive oil

1tsp salt

1 fresh jalapeño pepper

the juice of 1 lime

3 tsp sugar

2 tbsp rice vinegar

1 Dunk the head of broccoli into a bowl of freshly-boiled water and leave it there while you make the dressing. About 5 mins in total.

2 Whizz up all the dressing ingredients in the whizzer. This makes a lot of dressing but I really like things to be fully coated in a dressing.

3 Rescue the broccoli head. Chop up into small chunks and put in a bowl. Chop up the red chilli and dates, bash up the pistachios. Mix together. Scatter over the seeds if using.

4 By all means here also add some feta cheese, if this is to be a vegetarian lunch rather than a side.

5 Pour over the dressing and combine. Garnish with coriander and mint leaves. You can thank me in the handy comment box below. See you all on Thursday!

If you shied away from the hardback due to price - no judgment here - and are not a kindle user, the paperback can be pre-ordered in all the usual places BUT ALSO has been selected for a promotional deal at bookshop.org.

The code at checkout is PREORDER20 and will give you 20% off the cover price of £9.49. Promotional deals are really helpful for authors and I’m very grateful to be picked. Bookshop.org does excellent work supporting independent booksellers so it’s good work as well as money off. Offer ends on the 17th May, which is this Sunday.

The link to pre-order again is here, and the code at checkout is PREORDER20. Thank you all, generally, for your tremendous support of this book over the last year and also thank you to Bookshop.org.

Sibling rivalry: I have three siblings and found being one of four difficult. I felt a bit lost in the shuffle and now, looking back, see that I compared myself endlessly and negatively to my siblings, when I could have been regarding myself on my own terms.

Large families really suit some personalities, but not mine. Only having two children was a very conscious decision. Two is my limit. I could divide my attention in two, just about. But not three, not - egads - four!

So imagine my shock at the intense sibling rivalry that exists between my own children. Kitty freaks out about how much food Sam eats. “No! He can’t have another one. He's eaten TOO MUCH.” Sam waits until my full attention is on Kitty due to exams or D of E or whatever and then starts losing things and begging for help to find them, or injuring himself in some dramatic way or simply standing directly in front of me saying “we need to chat”.

He was profoundly disturbed by seeing me helping Kitty revise for physics a few months ago as physics is “his” subject. “What I’d like,” he told me, seriously, “is for you to test me on physics so I can show you how much better I am at it than Kitty.”

I explained that I was only helping Kitty revise because it was an absolute emergency, which is the only way you will get me to open a physics text book. His physics is fine, so that won’t be happening.

They both lose their minds if both the lock screen and home screen of my phone shows the other child. When either of them is getting a telling-off, which admittedly doesn’t happen much these days, the other intuits it with almost a sixth-sense and appears at the doorway, gleeful and I have to snap “Don’t say anything,” otherwise they will pipe up with their own list of critiques, accusations and so on.

“Listen!” I barked the other day. “There are only bloody two of you. Both your parents are completely and ruinously devoted to your health and wellbeing. Stop acting like two baby birds in a nest fighting over a single caterpillar. There’s plenty to go round!”

They looked at me with their beady eyes, uncomprehending. For them, I suppose, somewhere in the atavistic, lizard part of their brains, this is a fight to the death.

What’s the sibling rivalry like between your children - or your siblings? At what point does it become unhealthy? Leave a thoughtful comment in the box below - or I’m telling Mum.

Kitty is leaving for her Silver Duke of Edinburgh “training” expedition. She has a heavy cold and pains in her stomach. The bad luck of it!

“Augh!” I say. “Why does this sort of thing always happen to me?”

“It’s happening to me,” she says. I tell her that if at any point on the weekend she feels she can’t carry on, she needs to find a supervisor and tell them.

Saturday, Kentish Town, 0845.

The phone rings, it is the emergency school mobile phone. Kitty feels terrible and doesn’t think she can carry on. But - plot twist - it turns out (I didn’t know this) that the blasted training expedition is compulsory! She must complete two days of walking and two consecutive nights camping in order to qualify for the final expedition. Augh! Why didn’t I know this? Why did I tell her that she could quit when she couldn’t quit?!

She can’t quit! Six months of fencing! Six months of volunteering in the church gardens! I was allowed to quit everything when I was a child and look at me now: total loser. I had to hand the phone over to Giles, who put on his Cricket Dad voice and laid out a few facts.

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