Booked into my own bedroom

I've been sent to my room for the first time in, I would imagine, 30 years. On the plus side, I do have my supper with me (pictured above).

It's Vanessa's book club's turn to meet at our house tonight and non-members aren't permitted to attend (even if the meeting's taking place in their own living room).

I'm also not allowed in because I happen to be a man or, more specifically, a daddy.

Vanessa's book club is actually an off-shoot of her mothers and toddlers group which she and White Jnr go along to every Monday morning. And it appears that not all members (which doesn't include the toddlers who are also barred) are actually into books.

In fact, at a recent meeting (and you do realise Vanessa will kill me for telling you this), the host began the evening by announcing she hadn't read that month's book and then proceeded to get tetchy when others attempted to kick-off a discussion on it. (It's when I hear things like this that I'm reminded how relieved I am to be male).

You'll note in the picture of my dinner (Vanessa calls it "lasagne") that I've been given a glass of wine. I didn't ask for a glass of wine (only because I was about to go and get myself one) and the fact that Vanessa offered me one means she's sucking up. And she's sucking up because Jamie's got a bit of a cough, has been stirring in his sleep for the past couple of nights and she knows that I'll be the one having to deal with him until the "bookworms" leave.

I am quite happy to do this, I wouldn't have it any other way but I'm not going to tell her that on the off-chance that she might bring me up some more wine.

Finally, I'll leave you with a picture of Vanessa's "spread."

Absolute sh*te, isn't it?