I'm pleased to report that the walls of the money pit are still standing. Today's DIFY activities have gone without adverse incident, apart from Boychild intentionally stepping in the paint pot and making footprints everywhere. Children: you can't live with 'em and you can't live with 'em. I didn't like the parquet anyway. Home improvements are now officially known as do it your fucking self since the spouse has demonstrated absolutely no intention to get involved other than buying magnolia paint, and saying, helpfully, you've missed a bit.

Decorating is so much more tolerable now that I have an ipod to keep me company. Today's playlist was a combo of angry young women - Katy Perry, Pink, Duffy - and it helped me to attack the project with vigor. I'm in danger of turning the children mute though. Jack is so used to me not hearing him that he mimes everything even if I'm earphoneless. I like to think I'm bringing out the dramatist in him. Does music create a mood, or reflect it? I've been pondering that whilst painting the skirting boards. I've also started to re-read one of my favourite novels - High Fidelity, and the urge to write lists is overwhelming:

Badmother's top five things that will go up against the wall come the revolution:

1. slow walking people who, my friends will know, deserve to be punched in the back of the head;


2. managers of DIFY stores who peddle cheap magnolia paint;


3. magnolia paint;


4. Hannah Montanna;


5. the person at the Inland Revenue that is about to send me a letter demanding I settle my tax bill;


6. a sandal wearing probation officer in Essex - you know who you are.
   

Ok, I know that's six, but I couldn't decide who to edit out. Any more suggestions would be welcomed.