END of week two of lockdown, I think… it could well still be Monday, and I now no longer find Groundhog Day funny.

This morning I woke in a sweat, I’d dreamt my whole house had been invaded by ants, so I Googled the dream meaning of a ‘swarm of ants’ — as you do. Apparently it means ‘conformity’ and ‘you want to be part of a huge crowd and to feel belonged…’ Freakishly bang on! So given the accuracy, I thought it best NOT to proceed with an analysis of part II of my dream where I kill off ALL the ants…

Clearly I need to create a routine, keep my mind occupied, and not let myself go (a bit late for that I’m afraid, after two weeks living in PJs, there’s no going back). But routines are fundamental, psychologists advise, and considering my latest fetish involves killed off an army of ants, it’s no doubt to everyone’s interest, especially my nearest and dearest, that I to create one ASAP!

NEW ROUTINE: Mamma has set up a new survival timetable

9am: Chemistry, mix coffee with Brandy. Expect an explosive reaction after the third ingestion.

10am: Robotics, A+ goes to anyone who can programme the hoover to self-operate.

11am: Break time, the sofa is the new climbing frame, and the WC is the staff room. Do NOT Disturb.

COCKTAIL HOUR: Keep Calm and Fill Up Your Flask

12am: IT, check social media…

1pm: Home economics, A+ to anyone who can rustle up a Sunday roast as well as Nan. (Edited: Rustle up anything as well as Nan).

2pm: PE, obstacle course; run out with the rubbish; dodge any pedestrians on the way; resist stroking the stray cat and jump over any dog poop you come across.

3pm: Drama Class, a special emphasis on crying, shouting, screaming and hysterical laughter.

4pm: After-school club, Fortnite or equivalent training for kids. Cocktail workshop for mum.

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