Well, we are still living in a dreadful muddle surrounded by bits of kitchen, pieces of wood and layers of dust, although things are moving slowly but surely along.

The new kitchen is gradually beginning to take shape, the skip outside is getting fuller each day and various areas of the floor are becoming visible again.

Daughter no longer has to perch cross-legged on top of the dishwasher in the middle of the living room to watch TV and I can have a bath with the bathroom door actually closed. Food wise, we have all got used to living on takeaways and ready-cooked chicken. In fact, I may never cook again.

Who needs plates anyway, when you can use the cardboard boxes and other containers that ready-cooked food comes in and then just throw them away?

It is all still a bit of a mess though and Him Indoors has taken to retreating to his shed when he's had enough, although this is less of a refuge than normal at present because the kitchen table and other bits and pieces are still cluttering it up.

I decided to take myself off to the girly equivalent of retreating to the shed the other day and went into town for a bit of pampering, as a reaction to all the mess, having first booked an appointment at a leading (incredibly expensive) hair salon. It was lovely having my hair washed in a real sink that worked, with real hot water and a plug and everything. Do you know, they even had taps that turned on and off. Some people don't know how lucky they are.

The stylist lifted a lock of my admittedly rather overzealously home coloured hair and muttered something about counteracting the green tones he could see developing. Apparently this is something that occurs when you put a brown dye on top of bleached hair.

Anyway, in the end we decided to leave the recolouring for another time - and next payday - and went for a new layered cut and blow dry. The end result looked great and I am very pleased with it. Although, I have yet to learn how to blow dry my own hair and end up with it looking like it should - sleek and smart rather than a frizzy mess. Once I can find the plug socket in our bedroom again I will need to practice.

Daughter and her dad both said they liked the new hairdo when I got home. Then daughter got the sulks when she heard which salon I had been to and wanted to know why she couldn't go there too.

"Because it's too expensive for 13-year-olds," I told her. "It's just for mummies in their extremely late 30s (early 40s) who need to feel good about themselves."

"Besides," I said. "You've had your treat today", catching sight of the large pizza box and the chocolate wrappers that were hidden behind them both on the sofa. They'd only gone and had dinner without me and hadn't saved me a slice.