- that it is raining, hard, on the one day in living memory (OK, slight exaggeration, but only slight) that I have access to a car, and, of course, the car is parked a mile away, down very wet and muddy lanes. Hello, soggy walk with baby in sling, and how are you today?

- that the blind I am making for the witchling’s room presents some sort of unusual challenge to the sewing machine, which has, in accordance with the unwritten Code of Sewing, decided that there are too many users connected to the central sewing knowledge database, and thus I must be disconnected, leaving only a plethora of unsightly, and utterly inexplicable, threads.

- that, despite her sixth tooth declaring its woe done and finally deigning to appear on Saturday, the witchling is still out of sorts in a seems-like-teething manner, on the day when Quercus is in London from nasty o’clock this morning until horrendous o’clock this evening, meaning a solo bath- and bed-time for me, on not much sleep, and with a bit of a headache.

- that, now that the broodiness has passed, at least one of the chickens has taken to Renegade Laying: Eggs on the Edge. Found one yesterday in the middle of a load of brambles. I swear they do it on purpose, just to mess with us.

- that, when moving a chair across the kitchen in a slightly lack-of-sleep befuddled manner, I put the leg of said chair through the front of the microwave door, meaning it is probably gently microwaving our entire house even as we speak.

- that, having spent approximately an ice age researching nappies and the various possibilities therein, it is conceivable that the witchling is allergic to latex (in the leg bindings of the waterproof wraps), which would explain why the bastard nappy rash Just Won’t Fuck Off.

In short, arse arse arse. Normal service resumes shortly.