Welcome to my week of puke. After Friday's foray by Roj, Jody came down with something vicious on Thursday which turned her stomach inside out at regular intervals. She also had the highest fever I've ever had to deal with; at one point worryingly so, when despite a good dose of Calpol and the removal of all her clothes she was still lying on the sofa sweating like a pig, shivering, crying, and feeling like something from the oven. I put a cold flannel on her forehead (I thought they only did that in films), and started to run a cool bath, by which time to my relief a dose of Calprofen started to kick in and bring it down a bit. But after she complained her neck hurt all day, became quite listless and unresponsive (and who wouldn't, after a day of puking even the smallest mouthful of water), and then started to show fine red dots over her face and neck, I saw no alternative but to follow the guidelines of NHS Direct (and subsequently my local GP), and take her to St. Mary's A&E to rule out meningitis. I was 99.9% sure it wasn't meningitis, but wasn't going to live with myself afterwards if it turned out that the 0.1% was correct. In fact by the time I met Roj at A&E at about 8pm, she was already showing signs of perking up; I saw the first smile of the day, and she started chirping away as usual. The paediatrician checked her over thoroughly, coerced her into the first wee of the day (it was the interesting-shaped receptacle she had to do it in that persuaded her), assured me I'd done the right thing and should monitor the rash to see if it developed in any way, and sent us home. By which time Jody was talking about buying chips and getting chocolate treats so definitely back to normal! The rash was, as I'd suspected, little burst blood vessels from straining so hard as she dry retched. I'm familiar with those because I had them too after I gave birth to her.

She was so well on Friday morning that I let her go to nursery, with the proviso that the teachers should keep watching her and ring me if she wasn't up to it, which they did at midday. OK, I should have predicted that result, but when Jody says she feels fine, she usually is, and to be honest I think the late night at A&E was more to blame than anything.

Having said that, she had an unusual hour's nap in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day on the sofa, and then when Mike and Jill came to visit she wasn't her usual exuberant self, and instead took herself off to bed and sleep which is very unusual given an opportunity for playtime and attention. Her temperature was still running high enough in the evening for the babysitter to administer Calprofen too, so she's clearly still fighting the bugs, but we'll take it easy this weekend so that she can recover properly and just hope she hasn't passed it on to anyone else.

After that drama, I spent Friday afternoon sorting out the flat for our visitors. It took a good 5 hours - it being the first time I've given it a proper spring clean, but the results are worth it. Can't wait now to get the rest of the place sorted out, although that shouldn't be too long now. Stuart was in yesterday to install some of our requested 3-pin plugs in cupboards (for Dustbuster and sound systems) and finally replace the wall lights in the sitting room where the live wires have been hanging. And Louis is in today to do the bits of decorating that I've been aiming to do myself for the past 6 weeks, and have finally admitted defeat on. Which means that the two doors we swapped from opening into the room to against the wall, will no longer look like they have wood-filler measles, and the annoying hole in the kitchen above the skirting board will finally be sorted. We pick up our posh venetian blinds tomorrow too, which'll make the place look even more finished. And I'm aiming to visit a place on Edgware road that I noticed on Wednesday which is bristling with door handles and hinges and locks, in order to finally get our doors working as they should.

The biggest things remaining are the bathrooms which are in sore need of an overhaul. We're aiming to do those after our holiday I think, although some work needs to be done at the drawing board before we start calling plumbers and buying sanitary wear. The nicer the rest of the flat looks though, the worse they seem, and I can't surpress a cringe when walking on those age-old carpets.

Meanwhile, it looks like another lovely weekend. Maybe some running or cycling is in order. Preferably followed by brunch somewhere nice.

I can't do anything with these nails, but I can't bring myself to chop them off either; seems like a waste of 22 quid. I thought I'd be able to come to London and keep them under wraps until they grew off, but absolutely everybody has noticed them and commented. I've decided it's acceptable to do it for occasions (although next time I doubt I'll have them so long), but I'd never keep them up daily. I was speaking to one mum yesterday who gets hers updated every month. She's one of these people who look fabulous 24/7 in perfect hair and designer clothes. I don't think the jeans/trainers look is crying out for acrylics quite so much!

My to-do list is astronomical. Much of it concerns getting this flat miraculously sorted in time for a visit from Mike and Jill on Friday. The rest is about getting refunds for money unwisely spent (lots of that this past month) and other such rubbish. Maybe central London living doesn't suit me after all; swift reductions in bank balances are rather unsavoury when they come to light.

Also had to struggle with another blocked drain yesterday (stupid leeks), and the wire hanger broddling was not quite so effective, so I ended up with the guilt of emptying multiple bottles of Mr Muscle drain unblocker into the ecosystem. Surely there's some balance to be had; at least the plumber didn't have to deplete the world's natural fuel supplies and pollute the atmosphere by driving over here to unblock it. Sigh.

I'm enjoying being back though. This place feels far more like home than our last place, despite the live wires hanging from the walls, and a certain lack of amenities caused by outstanding work. I've had a lovely week away but it's more relaxing, somehow, to be able to sit in my own sitting room with a cup of tea and know what trouble the kids can get themselves into. Part of the possibility of relaxation is also down to the fact that Jody is back at nursery and Miles is making up for lost nap time (a record 4-hours on Monday). Shropshire and Cheshire obviously wore him out good and proper.

Maybe it was the rope bridges on the Crocky Trail that we did with the kids on Sunday afternoon - very entertaining and well worth a visit if you're in the area, and it caters for big kids too. Or maybe it was the fab helicopter ride we did with one of Grandad's friends on Sunday morning. What a buzz to tour the area from the sky in a glorified bubble. I would love to learn to do that.

Miles asked for a cuddle yesterday for the first time. He loves cuddles, but to hear him request one verbally is quite a heart-melter. His vocabulary is really increasing these days; he's picking up numerous words every day and reciting them in the correct context. Still doesn't string many together though; his only phrase appears to be "Daddy gone," or "train gone," (always spoken with heart-rending despair). I remember loving this speaking phase with Jody too, though it came a year earlier with her. Suddenly when the years of unrequited communication and interpreting body language transform into real words and requests, things become tangibly easier. And hearing the determination in a little child's voice to express things comprehensibly is very endearing: One of my favourite phases, for sure.

I must get back to the boxes. I'm doing some babysitting this afternoon which is delightfully easy since Cosima turned up asleep in her buggy and Miles went to bed soon after. The feeling of liberation while children sleep increases with the amount of children sleeping. I suppose if I had a whole dormitory of quietly dozing toddlers, I'd be on a massive high. Nah - definitely not worth the risk of it turning against me.

Well. It's the morning after the night before: The night before being Charlotte's wedding. The outfit was fine; the hair was a disaster (I followed instructions, I promise I did, but still didn't get the promised curls and had to resort to a frizzy ponytail with no time to spare). The wedding was very lovely - Charlotte looked fantastic and there was no effort (or expense) spared by any of the guests to look a million dollars. I felt positively under made-up at times, but generally speaking was reasonably comfortable with my attire. Nice food, funky dance-music and some interesting people-watching and then a 40 minute ride back to Grandad's on the bus which re-introduced Roj to his dinner and the sixteen bottles of white wine and champagne he seemed to have accompanied it with. Ah well; one has to live a little sometimes, and the night before a child-free morning is probably a better time than any.

Had a lovely week in Shropshire. Spent the first weekend in very relaxed style with Nanna and Zoe in the midst of the heatwave during which Roj injured his toe so badly that he couldn't do Sunday's duathlon either, and Jody got her first road-rash coming down the lane on the Like-a-bike. Then headed out to Mormor and Morfar's for a very enjoyable week with lots of help with the kids, some rare girlie time with my mum and a nice half-day with Oldemor. Very much enjoyed seeing lots of Camilla during the week too; drinking excellent Illy and talking boob-jobs on Saturday; baking at a pub-lunch table and climbing the hill with her and the kids on Wednesday, and visiting Perfect10 in Shrewsbury for some rather impressive fake nails (covering up the DIY-split one on my right hand) on Thursday. Finding it very hard to type properly with them clicketty-clacking all over the keyboard. Very not me.

Another 24 hours to spend at Grandad's (will pick the kids up this afternoon - hope they haven't exhausted my parents too much. Realised only yesterday that it was the first full night I'd left Miles with anyone else in his 2 years of existence). Then back to London on Sunday with the energy (hopefully) to attack the remaining boxes and fill up our shiny new Aspen shelving (which took me a full day to construct). Quite looking forward to getting back into the old routine actually, after a fairly full-on Easter break.

Must go and see if the disprin is helping my husband out of his hangover misery!

The worst thing about the bank holiday weekend is that it was supposed to be a great training weekend - 4 days in a row for cycling or running or both. But with the nasty chesty cough I contracted from the kids last week, I was barely able to climb the stairs, let alone get outside for a training session. For two years now, I've either been too tired or too ill to do much training; I've picked up every lurgy the kids bring home and it takes me double time to shake it. I'm getting thoroughly exasperated by the state of my health, especially since I used to be unlucky if I got more than one cold a year. It's turned my winter and springtime training into a nonexistent farce and means that, once again, I'm having to pull out of races and wonder whether I'll ever get a chance to get back on form. The London Triathlon is still a while away, but I was hoping it would be the culmination of a good year of racing, rather than something I struggle to prepare for. Beyond frustrating.

In other ways though, the Easter weekend was very good. I spent Friday morning in town, coughing and spluttering while I ordered extravagant walnut venetian blinds for our sitting room, then trailing back via some clothes shops. I then languished on the sofa and in the garden square, feeling sorry for myself and my lost voice but enjoying the sunshine regardless.

Saturday I spent the day with Pippa and her two girls at the zoo (mostly queueing, making toilet stops, and indulging the girls with ice-creams and carousel rides) while Roj and Will attended the Boat Race. Rosie and Jody slipped straight into soul-mate attitude within 2 minutes of seeing each other at the door, and spent the ensuing 2 days in close cahoots with not a cross word between them. They even sat peacefully together in St. James's Park sharing a massive chocolate Easter egg (which the Easter Bunny had generously hidden in the narcissi) without any shouts of 'it's mine!' or 'no!' They weren't overly impressed with our ride on the London Eye on Sunday morning (this time with Roj and Will in attendance, the former attempting to connect to a conference call while comforting an overtired Miles), nor with the ensuing noodles (which were lovely), but seemed to enjoy their time together enormously. In fact they left me wondering why Jody doesn't have that level of connection with any of the girls in her own neighbourhood, but one can't create these things.

Last week I discovered that one shouldn't put flowers down the waste disposal. I discovered this by putting flowers down the waste disposal. It didn't take long to realise that the backing-up of water was caused by a plug of mulch blocking the drain. I emptied the main sink's u-bend of fibrous gunge, and then did the same for the pipe attached to the half sink where the waste disposal is (the water turned into a bit of a geyser at this point, but luckily I'd had the foresight to cover up the 3-pin plug socket down there with a plastic bag, and the floor with a towel). Feeling like a DIY queen I replaced the pipework and filled the sink which once again refused to drain. After some panicking (mostly around whether or not I should switch off the washing machine to prevent it draining into an already blocked system and therefore flooding the whole kitchen, flat below and so on ...), I looked online for answers and found the obvious "broddle around with a piece of wire" answer which led to 20 minutes fishing vegetation out of the drain with a hanger. Successfully this time, I might add. Phew. No flowers next time then. No celery either apparently (I checked the instructions!)

Miles has 4 emerging molars. They popped through almost without our noticing, although with hindsight we can probably blame some sleep disruption on them. Sleeps have been going fairly well since the nights spent ignoring his cries, although our decision to replace his Grobag with a duvet may be premature, since I usually have to pop in two or three times each night to replace it from where he's kicked it off. We had two nights earlier this week though, where he slept through completely (and subsequently so did we), which is the first time in my recent memory. I just hope it continues, although nights ahead at Nanna's house, then Mormor and Morfar's and finally Grandad's will probably cause enough disruption to prevent that.

Off to Shropshire tonight for the duathlon on Sunday (which I'm not going to be able to do, dammit), and then I'll be staying there with the kids during the week since we're all coming back for Roj's half-sister Charlotte's wedding next Friday anyway. That's the cause of the evening wear dilemnas. Almost solved now. Although how successfully, remains to be seen.

You know you've hit rock bottom when you spend Saturday night ironing your husband's shirts (while he schmoozes with old rowing mates at the Blues dinner), wondering whether you have time before you go to bed at your reasonable hour, to check Which.co.uk for the model of hand-held vacuum cleaner to buy. Snore.

Am currently in one of those regular sleep-deprived phases where I struggle to string a sentence together, never mind a succession of interesting projects for toddlers. It all started on Saturday night after a very enjoyable birthday meal with Roj at Shanghai Blues where the fois gras / sea bass special and the snow pea shoots in garlic were just to die for. Somewhat Western in feel though, with the live lounge music and copious accompanying wine list which we made too much use of. Anyway, we got to bed little before midnight and when Miles woke at 2, I didn't go back to sleep. I tried for an hour or so, and then got up and spent two hours researching venetian blinds and adding to my Lakeland shopping list. At 5:30 I went back to bed, and finally slept again at about ten to six, before being woken by the kids soon after.

I was going to run on Sunday morning, but instead spent the entire day in a headachy haze of tiredness, though having been out cycling on Saturday, and running on Thursday and Friday, I felt virtuous enough to let it pass (little did I know that I'd catch the kids' chesty cough by the end of the weekend and have to postpone training yet again). We went up to Islington on Sunday lunchtime to try and see the Ethnicraft bed that we're aiming to buy, and ended up eating lunch at Nando's, which was not like a Chili's or an Old Orleans like we thought, but more like a spicy Kentucky Fried Chicken. The food was fast, but crappy and far too hot for the kids (although Miles is seriously into dipping things in ketchup now). It fed the tired and hungover beast inside me though, and ensured that we never go near the place again. And we did chase it with some extremely indulgent monster meringues from a posh patisserie up the road. And I bought some hoopy silver Dinny Hall earrings which was a bit of a coup, except that I was actually looking for some gold ones to complement the black tie outfit but confirmed that gold (to Roj's pocket's relief, probably) is certainly not the colour for me.

I had a lovely day on Monday with Jody and Miles, mostly in the playground, but my Easter optimism has been exhausted in the previous two days when it has become obvious that my little Madam is more of a little Madam than ever. Yesterday she misbehaved at every possible turn, but I have to admit some responsibility because I started the day with a little list of mostly kid-exclusive tasks to achieve and so did not afford her the attention she certainly expects. By the end of the day I'd achieved nothing on my list, and by staying at home optimistically hoping that I might, the flat was in an even worse state than in the morning, necessitating even more precious time dedicated to clearing up, and the kids were climbing the walls.

The main thing on my agenda (don't get me wrong - the agenda was only 3 items long), was to bake a birthday cake for Miles for a little impromptu picnic I decided to throw for him this morning in the garden square. Given that I only managed to buy the cake tins (50% off at Selfridges - superb!) after 6pm, I didn't even begin the baking until 9, and my efforts were further postponed by other tasks and phonecalls, meaning the (first) cakes did not emerge from the oven until 10:30pm. Within 15 minutes though, it was clear that the cakes belonged nowhere but in the InSinkErator, given that in my hurry I had not performed the skewer test, and both cakes were clearly still liquid in the middle. I didn't know what to do, because I could scarce afford the time to go out and buy a cake in the morning. While thinking about it, I set to making Nigella's cheese star crackers to keep those with savoury taste buds sustained, and by the time I'd finished those I decided the only option was to re-do the cake, this time with copious skewering. So it was that exactly 2 years to the minute from the precious moment of Miles's birth in our flat in Wimpole Street, I was tying ribbons around his birthday balloons, smelling the 2nd set of cakes, and remininscing about my little boy, his entry into the world and how the last couple of years have flown by. And it was quite a sweet little moment for me, sleep-deprivation notwithstanding.

In the end I don't think I should have bothered with the cake. Actually no - the cake is excellent comfort food - it was the party that was a total washout. Most of my invitees are away this week, others have doctors' appointments and in all honesty it was quite a stretch to get a small handful of toddlers to attend, especially given my determination that the guests should be Miles's friends, not Jody's. And we ended up shivering in the garden square in little more than 10 degrees of miserable cloud cover, before deciding to retire to the flat to thaw out. And by the time everybody got upstairs and out of their shoes and coats and I unpacked the cool-keeper and sought out the candles, it was already time for people to get their kids back for lunch. So I got the dustpan out, made myself a very very strong coffee and resolved to do better next year. At least Miles doesn't care - he spent the whole time whinging and clinging to me anyway. And then banged his head on the bike racks outside. Some 2nd birthday.