Flew back from my holiday very late last night.

Aug 5 2007 Alison Craig

Meet a casting director who is looking for a kid to play robert Carlyle's son. She's terrified when Di offers to don shorts!

MONDAY

Flew back from my holiday very late last night. Arrived in Newcastle shattered, grumpy and peeling. The flight from Italy was on time but the airport was an adventure. It was 43C and packed with thousands of folk who seemed to have been born without a volume control.

As we queued to go through security I hadn't yet chucked everything I should have into my case - there were fishing hooks, tweezers and nail clippers in my bag - so I was digging about for them when we were ushered through. Bunging my bag into the machine, I expected to hear a loud beep and a rather handsome security man said, 'You have a bottle of water in there?' 'Eh, yes,' I said, handing over the offending drink. And that was it. The three potentially lethal weapons slid through undetected.

I tried not to think about that as we got on board as I was so relieved to be heading home. We arrived in Newcastle at midnight then stood at the luggage carousel and waited...and waited and waited.

Everyone was getting antsy and it wasn't long before a large, fed-up Geordie shouted: "What the hell's goin' on then?" The silly, six-stone official shrugged. Dave gallantly told Louis and I to go on to our pals' house nearby and he'd wait for the luggage. Louis went straight to bed and I went straight to the booze cabinet, which is where Dave found me two hours later.

TUESDAY

Head back home to Edinburgh by train sporting a hangover. Uneventful until we get off at Waverley. Dave is wheeling a massive case along the platform behind him when the train driver - clearly in a hurry - approaches him and does a small jump, presumably intending to fly over our case.

Instead he catches one foot on the bottom of it and cannons off in a diagonal direction. Luckily he lands on both legs but is going so fast he has to run to prevent him falling, gathering speed along the platform past lots of bemused and amused passengers.

We start laughing at his unfortunate Buster Keaton moment too until he finally resumes a reasonable walking stance and tries to saunter away casually.

WEDNESDAY

I'm supporting a summer school project called Edinburgh Studio (www.edinburghstudio.co.uk) and we have a great bunch of kids aged 8-17 doing courses in a variety of creative arts.

A casting director called Orla O'Connor comes in today looking for a 12-year-old to play Robert Carlyle's son in the upcoming film Summer.

It is being produced by Ken Loache's company so our boys are all in a high state of excitement as is Dynamite, who offers to put on a pair of shorts and paint freckles on her nose. Orla just says: "No" and tries to hide the fear in her eyes.

THURSDAY

I receive a lovely letter from Kirstine Gilmour of Millennium Beauty in Kilmarnock. She read the column a few weeks ago when I was complaining about looking like a hairy monster in the morning and sent me a silk pillowcase. I am in a state of high excitement. All the squishing, creasing and wrinkling of the face and gnarling up of the hair that happens at night is apparently eliminated by using a silk pillow. I rush to put it on my pillow and intend to wake tomorrow looking like a line-free, well groomed goddess.

FRIDAY

Dave went to bed before me last night and being thoughtful, I didn't flick the light on when I joined him. Wake up this morning, squint in the mirror and see no difference in my crumpled chops - then notice Prince Charming next to me is sleeping on my new silk pillowcase. He looks bloody great!

I snatch it away from him like a 10-year-old throwing a tantrum but he looks bemused. When I tell him he has nicked my latest elixir of youth, he strokes the pillow and claims he had the best night's sleep in ages. I have now been dispatched to get another one for him.

Men. They really are from another planet - planet irritating.

SATURDAY

My 4lb weight gain is causing a few dramas - and I can see no light at the end of the tunnel. Or for that matter between my chaffing thighs.

Is this really middle-aged spread? I don't think I am eating any more than usual. "It's the drink," says my helpful little Dynamic friend as she wheechs her shirt up and grabs her overhang. Why does everything I love seem to be bad for me?

"Och, don't worry," she says. "You're not alone." Cheered, we share a bottle of wine.

Listen to Alison at www.sundaymail.co.uk/ entertainment/podcasts. You can also text Alison. Just text SMALISON (space) then your message and send to 84080 (53305 ROI). Each text costs 25p.

GAINED 4LB AND CAN SEE NO LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL.. OR BETWEEN MY CHAFFING THIGHS. IS IT REALLY THE DREADED MIDDLE-AGED SPREAD?