Alison's Diary

May 18 2008

MONDAY

Everyone has a tidy, well-organised friend whose stain-free clothes match and always look as if they are just out of the cleaners. Mine is called Anne. She is a house doctor and nearly hyperventilates when she comes into my paddock.

Today is PMT day from hell so I'm hiding in the house, laptop off, tracksuit and daytime TV on. I'm lying on the couch, with a monstrous plate of oven chips balanced on my tummy when the buzzer goes. I reckon Dave's forgotten his keys again and press the entry phone to let him in - except it's Anne.

I stand there in my non-matching socks, flash her a greasy chip smile and ask: "Cup of tea?"

She bravely accepts though I know she wants to run.

TUESDAY

Have you tried Tanqueray gin? Dynamite came bowling in with a bottle last weekend and it appears on my horizon tonight.

After a long day I open the cupboard and there it is so I ask my mum if she fancies a wee G&T. She nods.

Pouring a normal measure - big but not gigantic - I top it up with ice, lemon and tonic and as I sook that first gulp down it is unmitigated joy, no less.

I can see my mum enjoying hers too and we are soon at the bottom of the glass.

"Another?" I ask, feeling red-cheeked and frivolous. "Why not," she answers.

We find out soon enough - it knocks us into next week and after that second gin we just go to bed.

So inadvertently I have discovered a new low-cal eating plan - massive gin intake on empty stomach. Maybe not.

WEDNESDAY

Why when summer is finally on its way do I discover yet another food obsession?

I have always loved a calzone and today - courtesy of my son who reads menus outside restaurants the way Alistair Darling reads a bank statement - I discover you can customise your own at a local Italian establishment.

Stopping in my tracks I turn to Louis. "Are you sure?" I ask. This is serious stuff. He nods gravely.

There is no time to waste so I grab a Post-it note and scribble: "Gone to Zanzerro for tea, Back soon love Alison and Louis" and leave it on David's office door.

Well he has been on the phone a full seven minutes and some things can't wait.

THURSDAY

Burnt my face. The first sneaky look at the sun and come lunchtime I am on a tartan rug in Princes Street Gardens, fat face upturned to the blue sky.

Having read that Vitamin D, which comes from the sun, is believed to stave off all sorts of things I decide to give my skin an unfettered blast of UV.

Big mistake. It has been such a long time since the heat hit the bones I fall into an almost instant snore.

What seems like seconds later an unknown dog comes up and pokes its cold nose into my face, which gives me a helluva shock.

Sitting up I squint around. How long have I been here? Over an hour and a half it turns out. Jumping to my feet I rush off to get Louis, who gets into the car and exclaims, "Oh my God. What have you done to yourself now?" "Nothing," I answer indignantly.

FRIDAY

The last time I had skin that looked like this was when I fell asleep after a drinking game on a beach in Greece circa 1986.

On the phone to Boots the chemist trying to find out if they have some ointment or elixir to help calm down red faces before I venture forth and scare members of the public.

"Aye, the sun can give you a fair skelping when it comes out," says the pharmacist as I hand over my cash for my soothing aloe vera cream.

I smile, which hurts a little due to tight skin, and slope home to apply it liberally all over my face.

I think Dave is quite pleased as it has meant my mouth and usually rubbery face cannot move very well.

"This is what I'd be like with Botox," I declare. "What? Quiet?" he exclaimed.

"Great. When are you getting it?"

SATURDAY

It's my friend Mark's 50th birthday today - yes hanging around with men considerably older than myself, I know.

He is an all-trades guy and has every gadget known to man and a few months ago I saw a Sunday Mail feature on advert for a kilt made specially for tradesmen. It is a cracking thing in black denim with pockets for everything you might need were you building a house - though quite what they do when people are wandering under their ladders, I shall report back.

When we arrive to deliver our gift 50-year-old Mark is running around in a fullsize Spider-Man outfit.

Add to that his new denim work-kilt and I think you will agree we now have proof that even when you grow old you don't have to grow up.