On my way back from the off-licence when I decide to drop in on Suze. Quite embarrassed to make my way up the front path - the place is like a gipsy camp: plastic toys everywhere. No answer at the front door and all very quiet - odd, as there's usually at least one unnaturally healthy-looking child making mud pies either in or outside the house. So I pick my way round to the back to see if she's in the so-called garden…still no sign, but as it's a nice day I have a quick look in the Geoff Hamilton bower.

Get the shock of my life: Suze's in there, stuffing her face with chocolate cake; she's got it all over herself and down her top. Give her a stern talking to: if she's going to lose weight this millenium, chocolate cake is not the answer.

After a few tears the truth emerges, at least in part: someone's 40th birthday party, a lot of vodka and a strippogram. I give the bloke a call, explain the situation, and go back to reassure Suze, the drunken hussy…she's still sniffing, so I act kind and help her prune her Geoff Hamilton rose.

What a day. Have just got the kids to playgroup and school and wherever else it is they go, and settled down in Geoff's bower with a pot of Camomile Tea and some cake to try and erase the memory of last night, when who should barge in but Annie, the pockets of her Barbour clinking rather suspiciously.

She accuses me of undisciplined behaviour and stamps about, throwing the cake in the worm bin. I don't like to tell her I've been using it to keep the kids' bats and balls in since all the worms died, and quickly eat the last slice while she's at it.

She gets all cross and makes me cry, but then she does her man's voice on the phone again for me so I show her my new clematis and she shows me how to plant it with stones over the roots so it doesn't fry in the sun like the others. It'll be a miracle if they stay there long enough for the sun to come out, but I don't say anything.