This has been the sort of day i used to have all the time when i was 22 and unemployed and i resolve to NEVER have one again. Essentially, Mum flurries around in a maelstrom of efficiency and chore-doing, and i sort of limply bob around in her wake, like a sinking boat tied to the QE2 (I’m not calling her fat, for any of her mates reading this.)

Today i had a good half an hour of working up a new idea that im not sure where it will go, probably radio, it feels more noisy than looky. (I am good with words, it is why i do this job which i do.) Then, foolishly buoyed up with cockiness, i had a shower, ate some soup, danced with the cat and had a nap. (Seriously, i spent YEARS of my early 20s twatting about like this, I’m so glad i didnt get hit by a bus at 24, the eulogies would’ve been embarrassingly scanty: “Nat really mastered the tricky art of cheese on toast, she devoted days of her life to it. She also perfected the nap, she was a lovely napper, here is a montage of some of her finest work.)

Then Mum came home for lunch and I quickly put the cat down, leapt behind my laptop and gave Mum a stern look, indicative of the overworked genius who would quite like a cup of tea. She made me a cup of tea (I am good) and went back to work and the cat and i recommenced boogying. The day dragged on, i wondered if i’d look good with shorter hair, gave it a trim, realised no, no, if anything it peeled back my veneer of dude-like cool to reveal my true self, a librarian who smells of charity shop.

Then Mum came home and we went to Asda and tried on hats. We’re very similar people, a display of novelty hats is enough to make us kiss goodbye to the next half hour of our lives. Its a mercy i’ve never worked in the emergency services, and surprising really given my love of drama.

Mum is a celebrity in Watford, she’s taught at the local school for 147 years so children’s eyes widen at the sight of her buying ham in Asda like a normal human (i heard a child whisper once ‘Missis Luurtsema is out of school!’ like they were convinced she was put in a box at 4pm with the crayons.) Even teenaged boys in Next give her a scared grimace, i assume because she taught them, or perhaps she gets tanked up and fights strangers of an evening, who knows? Everyone’s entitled to their privacy.

I am also somewhat of a celebrity to them as Mum always talks about me, apparently. Which is sweet. Less sweet is the fact i am known as “Mrs Luurtsema’s Big Girl.’ Fucking cheers Mum, why not just call me Ploppy Head Smellsalot and be done with it? 20 years from now ill really struggle to find a Watford-based toyboy thanks to that tag. Though that honestly wasn’t high on the To Do list.

It’s been a very aimless day. I probably didn’t need to tell you that, once trying on hats in Asda features as a Dear Diary moment, expectations droop a little. I could tell you about the argument Dad and i had over a hole in my tights, which dragged on throughout 2 CSIs and dinner and was such an enemy of the general will to live I’m surprised the contents of the fridge didn’t immediately spoil – but i will be merciful and state simply: I was right. Tights don;t become useless once they get holes at the toes, if anything they evolve into leggings.

A noteworthy incident was an article i found on the Guardian about a woman who went back home to live with her parents and by all accounts it destroyed her self-esteem, which concerned me a little. To be fair, her situation was worse than mine, she lost her job and couldn’t afford her flat, and she was Californian (TV says it’s a more nutty part of the world.) Im living with my parents because im a dopey twat who forgot to find a flat, so i dont feel such a sense of failure. Also, thanks to stand-up i am untroubled by much in the way of dignity and the expectation of success – the little i have bubbles along at a modestly low ebb, where it is seemingly indestructible, like how people think cockroaches will eb the only thing to survive an apocalypse.*

Im pretty happy at home. Of course i’ll bugger off soon, my stay here has stretched waaay beyond the allotted 30 days, as Dad will sometimes remark, loudly, stood next to the front door. But i’m really enjoying walking on carpets. I’ve lived in London for 4 years, in 5 flats and ive never had carpets. Theyre so soft and warm! I really think they’ll catch on. They’re like slippers, but everywhere. Omnislippers.

*Maybe i dreamt that, i dont know.