Another cop out shot of a bluebell on our kitchen windowsill will have to suffice for today – I’ve have again been working hard but today it’s been cutting lawns which in this place is a mammoth task and one which I loathe. I know it may be an unpopular view but I intend to cut down the grass (in terms of the number of square yards it takes up rather than the length of the blades) here to save me from doing battle with a lawnmower for about seven hours a week, usually split over two days.

I have managed to kill two lawnmowers today – a little Flymo (Micro Lite) which I bought to use in the front garden because it’s small and light – the only problem is that by buying something for its smallness and lightness it seems you have to trade off quality. It weighs a mere 4.5 kilos so is perfect for lugging around to the front garden and using on a hilly site but its build quality is frankly shite. I’ve only had it three years but it’s completely knackered – the casing is broken in several places meaning it no longer hovers properly despite DMs valiant attempt at fixing it several times. The plastic blades ping out and deposit themselves in the most unlikely of places – sometimes I find ones I’d given up on locating months later. Anyway, take it from me, it’s completely rubbish. It finally bit the dust today. The blades pinged out twice in quick succession and I found myself turning it over to replace them (again, yawn) to find it on fire!!! I’ve also killed another mower that I use on the back lawns by going over a bit of granite and chewing its blade up so much it decided to dig its way to Australia. I give up on these crappy contraptions and find myself completely baffled about what to do next so that’s it – the grass gets it. I’m going to take a flame thrower to the lot of it any day now…..only kidding.

So, it’s a good job I managed to get myself some loving in the form of a three and a half year old chap who has been my charge the last two mornings and lunchtimes, as I’ve been awarded responsibility for his safe transit to and from pre-school.

I got this job because I’d volunteered to help my friends if they ever got in a spot and needed someone to help so when I got a phone call yesterday telling me their child minder’s son was ill so she couldn’t get my little friend to school, I jumped into the car and did the honours.

Now I can tell you one important fact about this, my heart is forever lost to this little fellow who held onto my hand with his tiny little soft fingers while I walked him from the car to school and back again for two days. When I signed him into his pre-school and he stood looking at me when I said “goodbye” he had such saucers of eyes. I asked if he’d like a kiss, not knowing if that would be appreciated or not, he nodded quietly so we both puckered up and I got a little kiss that I doubt I’ll ever forget. Not only that, but now I’ve got myself this exquisite pleasure two days in a row. I’m smitten.

I’ve never really been close to any small children before – always intensely disliked children when I was one and since I’ve been “grown up” (that’s a laugh in itself) very few of my friends have become parents. Only my sister, of all those close to me, has become a Mum and she lived 40 miles away from me. Not only that, but I was too intimidated and too uncomfortable to be around her children for some inexplicable reason. I deeply regret that now but it’s too late to go back and change it so I have to live with it.

Anyway, whatever the contorted route to me filling the role of carer for my little friend, I relished and loved it and feel deeply honoured to have been deemed unthreatening enough and likeable enough to warrant two kisses from him.

Mind you – the responsibility of looking after him, taking him in my car and checking him in and out of school was just about the most stressful thing – how on earth do mothers cope with the day-in, day-out responsibility for a small child’s life and well-being? I felt the urge to phone my friend (his Mum), when I left him at the school to check in that I’d got him there safely and that he’d not been in any danger at any point during my short time caring for him. I had to stop myself from shaking as I checked the seatbelt on his child seat four times before setting off home. I drove at 20 miles an hour (s’OK – I was not holding up any other traffic) and heaved a huge sigh of relief when I signed him back over to his child minder. Phew! Tiny fingers in mine – what a joy.