It's been a horribly long time since I wrote, apologies. There's too much to tell and I won't even try. I have become obsessed with making lists and with the whole Julie Myerson debate. For those of you who don't know, Julie is an author who has recently decided to publish a book based on her and her husband's real-life decision to throw their 20-year old son out of the house on the basis of his problems with drugs. Skunk, mind, not heroin. She has been absolutely vilified in the press, accused of everything from being middle-class about drugs to 'letting down the concept of motherhood'. Her husband Jonathan wrote an article in the Guardian about it today which prompted me to do something else for the first time: write to someone I've never met about a subject I know nothing about. His article was, in my view, exceptional. 'Exceptional' is an over-used word but it's a useful one in this context. His article was full of pain and love and hard facts. I know nothing about having a teenage son or the effect of drugs and to be honest neither are things I worried about, but I was compelled to write to say how exceptional his article was. It will be etched on my mind for a long time, for sure.
Anyway, on to lists. Yesterday for the first time I made a list of things I like which are deeply uncool but which make me who I am:

• Francis Cabrel (see photo): wrinkly old French folk-rocker who sings songs about women's eyes, the beauty of children, ladies who live in wooden chalets in the Alps and always appreciating what you have. Subjects so uncool that they're almost cool again. Desperately uncool, but strangely brilliant.


• Cheryl Cole. Now I know that this one divides the nation. How can any woman like someone who was once convicted of assault on a nightclub attendant (although cleared of racist charges), is a UK size 4 (size zero, US-dwellers) and is married to Ashley Cole, the most stupid footballer of all time? But there's something about her, isn't there?


• Eating peanut butter out of the jar with a teaspoon. Preferably whilst watching 'Coleen's Real Women'. And only the crunchy variety works here.


• 'Coleen's Real Women'. For those of you who have not sampled this work of genius, the premise for this TV show is that Coleen (married to Wayne Rooney, a footballer of uncertain physical attractiveness) finds 'real women' to star in ad campaigns, often 'beating real models' to the job. I love it for the simple fact that models around the UK probably detest her - "Hey Coleen, rack off! How are we going to get jobs if real women are taking them over!" (see also American's Next Top Model, Stylista and so on).


• Bed socks. Cashmere. But I never wear them in bed, as surely this is the end of marriage?

Anyway, see you soon. x