When is a mini break not a mini break? When it's a tiny break. That is, just 48 hours in total. I got back from Edinburgh yesterday afternoon, exactly 48 hours after I left. And I believe I have now cracked that great mystery of 'how to have a successful holiday after having a baby'. The answer, my friends, is: Leave The Baby At Home.

Sorry to be glib. It actually wasn't that easy, but it wasn't that hard either. I dropped her off with my mum (who she loves to death) and only felt a tiny bit teary as I walked away - she was totally happy and playing so it wasn't some great big emotional scene. The train journey up was bloody lovely - nice and quiet and I read a whole book and scoffed Pret and it was like being a grown up again. I also bought OK magazine for the first time in ages but never actually got round to reading it. I feel I need to mark this as some sort of pinnacle of maturity. The thing is, I usually buy Red mag (if I buy mags at all, which I never do any more - my 15-year-old self who dreamed of being a magazine journalist would be beside herself with sadness) but there were none left in WHSmith in Kings Cross. So I bought OK because it's the kind of crappy thing I usually like reading in the hairdresser's. But when it came down to it: just me, the train and the magazine, I found that I actually didn't care. I looked at the cover several times, taking in all the trying-to-be-tantalising-titbits about various slebs I was vaguely aware of and I found I didn't care enough to even open the damn thing. How times have changed.

Hmm. Not sure what the point of that little sidestep was, but I guess as an admission it won't help my 'career' if I ever decide I want to get back into the meeja properly. Anyway... yes, my tiny break. Edinburgh is bloody lovely. Beautiful. Why did no one tell me this before? I've only been to Scotland a couple of times before - once on a rather disastrous honeymoon with my ex husband (we stayed in the middle of nowhere in the Highlands in JANUARY and it was freezing and boring and the water in the toilet was brown because it was filtered through peat or some such nonsense - anyway, nothing romantic about that trip) and then once for a wedding. I never knew Edinburgh was so pretty, and had such fab landscapes all around it. Also, thank you weather gods, because the sun shone all day - we walked 16km exploring the city as much as we could and I enjoyed every second. I didn't even think about the baby much, which makes me feel ashamed and feminist all at the same time.

She was fine, anyway, and had a lovely time with her grandparents. And best of all, Oli's show, Simply Bowie (a pared-back, Jazz interpretation of some of David Bowie's hits), was a phenomenal success. They had no PR budget yet it was packed out every night, they were on Scottish TV and BBC Radio Scotland and the feedback was unanimously positive. I was so proud and I've been blathering all about it all over social media ever since we returned. But in case you've missed it, you can check out his Facebook page for more info and you can also buy the album on iTunes (or stream it, if you can figure out how on earth to use this new bloody Apple Music - if you can, you're a wiser (wo)man than me).

My only regret about Edinburgh is that I was only there for one day, and that day was the last day of the Fringe, so lots of the shows had already finished. As a result there wasn't much on offer to see, and the atmosphere was a little more subdued than I had expected. I did however, get to witness the awesome last night fireworks. So, you know, swings and roundabouts.

Oh god, I'm writing this during Bake Off, so I guess no one will read it. But anyway. Just a quick update and a big thank you to everyone who gave me tips for surviving my week home-alone parenting. So far, it's been a mixed bag, but I can confirm that we are both alive. Hurrah!

Daph was actually an angel for the first two nights, sleeping through from 6.30pm to 6.30am which she has never ever done before without a middle of the night feed. So that got me all cocky and thinking I was nailing it. It also got me shedloads of sleep, which was awesome. But then last night, it all went wrong. I'm blaming the weather. This hideous weather! I love the summer but why in the hell can we not just have 23-24 degrees and sunshine all summer long rather than rain for most of it, punctuated by this insanely humid and stuffy ordeal. It's horrible. We've also seemingly bought the Hottest House in the World. It has no loft (the ceilings are open to the roof, which sounds weird but is kind of cool and quirky - I KNOW I need to do pictures of the damn house, coming soon I promise...). The lack of loft means all the bedrooms basically ARE the loft, and you know how hot lofts get in this kind of weather.

Poor Daph's room is about 32 degrees and there's literally no way of cooling it down. I've looked into leaving frozen bottles of water in there but worried about the humidity from that making it even worse. The window is open, the blackout blinds have been down all day but it's still a mini oven in there. Which means she's been taking forever to go to sleep (she hates not having her sleeping bag on, but obviously she's just in her nappy, and she's also scared of the oscillating fan which sends her elephant mobile batshit crazy) and then last night she woke up at 11.30pm and screamed blue murder until 1am when she fell asleep on me. That was... sweaty.

I don't suppose this is a very interesting tale really - all mothers are probably having the same issues. Compounding the situation though is the fact that she is now teething her first set of molars (they're meant to come through at 14 months Daph, you precocious child!), and has simultaneously decided that Calpol and Nurofen are disgusting and there's absolutely no way thank you very much she will take them: syringe, spoon, hiding it in Petit Filous, sucking it from my finger - NOT GOING TO HAPPEN MAMA.

So yeah. Today was tiring. I marvel as ever at Daph's ability to scream and wonder what on earth my poor neighbours think - if I was them I would have been calling social services last night.

Another side effect of this lovely heatwave are the mosquitos. There are mosquitos in my garden thanks to next door's stupid bloody water feature. Yesterday I actually caught one biting me and now my arm has swollen up to twice its size* - perhaps you're not meant to interrupt them mid-meal. Either way, stupid neighbours, stupid heatwave and stupid water feature. *itches*

But onto more important things! What I really meant to say is that, thanks to pressure from my mum (who I suspect is just desperate to look after Daph) this Sunday I am now going to Edinburgh to see Oli's show! And leaving the baby behind! EEEK.

When Oli first said he was doing the festival we did ruminate over me going up there for a couple of nights too, but I think if I'm honest we were both too lazy to think about the logistics. But the show's been going really well and I've never been to Edinburgh before, which is pretty shameful at my age. And my mum seems very keen to have Daph overnight. And the other day I realised with a bit of a shock that she's one now and I've never left her before - not for a single night. So perhaps it's time to cut the apron strings a little. It's pretty terrifying but the thought of two nights' sleep in a row is unbelievably exciting. It's kind of like going on a mini break! I suspect I will spend the entire time phoning my mum/trying to Facetime/whatsapping her bossy instructions but still. We might even get to have a grown up dinner out. Squeak!

*may be a slight exaggeration

Hello, hello! As suspected, I've been having a manic week or so since we got the house, trying to get everything ready. We're hoping to move in closer to the end of July, so I'm going to take a two-week break from blogging (a summer holiday if you will!) while we get everything sorted, as it's a bit too chaotic trying to fit everything in right now. And no one likes those crappy short posts bloggers do apologising and saying how they're too busy to blog, do they? Ahem. Decorating a house that's 40 minutes away in the car with a baby that needs to nap between 1.30pm and 3pm every day in her own bed (nowhere else will do now apparently - a new thing, she will ONLY sleep in her cot) is a bit of a logistical nightmare. But I'm enjoying the challenge. I think (so far!). Here's a quick update of some things that have been happening, for those that are interested:

1 The house has ginormous windows. They are three metres wide in some rooms. Which is lovely, but means finding curtains or blinds to fit is an absolute piggin' nightmare. An expensive nightmare too (all that fabric!). Last night I discovered the immense stash of vintage curtains for sale on eBay however, and literally lost four hours of my life trawling through them. You have been warned. Now I just need to convince Oli that pink velvet curtains are the way to go... Hmm, what was I saying before about there being too much pink in my flat?

2 In non-house-related news, the first time we took Daph to see the house, she started babbling. And not just a bit, but PROPERLY babbling, babababababa and gagagagagaga and dadadadada and all kinds of similar things (although she's yet to do mama or any 'm' sound). It's literally the cutest noise in the world. We finally have an appointment next week for her to be referred to a paediatric specialist about her development which is of course ironic, because now I can no longer say she doesn't babble. I am so relieved, but also a little in shock. I also highly suspect that the Teletubbies have something do with this new skill.

3 We're painting most of the house white, just to begin with. But in our bedroom, I wanted to go dark - I'm totally obsessed with dark paint at the moment. We're testing the above three colours from Farrow & Ball today, but my money's already on Railings (which I have on my front door to my flat, and I love). Inchyra Blue is one of their new colours however, and does intrigue me - there aren't that many examples of it being used online yet as it's *so* new so I'm keen to see how it turns out. Will it be too blue? One colour I really just can't get on with in interiors is blue, dunno why. I love the teal-y green of it, but then that's also quite a commitment to colour, whereas Railings is basically a dark neutral. Ooooh, so excited (loser).

4 Another exciting loser development - after years of getting angry with crappy washing machines, I have finally treated myself to a Miele. It arrives tomorrow and I am more excited about it than pretty much anything I've ever bought online. I bought it from Appliances Online and have been so impressed with their service. And prices. Check 'em out if you're in need of some white goods (and no, I wasn't paid or given a discount to say this).

So yes, that's about it from me. A thrilling update I'm sure you'll agree. I shall be back in a couple of weeks when we are hopefully finally all moved in. Can't believe we'll be getting all our stuff out of storage after nearly a year now - will be intriguing to rediscover what we actually have. Hope you are all having lovely summers - at least the sun is shining today - and speak soon!

I'm sorry I haven't posted for a while. Last week was a very strange week - not just for me, of course, but for the entire country. I woke up (at 5am) on Friday to the news that no one saw coming and it really did shock and surprise me. I want to be positive about it, because there was actually a lot about the EU I really really disagreed with (not least the fact we never actually chose to join the EU as it manifests now), but I hate to see people already suffering the consequences of a decision that has basically split the country in two. I also cannot bear the fact it has given Nigel Farage something to be smug about, and, on a more serious note, given that tiny minority of racists in our country the confidence to air their views publicly.

I don't really want to write more on this because one thing I have realised over the last few days is that there's such a thing as TOO many opinions. TOO many voices, all clamouring for attention. I don't want to be one of them. The media lately has disgusted me to the point I'm ashamed to call myself a journalist (and I know, I'm not a real journalist, I write about cushions but still, it's listed as my profession on my car insurance...). I'm too ignorant and don't think my thoughts consequential or erudite enough. All I'll say is that I feel sad, and especially sad that there is so much anger and contempt on both sides at the moment, and that I hope that we can turn this situation around into something more positive. I don't believe things are black and white - 'in' or 'out' with no middle ground. There has to be a compromise, a solution that both sides can bear. We need someone to take control now and show us true leadership - this is what I'm hoping for in the next few days and weeks.

In the midst of this horrible, historic Friday, something strange happened for us personally. You'll know already if you follow me on social media, but we finally exchanged contracts on the house we've been trying to buy for two and a half months. There was a huge amount of uncertainty leading up to us finally getting the place, thanks to various issues further up the chain. A few times we thought we were going to have to pull out, and once the woman we were buying from threatened that she would pull out. So I can honestly say I never really thought it would happen. And in fact, up to about an hour before it finally happened I still wasn't sure it would, as Oli was having serious doubts about buying somewhere when it's very likely that property prices will now start to drop.

But we went ahead because we believe once you've committed to something for the right reasons, you have a duty to see it through. We get the keys today. Now I have to start choosing wallpaper, shopping for fridge freezers and washing machines (this hasn't got any more interesting since the last time I did it, sadly) and dealing with the momentous task of moving house with a baby. All very exhausting already, but I'm excited.

I decided not to talk much about this house on my blog because after all the ups and downs we've had trying to find a home for our little family I didn't want to jinx it. But I will say now that it's not in London. We had so much soul searching around the decision to move out of the capital. We both love it here, but lately we've also both seen its real and significant downsides when it comes to children - the lack of space, the pollution, the traffic, the tiny gardens and the ridiculously steep house prices (ha! possibly not for much longer). So we're moving to the suburbs. Back to Surrey, where I was born and bred. And ironically, to the very same town that I lived in until I was 13. That in itself seems super weird (not least because hardly anything has changed!) but I had a happy childhood there - pretty much the happiest of childhoods in fact, and that was enough to convince me that I wanted the same for Daphne.

Oli and I have both agreed there's no way we would have bought this house if it weren't for Daph. It's scaring us both already. Stupid little things like not being able to use our Oyster cards at the station (you have to buy paper tickets - how quaint!). And we both love Wimbledon, and I'm going to miss all our little haunts so much. Hell, I'm even going to miss Colliers Wood's Mothercare, where I currently spend 78% of my time waiting to get served. It actually makes me quite emotional even writing this - we're planning to move in in a couple of weeks and I'm already making a list of things we must do 'one last time'. Silly little walks that we used to do regularly, that kind of thing. I've lived here for five years now - the longest I've lived anywhere as an adult - and I really do feel at home here.

But the new house. The house is lovely (pic up there ^). It's a 1960s terrace with an 80ft south-facing garden. It has a garage. I'm fairly sure it has an outside tap (the true marker of adulthood in my eyes - that and paying someone to clean your windows on a regular basis). I will have my own office, which fills me with nerdish joy. It's in pretty good nick but we want to put our own stamp on it, and I am so excited about having the opportunity to decorate again, after so long in my tiny flat with its grey and pink colour scheme that now bores me to tears. I hope to blog about it a lot, so watch this space if you like interiors blogs. (This is meant to be an interiors blog, believe it or not, but I hadn't had much to write about on that front lately. No such excuses now).

So yes, a funny old week. Life moves on, as it must. As Mr Hawking once said: 'Intelligence is the ability to adapt to change'. Change may be hard, but it is inevitable, and change is good for the soul. The future is looking... different.

I am very pleased with the sort of accidental alliteration of my subtitle up there. Not sure if alliteration is quite the right thing and am too tired to look it up, but you know what I mean. Shoes. Issues. They rhyme.

Anyway. I have never been a shoe girl. I am a handbag girl and a real-jewellery girl and a full-time make up girl. But shoes. Meh. I can take you or leave you. Not literally of course, as I have to have something on my feet (even at my most drunk I've never done the walking home barefoot in London thing - YUCK). But I've never got excited by an overpriced pair of stilettos. Or a swish pair of trainers. Shoes to me must be functional and smart, but I don't want shouty shoes that draw attention to my feet. I don't want shoes that cause me to hobble like a geriatric after five minutes' wear. IMO there's nothing fun or glamorous about looking crippled, or like a wobbly newborn giraffe.

This is my main beef with shoes: you try them on in the shop, they look wonderful and feel comfortable and not too high to walk in. You get them home, you wear them out once (so you've ruined the undersides, making them non-returnable), they rip your feet to shreds and you either cover your blistered bits with that moleskin stuff (doesn't work, always just works its way loose) for round two or you consign them to the back of the wardrobe and pretend you didn't spend £80 on them for one wear.

I dunno. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I just have weird feet.

Either way I rarely buy shoes. I buy enough shoes to get by. I love winter because I can basically buy one pair of (nice) boots every year with a mid heel and then I don't have to think about my feet until the dreaded warm weather rolls around.

If it was up to me,  I'd basically wear those mega-comfy black thong flip flops from Accessorize all summer long. I have about eighty pairs - every year I buy a fresh pair but forget to throw the old ones away, so I spend lots of mornings trying to work out which flip flop goes with which flip flop (usually I work this out by taking a look at how worn the underside is - the really knackered ones have holes in the bottom. Nice). When I was running my PR business I truly struggled with the professional-shoes-for-the-summer thing. It was a pain in the arse. I usually carried a pair of heels in my bag and wore my trusty flip flops right up until walking into the client's showroom.

Anyway the best thing about being on mat leave and freelancing again from home (in my pyjamas, in bed, most of the time) was not having to think about shoes at all. But last Saturday, as I mentioned, we went out for dinner to celebrate Oli's birthday. I had a new frock. It covered all the postpartum bits of me that are less than picturesque right now but also nipped me in, reassuring me that all is not actually lost in the waist department (hurrah!). What I didn't have, however, were any fancy shoes to go with it.

I mean, of course I do have fancy shoes. But they're all really, really ancient. I plucked three pairs, circa 2002, 2005 and 2008, from my wardrobe and tried them all on with the dress. Picked a pair of gold wedgey things that didn't seem to have aged too badly and off we went.

It was as we were walking to the restaurant I noticed that something felt a bit odd with my right shoe. Like I had something stuck to the bottom of it - chewing gum or a chocolate wrapper or something. I looked down but there was nothing obvious attached. I carried on walking, aware of a strange 'flopping noise' as I tottered.

We went into the restaurant (Roka Mayfair, which by the way was absolutely bloody lovely - very much recommend for a treat). We were seated at a lovely table right by the window. I wanted to wash my hands (tube travel + sushi = norovirus) so I stood up to ask the hostess where the toilets were. As she led me towards them, I realised that my shoe had gone from feeling weird, to feeling wrong. One of my legs was suddenly shorter than the other.

Yes, ladies and gentleman, the wedge part of my shoe fell off as I was walking across a very posh, very expensive restaurant in Mayfair.

It took a few seconds before I realised what had happened. I stopped, scurried back to pick the previously GLUED ON (cheap shoes be damned!) wedge heel up and hopped back to my seat, leaving the hostess bemused as to why I had stopped following her. I then sat there feeling like a total idiot, trying to work out if I had a hairband or something (string?!) in my tiny handbag so that I could somehow reattach it. I did not.

After several minutes of Oli laughing at me as I cringed with humiliation (yes the people sitting next to me did notice what had happened and yes the posh middle-aged lady in Jimmy Choos did smirk at me) I eventually made it to the loo - by 'pretending' my wedge was still attached and walking on tiptoe on that foot. I don't think anyone noticed, except for the person who followed me back up the stairs from the toilet and who would have not been able to avoid seeing that one of my 'shoes' consisted of just a few straps attached to my feet.

So yes. The moral of this story is: you need to buy shoes more than once every ten years, or you will come unstuck. Literally.

We got an Uber home.

We are home from our lovely 'holiday'! We survived. Lots of people have read my last post and asked if it was as bad as I made out - everything I wrote in the post is true, but things did get a bit better! We had one day of lovely sun on the Thursday and so we went off to the beach for an hour in the afternoon, and Daph played with the pebbles (cue me being a helicopter mother convinced she'd choke on one of them) and stared at the sea and we had an ice cream and it was almost like a real holiday. We went for a few walks with Daph in the baby sling too - that was a great solution to our non-off-roading buggy, until we both got sciatica (she's a heavy little monster these days). Ah well.

We also went back to Totnes when the shops were open and I went a bit crazy buying things for Daph in Gazebo - which is the coolest shop ever (I've been going to Devon since I was a kid and it was my favourite shop back then too). We got loads of decorations for her first birthday - banners, cake decorations, napkins etc, all in Liberty print. They are SO lovely and I can't wait for her birthday now.

I also bought this cute 'letters to my baby' book (above) - which contains lots of empty envelopes with prompts on, such as 'What I want you to know about me is...' and 'My first impressions of you were...'. The idea is you write a letter to your baby in each envelope, seal it up and then specify a date on which they can read them. It's quite a sentimental idea, I know, but it really appealed to me. When I was a kid, I actually wrote letters to the future me (yes, I was a geek) and I loved opening them up and reading them as an adult - it was crazy how much my thoughts about things had changed over the years. You can find Letters to My Baby at Leafcutter Designs, along with a host of other amazing and cute things (the tooth fairy letters are so fab!).

But I am sorry if my post came across as massively negative as it was meant to be quite tongue in cheek really - I don't mind laughing at these kinds of situations, all of the bad luck kind of amused me in the end. Worse things happen at sea and all that. Our journey back was a lot better too as we stopped off twice to visit relatives which broke the journey up nicely for Daph. And now we're home, back in our claustrophobic flat and I've done eight loads of washing since we got back, and am now staring down the barrel of a lot of work. But hey ho.

In other news it's Oli's birthday this Saturday and so we are going out for dinner. In the evening. Alone. (Well, alone with each other, IYKWIM). My parents are kindly babysitting. It'll be the first time we've been out for dinner together since Chip was born. Isn't that a bit tragic? The thing is that my family don't live that near me, and trying to find a babysitter seems like an impossible task as I know no one in my local area really. Which is quite sad, but that's London for you. Anyway, I'm looking forward to it, and hoping we both manage to relax and not rush home the second we put our knives and forks down. We shall see!

So, I read somewhere once that a holiday with a baby is just an excuse to be exhausted in a different place. How. Very. True.

I don't understand how some parents seem to take their babies off hitchhiking around the world, climbing Everest and suchlike, and we can't even manage a week in the West Country.

The annoying thing about all this is that I had to practically drag Oli on holiday - he was convinced it wouldn't be worth it, that it would just be too stressful with our challenging little madam in tow. And he was bloody right. Nearly. Almost. Grrr.

I will add a caveat here, that we're both control freaks and like everything to be 'just so' and we're definitely NOT the sort of people who would go hitchhiking round the world even without a baby. But still. Here's what we've been 'enjoying' so far this holiday...

1) We got lost on the way down because we have a new car with a fancy built in sat nav that confuses the hell out of me. It tried to be all clever and avoid the M25 which was congested, so instead we ended up going to Farnham or something, then I missed a turning and before I knew it we we'd added an hour to the journey. Adding an hour to the journey when you already have a grumpy nine month old who doesn't want to be stuck in her car seat for five hours in one day is a Bad Idea.

2) The new car makes me very, very car sick. I only don't feel sick if I am driving so I drove the whole way down. This would be fine if it weren't for the fact that I have now apparently 'ruined' the new car's engine by revving too much. Uh huh.

3) It rained the entire way down. We stopped at a Little Chef to change Daph/have a wee. We got soaked just getting in and out of the car. The Little Chef toilet will forever haunt me. No baby deserves to be changed in a Little Chef baby change. Not even the screamers. (Sidenote: good business idea - can someone open a NICE place to stop midway between London and Devon for all the middle class twats like us that want a decent cup of coffee and some avocado on sourdough as their motorway meal. I'm thinking farm shop type affair - maybe with a play area for kids? Any takers?)

4) We got to the holiday complex late and got told off by the lady on reception for not phoning her back when she'd kindly rung earlier to say that our cottage was ready at 11am. HA. As if we could make it down to Devon by 11am. We couldn't even do that Before Baby. (We arrived at about 5.30pm - it took us three weeks to load the car FGS).

5) Daph missed her third nap in the car and spent the last hour of the journey basically screaming with frustration and trying to bite her way out of the car seat. When we got to the cottage we had a race against time to get her into her cot and to sleep as she'd been awake since 1pm. More than four hours of awake time in a nine month old = the release of the devil.

6) Daph predictably screamed with overtiredness and freaked out at being in a new place. For TWO HOURS. I had to suffocate her to sleep (obviously not really, but I had to do the pin down arms thing for about an hour before she finally went - sob).

7) The next day, we went to Totnes because Oli had seen in the information pack that on the third Sunday of every month there was a farmers' market on. Once we'd paid £4.50 for the car park we realised that it was the fourth Sunday of the month. And that all the shops were shut. And then it started to hail. We went home after visiting the... Co-Op.

8) On Monday we decided to prioritise Daph's naps, as she'd been waking in the night. This meant we basically couldn't go anywhere as she sleeps for two hours in the middle of the day. We headed off to a farm shop in the afternoon to buy some lovely bread. They'd run out of bread. We stopped at Sainsbury's on the way back.

9) Yesterday we went to Dartmouth - my favourite place in all the world. It took us about an hour to find a parking space. Then Daph started screaming, and didn't stop. We had a delightful fish and chip lunch where Daph made As Much Noise As She Possibly Could - including tipping my pink lemonade all over my food, choking on a piece of haddock, throwing the metal tray with the bill onto the floor and screaming at all the waiters who tried to be nice to her. We then realised she's teething so badly that she's got little blisters on her tongue - I think she might have started to chewing it to ease the pain. She refused to eat her lunch or her dinner and only wanted milk. She cried a lot. I cried a lot.

10) I realised I was getting PMT. So much for the holiday reigniting 'that side of things'. Oli and I stopped speaking to each other directly and instead simply slagged each other off under our breath all day. Standard.

11) While desperately marching around Dartmouth trying to get Daph to nap, a random woman came up to me and told me that I was at risk of suffocating her because I'd covered the buggy with a towel. Apparently she'd seen an article about it on Facebook. If it wasn't for the fisherman nearby who overheard and said 'Why don't you mind your own business you nosey bitch?' I might have punched her. Or cried. Again.

12) I saw the weather forecast in London. It's a good eight degrees warmer up there.

So yes. That's our 'holiday' so far. We are staying in the middle of nowhere, which I thought I would like but I do not. I have realised that I hate being in the middle of nowhere. I hate not being able to walk to anything. Having to get in the car every time we want to go out is such a pain with a baby. Sure, the views are lovely, the sounds of sheep bleating (they don't baa, apparently, they bleat, although I am still yet to discover why) are lovely, the cottage is beautiful and very well equipped. But there's nowhere to walk to with a buggy (we don't have one of those all-terrain ones), unless you want to risk your life on Devonshire country lanes.

We have spent a lot of our holiday sitting on our iPad and laptop which is pretty much what we do at home.

I'm trying to think of some positives because I know I sound like a whingy old cow. We DID buy some bloody nice fillet steaks in the farm shop. We've been drinking a lot of alcohol. There's wifi. At least I remembered my coat, if not my gloves (brr). There have been the odd moments of beautiful weather and deep breaths of non-polluted air. Everyone we see loves Daph (apart from the waiters in the fish and chip restaurant) and she's loving all the attention. She's still adorably cute even with the grumps and a sore mouth. At least we didn't spend stupid money trying to go abroad *mind explodes at the thought of the stress*.

But I must confess, if you follow me, my Instagram feed... it's basically a lie. But I reckon they all are, so never mind.

sharenting-lifebylotte

Before I had a baby, I used to roll my eyes a bit (OK, quite a lot) at people who endlessly shared pics of their children on social media. I mean, everyone loves to see pictures of newborns and there's nothing nicer than congratulating someone who's just pushed a small person out of their bits. But the endless pictures clogging up my FB feed of kids in fancy dress, on their first day at school, eating a piece of toast etc etc did get a bit tiresome. For the uninitiated, the media calls this 'sharenting' - smug journos do love a portmanteau.

I always swore I'd never be like that if I had a baby.

HA HA HA.

When Daph was first born, Oli and I had a Very Serious Discussion about whether or not we would upload pictures of her to Facebook etc. We both agreed that we'd rather not (Oli is ridiculously private about everything which is quite tricky when you're a singer with fans - he gets some lovely emails from folk who always want to know more about him). But then when she was first born, obviously I blogged about it (given that I blogged throughout pregnancy it would have been a bit weird not to), and then put up an album on FB because - genuinely! - people asked to see pics (it's only for friends and family right, so allowed?) and then before I knew it I was non-stop Instagramming her.

Because to me, of course, she's the most beautiful baby that ever lived and I find so much pleasure in taking and looking at pics of her that I just want to share this pleasure with the world. The fact that the world does not feel the same way about her as I do does not really compute. It's like a weird compulsion. And Oli, private though he is, is also her adoring parent and so when I put up pics of her on Instagram and show him, he smiles his mushy smile and we both bask in a wave of oxytocin, our first conversation long forgotten.

But I do realise now that I've started to sharent. My god, I even blog about her. Although I really hope blogging is slightly different as I hope that my posts about baby-related things actually help mothers in similar situations. They're less about showing off and more about solidarity. And also, a way for me to look back on this time and remember stuff that I will inevitably have forgotten. At least, that's my intention.

I read an article this weekend about how kids these days have a digital footprint before the age of one, and it really got me thinking. Am I invading Daph's privacy by plastering her all over the internet before she's old enough to consent? Am I behaving as though I 'own' her? Is it actually really selfish? But then again, seeing as most people do it is it actually no big deal? Considering some parents make a living vlogging about their babies is what I'm doing relatively insignificant? Will babies whose parents didn't put up images of them online grow up feeling insecure and unloved? I am so in two minds. I have never pinned pics of her because the idea of someone repinning pictures of my baby creeps me out, but then again anyone can pin them from this blog should they wish (please don't!). I started watermarking some images of her before uploading them but then got lazy. I thought about doing that thing of only shooting her from behind or out of focus but... but... but... that means you don't get to see HER BEAUTIFUL FACE! I also thought maybe I'd just stick to only putting photos of her on FB and not on Instagram but then I might as well delete my Insta account because let's be honest, I have a baby under one, my whole life at the moment revolves around her.

It's a conundrum. I wish I could ask Daph want she thinks and it's frustrating that the generation of babies whose parents have been oversharing them since they were just an ultrasound picture aren't quite old enough yet to let us know how they feel about it. I take some solace in the fact that I can delete the pics I have put up of her at any time - I've never used images of her in a professional capacity.

I would LOVE to know your thoughts on this topic - please leave me a comment if you're a parent and let me know what you've decided to do and why. For now, Oli and I have tentatively agreed to stop posting images of her (at least on public sites such as my blog and Instagram) once she turns one. I'm not sure why but it feels like a good cut off - after this point she's no longer a baby (sniff) and more her own person. I just hope I have the willpower...

Hello there. I had the loveliest week last week, including a fab night at the Rooftop Book Club, with beautiful views across London, a trip to see Sunset Boulevard with Glenn Close (which was absolutely awesome, go go go!) and then a morning spent at Syon Park, learning how to walk.

Yep, you heard that right. My mum very kindly bought me a ticket to Joanna Hall's Walkactive Workshop as a kind of motivational post-baby kick up the bottom. When she told me about it I was a bit sceptical - I mean, a walking workshop? I'm not elderly or infirm just yet... I also worried I'd be the youngest person there by a mile but then that's because I forget that I'm 35, and that isn't actually that young anymore... Ahem. Also, I do walk a lot - all the time and everywhere, so I did wonder if there was actually anything I could learn. However, I was willing to concede that my posture is terrible. And I was pleasantly (is that the right way of putting it?!) surprised during the workshop to learn that basically I was doing it all wrong.

I won't go into the whole process here, because there was loads to take in (it's scientifically proven and everything!) but it's really worth looking into if you're at all worried about your posture (as I was, and have been for ages). During the workshop we were taught how to push off from our feet correctly, meaning that we used the muscles in our legs in the right way, and how this followed up through the way you hold every part of your body to the very top of your head.

The best bit of the morning was at the end when we split into two groups and did a kind of catwalk together - the first time walking our 'old way', the second time walking in the way we'd just been taught. The difference watching people was quite staggering actually - everyone looked so much more purposeful and cheerful walking the 'Walkactive' way, and downtrodden and depressed walking as they used to. I could also really feel different muscles in my legs being used as I walked correctly, and I found my pace picked up so much that I almost felt as though I was doing a brisk trot, but without looking stupid. If that makes any sense at all. It was a very satisfying feeling.

So, definitely worth looking into if you think it might be of interest - I love walking and one of the best things about being a mum is having an excuse to get out and push her in the buggy every day - the days I don't walk I find myself very frustrated and miserable. And now I know how to use my legs and feet properly, I can already feel my thighs toning up - and that is only ever going to be a good thing! There are workshops and residential camps on offer to learn the Walkactive technique, but if that seems too much of a commitment, there's also a book and DVD. Find out more on the Walkactive website >

Hello hello. I didn't blog last week because I was in the midst of the most painful househunting search of all time. In fact, I'm still in the midst of it, but thought I ought to write something down on here so that hopefully one day I can look back and laugh at what we went through. Hmm. Since we lost the dream house, we have put offers in on two other houses (bear in mind that this is a time period of just a week and a half) of which one was accepted for AN HOUR before being 'unaccepted' when someone put in a higher bid (we were told we weren't able to increase our offer either, which smacks of developers giving the agents backhanders if you ask me); and the other which was tentatively accepted but with the caveat 'were we aware that the house had been underpinned?' The guarantee for the underpinning had now expired and it was impossible to get insurance. Sigh. We pulled out.

Every waking hour at the moment is spent on Rightmove and On the Market, just trying to find something - anything - that would 'do'. We've long since given up on finding another dream house and it's actually crazy that considering what a huge decision this is, we're now prepared to just settle for any old house that roughly meets our criteria. Unfortunately one of the main issues (self-created admittedly) is our criteria does change a lot - sometimes we think sod it, let's stick two fingers up at London, its pollution and its ridiculous house prices and escape to the country, other times we think there's no way we could cope with not being within spitting distance of a tube.

This time of year is supposed to be the busiest for the housing market but I can honestly say that there's hardly anything coming onto the market - we check every morning what's come on in the last 24 hours in our 400 search areas and there's usually only one or two new properties at the most. And they all go under offer so quickly! It's crazy - you even have to fight to get a viewing (with estate agents laughing at you when you request to see 'extremely popular' properties and then telling you they're far too busy to fit you in).

So yes. It's crap. In order to wrestle back some feeling of control however, this week we did manage to buy a new car. Saturday was a fun day - ordering a new car + rushing to get to viewings of two houses - as the estate agent pointed out 'you don't do things by halves do you?'. Anyway we're picking up the car on Friday, and I'm both excited and terrified about this. It's a super practical, super boring Volkswagen Tiguan and we've got it on some ridiculous finance deal which took eighteen hours to organise and means we don't actually own it but is bizarrely the cheapest way for us to be able to drive something that won't fall apart on the A3.

On top of all this madness, I have client work coming out of my eyeballs (not really) and Oli is trying to organise everything for his show at the Edinburgh Festival in August. We are communicating in grunts of 'Have you seen this house?' and 'What time do you want to eat dinner?' and the rest of our time is spent either entertaining Daphne, driving to see houses or with our heads in front of a screen. Oh what fun it is in our house at the moment!

On the upside, Daphne is a TOTAL JOY and has started blowing raspberries at us whenever we look at her. Which just about puts everything into perspective really.