In an effort to snatch back my formerly cheery (if slightly moany) blog from the last post’s sermony-ness, I have decided to write a list. Of good stuff.

1. Slap. I have discovered, really quite late, the transforming, essential power of a whole lot of slap. Every day. And alongside this, is the fortnightly early morning browse around the Beauty Hall in Selfridges, where I sample and just might buy something that has been flagged up in the mags. This week, it shall be to the MAC counter I go, for a black greasepaint stick. This, apparently, will give me saucy panda-eyes that look like I have just rolled out of bed. Coupled with my never-brushed hair, I should look suitably Bardot-esque. The whole 7 and a half months pregnant thing may negate things a little, as will the fact that I only have about two things to wear (and maternity clothes are not saucy, no matter how tight they get) BUT I think it is all in the mind, really, and so as long as I project the air of glamour and fabulousness, I may well have the General Selfridges Public believe it. (Until Custard topples out of the pushchair as he is wont to do and starts wailing and then I bend down in an ungainly fashion to rescue him and I go red with the exertion and start to sweat a little because the yelping is loud and the acoustics in the mirrored Beauty Hall are good and soon everyone has their eyes on the Not Coping Very Well Mother and the whole effect is shattered. I reckon I have about 4 minutes though.) Ahem.

Anyway, the secret to Lots of Slap begins with Chanel foundation, Nars blusher in…look away, easily offended types! “Orgasm”, Lancome mascara (thanks Elizabeth) and a whole lot of black eyeliner. Last seen on me when about I was about 11 and experimenting with black felt tip. And now, at the ripening age of 32, I have become an Every Day Is a Lashings of Kohl Day kind of person. It is a little bit gothic, a little bit barmaid, a little bit wrong. Whatever, it helps me look awake which is a jolly good start. Concealer, Chanel Brilliant red when I am bold, mostly Smith’s Rosebud balm when I am not, and out the door I swish.

2. Husbands. I have a good one. He is kind and fun and likes my cooking. Just the right amount of hairiness. Likes a cup of tea, fond of a mince pie, has questionable taste in jackets. Gives the kids a bath, wrestles with them so I don’t have to. Fixes a flat tyre on the pushchair like a tyre-repair-genius. Doesn’t read my blog. Would have six children and two dogs and two cats if I agreed.

3. British Vogue. I know, I have banged on about this before, but it is a work of utter genius. I know Wintour gets the attention, but Alexandra Shulman is brilliant. And quite normal, giving the high street big ups. I would really like to grow into an Alexandra Shulman.

4. Supermodels in my ‘hood. I have not sufficiently gone on about my Eva Herzigova episode on Saturday. She and I, her all lionessy and fabulous, me a little less so, were DEFINITELY sharing some sort of wordless moment over the amusing antics of our children. I just know it. There has been Jacquetta Wheeler at the supermarket, Elle McPherson in the bathroom (not mine, hers) and Angela Dunn moving in two flats away from us. I am just waiting for the right moment to share my marshmallow slice with her, all neighbourly-like. Will report back.

Here is a photos of my husband. See #2 for details.