I think I am actually allergic to Friday nights in. It doesn't matter one bit that I've got a horrible cold, my body temperature doing a jig up, down and all over town - I do not want to spend the best night of the week sat at home alone watching Jonathan Ross and wondering: when did Charlotte Church get hot?!

Note to self - if a mum of two looks that much better than you, it is definitely time to go to the gym. And stop eating ice cream from the tub. That would be now.

Essentially, I think I am paying for last weekend. I had been drinking for fourteen hours straight; something was bound to go wrong. And it had been such a lovely weekend - tequila in the Cuban bar, picnicking in Richmond park, pool in the Pilgrim... Then of course I spoiled the fun with my very special knack for making a mess.

And now someone is very angry with me.