It’s been an age since I last blogged. One reason perhaps why I will never become one of these social media whizzes with tens of thousands of followers.

Another being that I’m a total technophobe who would probably be most at home using a typewriter…

It’s not because I haven’t had much to say either, after all there is a reason that hubby moans endlessly about the fact I don’t shut up. No, let’s just say that life has rather got in the way.

In the space of a couple of weeks I’ve stumbled across a job prospect while not actually looking, accepted a full time post back in the ‘real world’ of an office, packed up and moved house and realised that despite their protestations it will probably be weeks before our builders have, well, left the building.

Not that they’re not nice guys, I just don’t personally think foot long saws left lying around and clouds of choking dust mix too well with a two-year-old still rather unsteady on his feet.

And a four-year-old who is seemingly making a profession out of being a nosy parker and who will stop any actual building work getting done by chatting to the workmen all day long.

This all adds up to what I like to call fried brain syndrome. It’s something I’ve discovered since becoming a parent.

The best way to describe it is a gnawing sense of panic if you think further ahead than a few hours, or try to remember all the school activities you’ve got to pay for, fill out forms for, and find clothes for this week, or try to come up with a workable plan for this week’s copy deadlines.

I presume it’s something that people like Victoria Beckham and Kate Middleton don’t suffer from, probably because they pay a team of people to scramble their brains for them. And probably why their hair always looks good too.

Sadly fried brain syndrome doesn’t mix too well with being a bit of a control freak.

The good news is that, in between making tea rounds for people in my house and ensuring the ‘emergency biscuit supply’ is fully stocked, I have two weeks left to dig out some office appropriate outfits and generally get my act together.

Not having worked outside of my study and various coffee shops for five years I’m not really up on the etiquette of work wear any more. But from what I remember pyjama bottoms and furry socks don’t count as suitable attire?!

Better get on it then. If I remember…