NCT reunion

Readers will be pleased to learn that I've made suitable arrangements with my estranged husband regarding custody and funding for Seb. Therefore he's staying with his paternal grandparents this weekend in their second home 'PeaceVille' which is anything but when my Mother-in-Law starts opera singing!

Last night I attended my National Childbirth Trust (NCT) antenatal group reunion which was held in a local Indian restaurant. There are seven of us which doesn't include a woman called Fiona who dropped out yonks ago. They're an ok bunch, but as with anything of that nature, they're obsessed with material goods and 'one upmanship'. My recent separation was the whisper of the [Facebook] village apparently but there were concerns that I'd be a threat to the cosy ethos of the organisation should I proceed with the divorce. The restaurant was trendy, loud and brash but I'm no fan of the surrounding village as I believe it to be overpriced and snobby. The waiters were downright rude and shouted our orders and thumped the dishes down onto the table so violently that the sauce spattered everywhere. At the end of the evening, a 20 surcharge was levied on the bill for groups of six or more but myself and Moira stood firm and refused to pay it. This made the others uncomfortable but they didn't complain too much when their individual bills were rebated.

In the taxi home I felt very alone and returning to an empty house was awful. I do hope life gets better soon.

Potty training boot camp

Well, it's been over two weeks since hubby left and apart from a dog eared cheque I've not heard hide nor hair of him which is a shame because he hasn't even asked after his son. Talking of the latter, I'm potty training him by guerilla tactics now as he has to start school in September and he's not out of nappies yet. Obviously this means loads of washing but I can cope, it gives me something to do anyway!

I'm out this weekend, Mum said she'd look after Seb whilst I have a mooch around London.

Goodbye hubby, hello 2011!

Well, here's a thing, I start the new year/decade (whatever) a separated woman. It's all been too much, I was sick of him wandering off, so I left Seb with my mum and followed him. He travelled to Old Street and disappeared into a seedy club which I had to pay a tenner to get past the doormen. I think you can guess that it was a strip club and the pair of kickers I was wearing didn't really suit the occasion, but there you go. I saw him in the corner, surrounded by scantily clad women and was so disgusted that I threw a drink all over him and stormed out. To add insult to injury (literally) I suggested to the bouncer that he'd insinuated that he was a little too fond of dogs and left them to 'sort it out'.

The next day I cleared all of his stuff out, hired a taxi and had it sent around to his Mothers. He hasn't reappeared and assuming he's still alive, I'm guessing he's holed up there.

Goodbye and good riddance. I've also listed his golf clubs on eBay - sweet revenge!