"You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart. You’re heading for a breakdown, better pull yourself apart. " - John Cooper Clarke

>Help – I really need that job now.

>Last week I lost me. That’s correct, me, as in Zoe. I lost myself to a Domestic Goddess; in fact, I turned into one.

Me + Domestic Goddess = WHAT THE FUCK?

No Excel equation will ever be able to answer that one, but it happened.

On Wednesday, although it could have been Tuesday, I went into the kitchen, got out a big pan and my slow cooker. I had all my ingredients ready and started with the echalottes. I chopped up about 8 or 9 – I really don’t remember as I was crying pretty badly and my nose wouldn’t stop running. Half of them went into the pan, spiced by the odd drop of snot, and the rest were thrown into the slow cooker. I then chopped up about 7 courgettes and threw them in the pan closely followed by about 10 peeled and chopped spuds. I added a few herbs, a stock cube and some water, set it on low and let it do its thing.

I then attacked about 2kgs of carbonnade, cut it into bite-size chunks, threw that into the slow cooker with some herbs, a small bottle of red wine and a cup of water, set it on low and voilà. Supper for that night and the following night (well, the stew actually lasted for about 4 days).

And like a bat out of hell I started cleaning the entire kitchen followed by my emptying all the bins around the house into the main bin bag.

The courgette and snot soup was lovely and the stew was lovely and tender – I made more last night for tonight as it’s proper winter food.

But I’m worried as this is so unlike me. Even the Twat is getting edgy about my insistence on putting things away and wiping surfaces. Todd helped me with the washing up yesterday whilst listening to 70s music and we had a wild time dancing away to Boney M, Claude François and Grease. Todd did manage to revert back to himself by actually pushing me over to get out of the house, despite our pact that he stayed in that night.

So I need that job badly. Just to be me again.

UPDATE (already): We found out last night that Todd was so angry that he managed to kick his foot through Coralie’s bedroom door. One broken bathroom light and now a door, due to anger. The Ex has said that he’ll help me find a replacement door and take it out of Todd’s pocket money (oh yeah – but a kind gesture) – the stress is killing me. The boy needs lessons in anger-management, not a bloody ‘Fame!’ school.