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When I saw the window display for Boux Avenue my first thought was ‘Oh good their bras have been made to survive the washing machine’. I thought it was a positive thing and instantly went and bought one. Nothing worse than the wire in your new bra pinging out in the first wash. Not that I wash my bras that often, who does? Perhaps the same people who get offended at window displays, in this instance Brighton student Sarah Derby, aged 23 who said "I understand sex sells but this window displays a picture of women as sexualised domestic beings.

When the alarm went off at 7am this morning I was so tired I cried. Getting out of bed, I felt as if I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. In actuality, I was pinned to my pillow by my three children. I'd done all I could to get them down in their own beds.

They'd had a warm bath with lavender and chamomile bubbles, followed by a gentle rub with a warm towel and then a massage with Neals Yard oil. I tucked them into bed like a stern matron tucks in a patient, hospital corners, and all so tight they were unable to turn.

I switched on twinkling fairy lights, lit the sandalwood oil burner and read books while simultaneously rubbing their backs, then finished off with a relaxing playlist on Spotify. This heady concoction of sleep aids, teamed with the fact I don't get any sleep had me drifting off like a baby (not one of mine obvs). I was woken by the girls jumping up and down on the bed screaming Harry Potter spells at one another ‘Avacado Kavado’.

So Christmas has been and gone. The recycling van is creaking with mountains of toy packaging, wrapping paper and glass bottles. Browning Christmas trees lie in puddles on the pavements, gasping for air like flapping fish laying on canal banks, their majestic glory long forgotten.

In hindsight maybe they would have preferred the chipper to this slow ungracious death. Baubles, wreaths and tinsel are replaced by restrictions, reductions and resolutions. I love the optimism of the first week of January. Hope, determination and short-lived optimism rises inside us, like a Phoenix from a pile of ashes.

So I finally made it to the cinema on Friday to see the New Star Wars film, the Force Awakens. We booked a sofa at the Duke of York, Komedia. I was impressed until I found out they did not sell pick ‘n’ mix or popcorn. How can you enjoy a film without picking half popped-corn out your teeth and then slurping on Seven-Up to rehydrate your salty mouth? Luckily the lead character Rey, played by relatively unknown actress Daisy Ridley made it all worthwhile.

So I am finally home from Centreparks.

I thought I was so clever, going miles away to a cheaper resort. Of course I never took the cost of fuel into account, or the weather warnings.

It took nine hours to get to Cumbria. My Sat-Nav kept suggesting routes that avoided traffic but ended in a no entry signs due to the horrendous floods. The Harry Potter audible story had ended. The children were killing "We wish you a Merry Christmas”.

I’d admitted eye-spy was a rubbish game three hours back, after feeble protests from me that it was "education and fun".