My Uncle bought him a new touch screen phone which means it’s even easier for him to ring me from his pocket on car journeys. Let’s hope he doesn’t ring me accidentally from the motorway services toilet like he did once before, luckily it was only a wee, but a loud one all the same.

He is looking after the kids for a day during half term and is taking them swimming. He was excited when he realised that due to his new OAP status he can swim for free. Then there are all those pensioner special pub lunches, reduced train travel and a bus pass. The world is his OAP oyster.

The cake was made by Teacher Friend Mother of 3. She is a superstar. We collected it the day before the party and it sat overnight in our dining room. How the 4 year old held himself back from turning ‘Stealth Boy’ and raiding those sweets I’ll never know. There was a moment shortly before the party when he disappeared and was found staring longingly at the cake, but who could blame him?

My sister bought two huge helium balloons which were, apparently, f*cking expensive rather more expensive than she’d thought they’d be. It turns out that the ‘6′ balloon has a tag at the top end so that it can be flipped and used as a’9′.

The consensus amongst the Scottish attendees was that the helium should be drained and the balloons kept in a safe place until my Dad’s 90th.

Being half Scottish I kind of agree, although not until we’ve used it for the 5 year old’s next birthday …

A photo shoot sounds exciting, especially when you’ve never experienced one first hand.

I had visions of a Hello magazine ‘At Home With The Drivers’ style shoot … Me draped on a chaise longue, looking svelte, wearing a long floaty dress (and THE magic pants) … the children, pristine and happy, looking on admiringly … the husband wafting me with a large palm.

It won’t surprise any of you that have been reading for more than a few weeks that it was ABSOFOOKINGLUTELY nothing like that.  I can verify that a photo shoot with two adults, a dog, a teenager and two bickering children is worse than applying to Wife Swap and finding out you’ve got Hannibal Lecter as your new husband.

We were told to wear autumnal clothes as the interview will be in the November issue.  Wearing our long sleeved tops we went out into the Summer sunshine and pretended to play gaily in the garden for a ‘natural shot’.

It was natural in that the 3 year old wouldn’t cooperate, the 5 year old wanted to growl and the dog wanted to slaver all over the photographer. The teenager, who was the reason for the article in the first place, was exemplary.  If I apologised to the, very patient, photographer once I apologised 500 times.

When asked to move from playing cricket to sitting on the slide with his sisters the 3 year old declined.  After much cajoling he agreed, but refused to smile.  When asked to go back to playing cricket he cried.  If he was asked to be in close contact with the 5 year old where they might, god forbid, have to touch he started shouting like an old shouty person.  I was so proud.

The only thing that kept me going throughout our 90 minutes from hell was the fact that at 7pm we would be leaving MarMar in charge of our children overnight and going to stay with my sister so we could go out to get shitfaced celebrate my birthday.

Eventually we went inside where all five of us pretended to be happy, if not slightly sweaty on the two seater sofa.  The 3 year old tested the theory that if you repeat yourself 50 times a minute you can make your parents ears bleed as he asked if he could play Mario Kart.  The husband saved the day by muttering through gritted teeth, “If you all smile I’ll buy you all an ice cream”.

I didn’t get to see any of the pictures but I can guarantee that I, being un-photogenic, will have looked like the elephant woman.  There is evidence below that proves that I am only at my best if I am sporting false facial and chest hair.

Note that I had to state ‘false’ there … just in case any of you were wondering.

The ones I bought yesterday at a boutique in the village start below your bra and go to the knee. The woman in the shop told me that I would work up a sweat putting them on and that it would be wise to try them on a couple of times so that they have a bit of ‘give’. “I’m going out in 2 hours” I told her.  She also told me they had a cotton gusset, I told her that the word gusset makes my ears bleed.

They really are very unattractive; I certainly wouldn’t recommend wearing them if you are considering any sort of romantic interlude. I imagine that unveiling your magic pants in the early stages of a relationship would make the object of your affections recoil in horror; though having been with the husband for nine years it wasn’t anything I needed to worry about.  In fact I wondered if I should ask for his assistance in shoving me into them.

When I put them on the 3 year old came into the room, stopped dead in his tracks and asked what I was wearing. I told him. He poked the pants suspiciously and then wandered off mumbling to himself …. ‘Magic?’. I imagine that being three is confusing enough not to have to deal with your Mum’s pants having magical powers.

They worked a treat; I wore leggings for the first time in 20 years and a dress top. I was vacuum packed to within an inch of my life and it felt good.

Once out for my birthday celebrations I was pleased to get comments on my outfit rather than being asked if I was 6 months pregnant. The drinking commenced and I held out for as long as possible before going for a wee. In the cubicle I fought to get the magic pants down and I must admit I may have sworn a little. Of course once I’d had my first wee I then needed one every 20 minutes, so is the law of ‘drinking bladder’. At one point when I was well on my way to feeling particularly merry, I actually considered just peeing through the magic pants. I reckon four more vodka’s and my consideration would have become a reality.

I am now investigating whether anyone has patent pending on a pair of magic pants with an inbuilt colostomy bag. I’m sure Theo Paphitis from Dragon’s Den would be more than happy to invest his childrens inheritance in my new ‘Magic Bladder Pants’.