5th March:

"Ticking away, the moments that make up the dull day".

Your congenial host has always has a soft spot for the ditty "Time" by Pink Floyd. However, the recent seismic change in domestic circumstances Chez Host have rendered the lyrics to said tune even more pertient that one would have imagined possible.

It was not that long ago that there was plenty of time to kill. Now, however, the killer combination of work and baby means that every hour, waking and otherwise, is more than amply accounted for. Which is perhaps not such a bad thing, as it removes any likelihood of one sitting down and assessing one's own state of mind. And getting a fright.

There is a line in the song about finding that the last ten years have passed you by, and I can absolutely understand how this might happen. I fear already that my thirities will disappear in a blur - a whirlwind of raising kids, making money, running from one business meeting to the next, taking out the bins and doing the shopping - a rapid-fire programme of things to do and places to be that speed you in the blink of an eye from the energetic flush of youth to alcohol's soft middle-age.

It may be the tiredness talking, but I do fear waking up one day to find that I am 44 years old and 2 stones fatter, with dark circles under my eyes that make me look like a panda. There I will be, facing the mirror, scratching my stubbly chin and examining my ragged features, wondering what the hell just happened.

It is usually at this point that men start buying motorbikes and chasing around after young ladies 20 years their junior. I have therefore resolved to take a holiday soon in order to reconnect with the man I used to be. He'll hopefully put a cocktail in my hand and direct me away from the motorcycles and towards the nearest comfy sunlounger.