That was the Week that was...

We went away. Hello, Everyone, I'm back! We had a week in Shropshire, which effectively translates as 4 days at Ironbridge. I promise, pictures and a post on Best of British later, but today I'm up to my elbows in muck and bullets and it's all Her fault. You see, she's back on Wednesday at 8pm (BBC 3) and if my house isn't cleared, clean and tidy I will not be able to watch it in peace without grabbing a feather duster and clearing the cobweb which hangs down above the TV. It's been there for two months now, and if it grows any longer it will interfere with the picture, at which point I suppose action will be inevitable, but at the moment we are co-habiting. I don't interfere with it, it won't interfere with me. Until Anthea comes along. Two years ago, if you'd have said that one of my viewing highlights was going to be a programme about housework fronted by Anthea, I would have said you were crackers and that I'd need a full-frontal lobotomy to watch. I've looked, but I can't see the scar, so he must have been a very good surgeon because, yes indeedy, I am counting the days until the new series of Perfect Housewife. But I do need a clean and tidy house before I watch it, otherwise I have to keep cleaning while it's on, and I fully intend sitting on the sofa next to my princess, both wearing marigold gloves and clutching matching pink feather dusters and crying out "Baskets!" every time we see Anth visiting some hapless person whose house, though in need of attention, wasn't that bad, really, at least, if you ignored the state of the taps, the fluff under the fridge and the dust bunnies under the bed..... sounds like home, actually.

And afterwards, the interview stage of the Apprentice.... who will get through? Please, not Katie. If ever a woman was scarier than Anthea, it's her....