In the matter of a couple of days, Offsprog 2 has not only shaken hands with Johnny Depp (he's already married, Offsprog 2, you can't have him) and gone to the Tory Party Conference (they are not allowed to heckle and have told they will be removed from the building if they do).
Meanwhile, I have spent this afternoon in distraction therapy, recording a new version of On New Year's Eve which is up on Myspace.
Myspace is annoying me at the moment: they have tried so hard to be Facebook and forgotten that they are THE musician's site and it's how most of us make network and contact each other. It's how I met Martin too!
But both me and Katy have noticed that our song counters jam and don't count after a couple of hours. She thinks its because they have to pay royalties and don't want to. But I have never received a royalty from Myspace; I just think they are so busy adding games, apps and other silly Facebook-a-likes that they have lost the plot.
Bit like me really.
I can't settle: Whippersnapper is not doing too well and I am dreading losing another little familiar.
Us white witches need our magical furry friends to sing to and laugh at.
I have even forgiven him for eating a huge irreparable hole in the back of my favourite jacket when I got back from Scotland last Monday.
I'm wandering round the house waiting for this evening's call from the vet; like policemen they get younger every day and sympathy from a young woman barely out of her teens is poignant in its authenticity.
I am sad.