Alison's diary.

Monday

Staying in St Andrews. We are sloping off for aquiet night and when we get to the hotel it is packed.

The SF Aare there having abig meeting and as the Rangers v For far match is postponed they are all there early. I phone Louis to tell him, knowing he would be in a state of excitement seeing all the movers and shakers up close and personal.

But I admit I haven't aclue who anyone is and he keeps quizzing me on who's here.

I know he will give his eye teeth to whizz up for a good stare but it is not to be.

Suffice to say there are loads of tracksuit-wearing and fit-looking guys wandering about.

Come to think of it, I should phone my girlfriends - they would enjoy it even more than Louis!

Tuesday

Whiteout. About five inches of snow in the centre of Edinburgh. Fantastic.

Louis is very optimistic the school will be shut.

As it is about a500-yard walk I send him off to check.

I try to wrap him up like somebody out of Ice Station Zebra but as he's now officially a teenager he is preferring to risk hypothermia in at hin shirt and blazer rather than look "uncool".

I assure him if he needs food supplies I will airlift them in at lunchtime.

He trudges off and I watch him as he meets some pals and they all start enthusiastically throwing snowballs within 20 seconds.

A whole day in a wet school uniform.

It never did me any harm, though it may explain the blubber round my middle - emergency cover.

Wednesday

Thawed out - it's beautiful and sunny. Sow hen Di phones to suggest a lunch time gym session I ditch the office and run off to meet her. Weare wheezing on the cross trainer when Dynamite gets a text.

She reads it and declares: "What at ragedy it is about Lionel." "God, who's Lionel?"

"Oh, it's Ian's boil", she answers casually, I an being her on-air husband on the breakfast show at Kingdom FM.

"Ian has an appointment to get rid of Lionel tomorrow." "Lionel? Are you wise?"

Di says: "Well he has been around for awhile so we decided to give him aname and strangely over time he has developed apersnality too."

Iroll my eyes while puffing away on the machine.

Half-price cinema day today so off to see Slumdog Millionaire.

What a roller coaster, seat-gripping, harrowing, uplifting, vibrant film - wow. N all-time favourite already.

Thursday

Avoiding the gym today but hook up with Dynamite for aquick cup of tea. text comes in, she reads it, raises her eyebrows and passes it over to me. "Help! This is Lionel. Save me!" I look at Dynamite and tell her Lionel is becoming alittle too big for his boots and the sooner he is lanced the better. She agrees and texts back. "Farewell dear friend.

It's for the best." What next? Sliding around the pavements of Edinburgh I bump into Kaye Adams who is off to rehearse for The Vagina Monologues (tomorrow to Saturday).

Karen Dunbar, Michelle McManus and Gail Porter complete the line-up with as hare of profits going to Zero To lerance, which campaigns against violence against women.

As if you need another good reason to go and see it!

Friday

Woken up by the buzz of the postie. Rolling out of bed like a well-honed commando I rush off to let him in, as he only rings if it is a package or something exciting.

As I stick my arm out into the cold morning I apologise for the state of me and he shoves a heavy package into my hand.

Ripping it open, I see it is the Czech edition of Alison's Diary The Nappy Ye ars.

It's in hardback and has acartoony cover which states I am now Alison Craigova. A look through the text demonstrates it is the most confusing language in history and the only words I can read from cover to cover in the book are, David, Louis and Noddy!

It's sold nearly 2000 copies already, so wondering if I can swing atrip?

"Not unless I speak the language?" "Nope." Seems I am staying put.

Saturday

Pal Jenny gets a last-minute ski holiday to Megeve for her, husband and son for mid-term. "It's really reasonable", she tries to cajole me into coming. "No, credit crunching, can't", I say as she flies off. Get a text. Yes, her self-catering chaletischeap. But aone week ski pass is pounds 250! And that's not including hiring the skis and feeding themselves. The euro being virtually the same as the pound is causing trauma. She is spending a lot of time nibbling on baguettes and pressing her nose against restaurants where people are indulging in vats of warm, melted cheesey recipes. "It can't be that bad," I text back. "No", she says, as they huddle round acup-asoup, "It's worse."