I have reached the end of another day. Finished clearing away dinner, tidying up the living room and sorting out the laundry while Gareth baths the children and I look down at myself to make the unfortunate discovery that once again, I look like a tramp. My hair is unsalvageable (must not have a fringe, must not have a fringe), I have Jackson snot and puree on my shoulders, moist biscuit on my sleeve, the trousers I am wearing are too baggy, the flairs of which are caked in “street” from being dragged around all day. I look like I’ve been accosted by a restaurant bin bag. Don’t get me started on the rest of me; tatty nails, smudged mascara, unshaven legs, and feet that should be soaked in E45 for at least a week. I just rested my head on my hand and found some “mush” at the back – eurrck! When I think of how many people have seen me today I wished I’d worn a sign saying ‘this is not how I …