I'm surprised you're not all grouped round me in a circle, poking me with a muddy stick and chanting "liar, liar, pants on fire".

Despite the lovely day off I had last week, I didn't manage to get near a computer and a) update myself with goings on in blogland or b) update you (all three of you) on what's been going on chez cow.

What was I doing, I hear you cry (crying's right, not sure if you're crying for more information or in distress).

I would like to tell you the reason is that I was lying in bed all day, being pampered by a naked contingent from the England rugby team. I would be lying.

I would like to tell you that I was over in Italy, stuffing myself on good wine and food in the blazing sunshine with the boy by my side. I would be lying.

I would like to tell you that I didn't spend my day off on my hands and knees cleaning the carpet in my room, dusting and generally making things look very tidy. I would also like to tell you that it stayed dust free all day and didn't suddenly look worse five seconds after I had cleaned it. But I can't.

So yes, the guilty secret is out. What did I do on my day off? Clean.

Am I turning into my mother?

I've managed to wangle me a day off tomorrow. Cue boredom and lots of irrelevant and banal posting.

Now I'm a manager, I'm far too busy and important to blog.