Hello you, yes – you sitting there watching tv at the same time as browsing the net or sitting at your desk, pretending to work. Do you fancy a shufty at my little place which sits somewhere between these lines.

You won’t know who I am, but I am no one and anyone. I’m somewhere and anywhere: the tired-looking mum who’s waiting at the school gates with dried baked bean juice on her jeans, the one pushing the trolley in the supermarket at the same time as restraining the child trying to grab tins from the shelves, the bedraggled one in the playground catching the small boy at the bottom of the slide. Just like 50,000 others in any town, anywhere.

But while those other mums all seem to be colour-co-ordinated and perfectly made up, side-glancing at my crusty sleeves and messed up hair, they haven’t just drank half a bottle of wine and writhed around on a bed while someone has turned every inch of their body to an earthquake of ecstasy.

I confess – I am a Drunken Slut Mum. In my spare time.

This is part confessional, part therapy, part embellishment and part truth… with a dash of gin.

There’s me (as above), The Man, The Ex, The Girl and The Boy. Others may pop up, but we’ll see how it goes – it’s early days and I’m new to this stuff.

Today we’ll take a brief look at The Man. The Man is at least 50% to blame for all this. The Man is a ‘The’ rather than a ‘My’ and comes and goes as and when he pleases, rather like a cat in and out of its flap – if he’s hungry he may show up if he isn’t being fed elsewhere. Sometimes he doesn’t visit for weeks, sometimes someone else is feeding him.

“That’s a raw deal,” I hear you say. Well, The Man more than compensates when he does enter the flap. The Man, who I may describe in more detail later, is very twinkly with an inner glow. And more importantly, The Man has great skill in knowing exactly which buttons to press on Drunken Slut Mum. He approaches the whole thing like a ten course meal of which every course is equally mouthwateringly delicious. But he shares it and makes sure DSM eats just as much as he does while other men wolf down the lot themselves.

I’m ending this post here….