Today's task on the smoking thing was to make a note of every cigarette, with the time and circs, no judgement. I'm up to 17, of which three were weak spliffs. I started on the spliff early tonight as I was already frazzled by my lack of brain function and thought it would be best if I put myself right out of action and didn't attempt anything more than lying on the sofa watching telly.

All I'd done today was go into the city for lunch with Son, and come home again. I mean, he is probably the most challenging conversationalist I know, so I had done thinking for several consecutive hours. In his work he's surrounded by public-school educated (this means expensive here, not free), Tory voters and spends his time defending the left, so when he sees me he likes to put their arguments to me to see what I come up with, to explore what he really believes. That's what he tells me anyway, but I feel anxious that he's being turned. He didn't attempt to defend the working tax credit cuts, which isn't actually saying much, but he's very quick thinking, which I'm not. He asked me how I know for sure that Corbyn is a beacon of hope for many at the sharp end of austerity and I couldn't think of an answer, but it's because so many people joined the Labour party. Anyway, he's my darling boy and it was nice to spend time just with him. And we don't only talk politics.

Bloke has cooked every night this week, so I thought I'd give him a break and make a dead easy Delia Smith braised steak au poivre (recipe here), but it all seemed so complicated - like I'd never chopped onions, or coated anything in flour or wanted to put a big casserole dish in the oven and had to rearrange the shelf positions. Ach, it was such a fucking mission that by the time it was in for its two hours I felt as if I'd done one of those mental challenges on Masterchef - three noncy courses in an hour and a quarter, for food critics, not a simple stew with a handful of ingredients and no tricky manoeuvres . My brain was saying 'enough!' loud and clear, so I went in the shed and had a spliff and told Bloke the potatoes and the greens were down to him. Delia says she likes to serve this with crisp, buttery baked jacket spuds, but I think it's too rich for that and just needs plain boiled new spuds, which you can mash a bit into the gravy. Delish.

I am grateful for: Bloke not only finishing dinner but also paying off my overdraft - yayness indeedy; clocks back tonight, so an extra hour, though not so keen on the early nightfall (ooh, it just did that on my computer, went from 01.59 to 01.00); not having to do anything tomorrow except deliver birthday cards to Sis's twins, who turn 28 tomorrow - they're both far, far more affluent than me and buy what they need/want so I put a fiver in each of their cards with instructions to have a drink on me - it's not much, but they are my darling Niece and Nephew so I'm not giving them nothing; Son being so well and healthy and not applying for a job in bleeding Baghdad, ffs (I've not written Baghdad before - took me a few goes to place the h); bed, glorious bed.

Sweet dreams xxx