Try glamour

I need to feel better. All the magazines tell me that my life problems can be solved by looking different. So I might try buying one of those magazines and, by evening, if I follow their rules, I might look different, and feel better.

First I reckon I'll need to put in some effort in the make up department. I'd need to wear some. There are lots of lovely shops in Bigtown that wink at me and tell me how beautiful I could be, if only I would try.

But I'll remember why I don't. The last time I hit the make up bag my eyes swelled up and I looked like a frog. Perhaps I apply it wrong and those black lines shouldn't actually go in the eyes. I can't help it. I rub my eyes a lot. Or perhaps the make up is fifteen years old and past its sell by date. The blusher worked better, but I'm wary. 47-year old women generally don't blush. There's not much you can show us that we haven't seen before. The lipstick works, sort of, but it tends to wear off quickly. I think I might be eating it, along with the cakes.

Then there are the clothes. I keep promising myself, when I have spare cash, to go off to the bright shiny shops in the centre with all the personal shopping advisors and get hold of one to sort me out. That'll be a test of her stamina. Today I'm wearing a baggy old jumper on top, and a baggy old jumper underneath. I'm also wearing a tee-shirt with a hole in the armpit. And my trousers don't meet round the middle. The button fell off and I haven't had the time to sew it back on.

Anyway, being able to look nice is tied up with that weight thing. One resolution I made last birthday was to lose some weight. Apart from the baggy jumpers, all my clothes have shrunk now and I've got an unecessary layer of fat which travels round me like a wobbly road. It even has pot holes in it.

I haven't actually got round to all that exercise yet, but I'm still hoping. I blame the building works near the gym. I'm sure that stops me from getting to the gym properly. Last year they closed the roads while up went a big hotel and lots more restaurants. I suppose I could have parked further down the hill at the train station and walked, but there are some mornings when it is cold, and it is sometimes very difficult getting out of bed.

And as a last resort I could always blame the children. It's easy to get fat when pregnant. And being pregnant with three is three times the excuse. I know that's wearing thin, because we're talking seven years ago now. But I argue that it doesn't really get any better. They make cakes and biscuits now. Last year they made 54 chelsea buns. I thought about standing at the local post office and giving away these delicious soft fruity buns with their perfect sugary crusts to the poor and needy, but then reckoned there was probably a bye-law against giving away chelsea buns, so of course had to eat the lot.

On balance I think today might be a bad day to look different. And I think I'll give the magazines a miss.