ANNE of Green Gables would have described it as a “Jonah day”.

Work was terrible and then I had a few frantic hours full of rude people before going home to commence preparing the evening meal.

I rummaged through the daughter’s nursery bag to remove the day’s dirty laundry, finding in there, crumpled up and tied into a small plastic bag, her very best new and rather expensive T-shirt, a beautiful little polka dot number with a dog on the front.

It was absolutely covered in food stains of the worst sort – greasy spag bol-related for the most part – and I almost fell back into a kitchen chair in shock. Who on earth would have sent their three year-old to nursery in her best clothes? Her father.

Almost simultaneously, said child then, in the middle of a moment of serious mucking around with a drink, spilled her Ribena all over the sofa.

I had momentarily taken my eye off the ball and she’d got to that area with her cup, which is against household rules. I watched as the spillage, in slo-mo, as these things seem to occur, spread to two of the massive sofa cushions, saturating ‘joint’ areas and countless bits of the rest of the sofa.

Despite my haste, instantly dropping the T-shirt on to the kitchen table and sprinting to the other side of the room, by the time I got there, one small beaker had caused untold damage, necessitating the immediate removal of all covers. There was even a puddle of it on the floor.

I retreated to the kitchen to tend to the chicken, lemon and couscous dinner I’d been preparing, from scratch, simmering with rage and followed every step of the way by the mummy mummy mummy monster.

I was taking deep breaths, trying to stop myself from getting so het up (I’d love to know the secrets of those who never lose their cool), but ever since my chronic pain has established itself, because every movement causes pain, my irritability levels instantly rocket sky-high with frustration – and despair.

But by the time the aforementioned husband showed his face, I was trying to be understanding of family folly.

We got the daughter to bed and I organised our evening meal on our plates.

The table was covered in laundry and cleaning equipment and detritus so we moved to the sofa to sit on its frame where he then promptly knocked my entire plate of dinner over, a 180-degree turn dumping it all on to one of the only cushions which had been left standing.

For his own safety, I scraped it up and immediately left the room.