I should be starting a new life today.

I've been aiming to start a new life since January, when I made the momentous decision to start a new life.

I rang this place called Options. It's actually the Domestic Violence Unit, but it's been rebranded as a chocolate drink in order to make it sound more cuddly. They made it sound dead good, they said I could apply for a council house and then they'd fit it out with furniture from the local church. I told my friend at work, and he said it sounded kind of cool but wouldn't pews be a bit uncomfortable. We agreed the font would be good though.

Anyway, they sorted out my housing application without me having to go to the town hall, cos my husband rings me at work several times a day, then when I'm on the train coming home, then picks me up from the station.

Then I had to bid for houses. Then I got offered one, which is brilliant. It took a couple of weeks to get the repairs done, then I had to go down and get the keys and sign stuff. That was a nightmare. He kept ringing my mobile. It got me so flustered that I got on the wrong metro, then had to double back, so I was half an hour late.

I rang my mate (not the pews one, my other mate)at work and my husband had rung there. He made a plausible excuse, but then I was gone so long that he rang my mate about six times. I finally walked back in, and he doubled up with silent laughter, pointing to the phone in his hand.

My tenancy started a week ago. That means I've got my name on two tenancies, and rent arrears at two houses. This is because I can't get the child tax credits and child benefit transferred to my name until I move.

I kept ringing the Options woman and getting an answering machine, or being fobbed off. Finally she sorted out two armchairs and a fridge. She said she'd try and get a three piece suite but it wasn't definite. She said, 'If you've got a 3 piece you can sleep on that, can't you?' I said, 'Well, not really. Not all four of us!'

My quiet voice of reason in my head was hissing, 'Be nice to her, you really need her.'

Anyway, she managed to get two inflatable beds and some sleeping bags to lend us. So now we've got the basics, and we planned to move yesterday.

But he won't go out! His mum's abroad, which I didn't know, which means he's not going over there. I was counting on him at least going out to score, but then he insisted I go shopping with him, and announced on the way that he had to call in at his friend's.

And the cat hasn't come home, and I can't leave without him. So my 15 year old son has taken my 10 year old daughter out up the town to try and relieve the pressure. They're gonna go to the new house and wait, and if I don't turn up they'll have to come back here.

He's got this uncanny knack of fucking things up, even when he doesn't know about them.

Where the hell is the bloody cat???