It is Mummy's 39th birthday. She is staring down the barrel of a future of people asking if she wants to come to their advanced yoga classes, and polite book clubs where everyone claims to be tiddly after a glass of Pinot Grigio and says things like `Oooh gosh, are you having another glass?' , But Mummy does not want to go quietly into that good night of women with sensible haircuts who `live for their children' and stand in the playground trying to trump each other with their offspring's extracurricular activities and achievements, and boasting about their latest holidays. , Instead, she clutches a large glass of wine, muttering `FML' over and over again. Until she remembers the gem of an idea she's had...