I have recently found out that I am unable to make an authentic elephant noise.

All the times I have watched Dumbo, sang along to the Jungle Book and marvelled at David Attenborough in a random African bush just feet away from a huge animal I have failed at replicating it.

You see many of these cold dark windy wet evenings are spent in the kitchen making a plethora of animal noises, It certainly beats some of the inane rubbish on the television but when my husband asked me to entertain our daughter with the sound of an elephant I used my arm as a trunk and as I threw my proboscis into the air I made such a screeching sound that not only did it surprise our daughter but our two Jack Russells were sent fleeing up the stairs.

On the subject of animal noises my daughter has a favourite teether, it makes jungle sounds most notably the “oo oo” of a monkey.

Fun when you fancy some light entertainment but a very annoying distraction if you are driving.

Who wants the faint chirp of a chimp between Chipping Norton and Chadlington? Driven mad by the noise in the back of the car my husband ground to a halt, opened the boot and grappled with the plastic monkey teether that had buried itself in the folded pushchair.

Quite incredible the effect one small plastic primate teether can have on a grown man.

I am sure that Samantha Cameron believes that I am following her. I am not.

I just keep bumping into David’s wife.

It happened last week in Boots. I was next to her in the queue studying the contents of her basket, willing there to be some Anusol or something for Ed Miliband’s blocked nose.

I did get a nosey insight into the contents of the Cameron medicine cupboard, there were some new toothbrushes and several bandages. These were apparently (I was eavesdropping) for a Hallow’een party that the Camerons were attending last weekend. However since my curious scanning I have been stuck with the image of Samcam mummifying the Prime Minister.

I have to confide that I am missing The Great British Bake Off.

Every Tuesday at 8pm I bagsied my prime position in front of the TV to watch Paul “Blue Eyes” Hollywood and “Saint” Mary Berry decide whose crust was superior to the rest. Once again I have revitalised my interest in the art of cake making. Having promised my family a delicious chocolate cake I am still ashamed by what happened in my kitchen.

Let’s put it this way it was a chocolate massacre.

Firstly the unusually liquid ingredients seeped through my two-piece cake tins and all over the worktop.

Rescuing some of the mix I slammed the door of the oven and when the 35 minutes were over the cake came out of the oven but refused to come out of the tin, no amount of tapping, banging and coaxing was going to get that melange of chocolatey goodness out.

My second major fail of the week.