I'm not after your pity (any more than usual), but it's officially a lifetime since Lisa and I last went out together on our own. The life in question is, of course, Toby's, but the fact remains that in the eight-and-a-half months that he's been roaming this planet, I've rarely been alone with my wife. Most childcare practitioners would baulk at the thought of having Amelie for a day, so when you add a baby into the mix, it's enough to put off Mary Poppins, and as a result, we've been confined to the flat as a couple.

But all that's about to change. Thanks to the combined forces of Nanny McPhee and Mrs Doubtfire (I'm not saying which is which), Lisa and I are being released back into the wild today, and given twelve hours of freedom to do whatever we like. Which in this case is 'get as far away as possible'.

I've taken two days off work, and in about an hour's time we'll be joined by the double-headed babysitting goddess of goodness that is my Mum and Lisa's Mum. Having taken temporary leave of their senses, they've agreed to pool their resources of childcare skills and experience, and take on our little angels for the rest of the day. So we'll need to get out of here quickly before they change their minds.

Having proven last Thursday how easy it is to get up to London, I'm escorting Lisa to the idyllic paradise of Hammersmith, where we'll be enjoying a day of fine whines, gourmet food and good music. We're actually going to see Matchbox Twenty at the Hammersmith Apollo. It's something I like to do once every five years, although the last two times have been at Wembley Arena, so the band are clearly on their way down in this country. Which is odd, as their latest album went straight to number one in America.

I feel a bit bad for not taking Amelie, as she came with us last time, and I know she enjoyed it by the way she gave Lisa raging heartburn, but to be honest, we can't wait to get away on our own. We might only be out for twelve hours, but we're packing in as much as we can. We're meeting Big Sis for a coffee this afternoon to get the lowdown on her latest holiday, after which we have a table booked at the Villagio restaurant in Hammersmith with our old friend 'C'. We've been looking forward to it for months.

Which is why it's a shame that Toby started projectile vomiting at 6am this morning. I'd planned to start our special day with a nice lie-in and a bubble bath. Instead, I was rocking the Marigolds & Pyjamas look at six-thirty as I wiped vomit off the carpet and furniture, changed all the bedding, and put two loads of washing on. You might think Toby looks sad...


... but that's nothing compared to how I felt first thing this morning. At 7am, our plans for a perfect day out lay in tatters, and the only place we looked likely to be going was the doctor's surgery.

But fortunately things have improved since then. Toby's managed to keep down a rusk, and despite being on red alert with a bucket and a j-cloth, I haven't had to clear up any more accidents. I'm touching every vomit-stained bit of wood as I say this, but I think we might still be going...