Mystery nights out? Boisterous children and a husband glued to the TV rule out any hope of a romantic dinner date for two. Jane Nixon lets us into her first week of woeful wooing

Jane Nixon, 36, met her partner Jack seven years ago 'via a friend who, bizarrely, thought he'd be perfect for me.' They got married after two years together, conceived their twin boys (Finlay and Travis, now four) on honeymoon and have a one-year-old daughter, Lily. They live in rural North Yorkshire where Jane is a full-time mother.

Monday 12th Feb
It's the week when couples come over ridiculously romantic, so I hope Jack will be busying himself this lunchtime, choosing sentimental treats. It shouldn't matter that we have been together for ten thousand years or that Jack has seen me all red and bellowing during childbirth. But it does matter, of course. Pre- living together, Jack would burble on my answerphone, 'I mish you, baby doll,' punctuated by swigs from a beer glass. Now, when he leaves a message, it's: 'Remember to put the bin out.'

Worryingly, too, we have our most dramatic rows when forced into a romantic setting. It's as if, whisked away from everyday chaos, bottled-up resentments tumble out. I only need to glimpse a rose in a little vase to get all choked about the breakfast in bed he promised me back in December, and failed to deliver. It never happens over cheese on toast at home. Still, my spirits rise when Jack says I shouldn't plan anything for Wednesday night. I ask whether I should get my turquoise lace Karen Millen dress dry-cleaned. He stares at me, blankly.

Tuesday 13th Feb
Attempt to buy Jack a romantic gift. He needs sensible, grown-up items: briefcase, slippers, alarm clock - none of which bellow, 'romance!' or even, 'I still quite like you.' Then I hit upon a good idea. Practical goods are acceptable only if offset with something ridiculously extravagant. Like taking him to a hotel, even though we have a perfectly comfy bed at home. Wonder if I could bribe my mother to babysit and whisk him away for a weekend of filth and debauchery (me, that is, not my mother).

Am deciding on a suitable venue when he arrives home from work and switches on the TV - football, which I scathingly refer to as The Green Rectangle. We have turned into the couple who stare blankly at the screen, lying on separate sofas. Point this out to Jack who observes that it's far comfier to splay out on your own personal sofa, rather than squashing up together with someone's elbow in your stomach.

I gaze bleakly at The Green Rectangle. We never used to watch so much television because, I remind him, we had better things to do - like removing each other's clothing. A goal is scored and he shushes me. Silently, I cancel the hotel idea. Feel proud of myself for thinking up a treat for him, then withdrawing it, all without his knowledge.

Wednesday 14th February
Valentine's Day. Am touched to open a card 'drawn' on our PC. Am also impressed that he managed to persuade the boys to sit still for long enough to colour the hearts pink, lilac and - less attractively - a kind of snot/bile green. Wonder if he used some kind of restraining device.

Spend day fizzing with anticipation about our mystery night out tonight. Jack drives us to Leeds, parks the car, then turns to me and says, 'Didn't you book anything?' I laugh, waiting for him to say, 'Good joke, huh? Now let me take you to an intimate little eatery where we shall feed each other oysters.'

Troop through rain and discover that all intimate eateries are fully booked. Eventually find ourselves gazing at bathroom suites through a shop window and discussing whether we need a new toilet. Head home feeling deflated until Jack stops the car. Assume that we have run out of petrol or that Jack has forgotten the way home. Then discover that he has stopped for the sole purpose of kissing me. Properly. Haven't encountered Jack's tongue since the arrival of our children and feel thrilled enough to demand that he drives home immediately, paying no heed to speed restrictions.

Thursday 15th February
Decide that I still like Jack, even though we have little to talk about other than whether Asda is better than Safeways. He is also very handy for rewiring plugs, moving heavy furniture etc.

Saturday 17th February
Have been desperate for the weekend due to being deprived of adult company all week. Have also been salivating over the thought of a long lie-in. I calculate that, since we've had children, I have had nine lie-ins compared to Jack's 273. Simply refuse to get up, but so does my husband, and so enjoy a relaxing doze with Lily hammering me with a Duplo train. Practise thought transmission ('Bring me caffeine... bring me caffeine...') and it appears to work as Jack lurches out of bed and thunders downstairs.

Await aroma of Lavazza but can detect only muffled shouting from the living room. When I investigate, it appears that 'The Green Rectangle' has once again beamed onto our home. My icy gaze forces Jack off his backside and he says, 'So! What are we doing this weekend?'

Am always astounded at men's assumption that women can create a thrilling itinerary to amuse three children and two adults, all at a second's notice. It is raining. The boys are whipping each other with Jack's bootlaces. He glances at me, hopefully. 'I haven't the faintest idea,' I say, smugly.