As a blogger, you might be tempted to write about the story, perhaps expressing your view that this constitutes neglectful parenting. Perhaps someone in your comments says that the celebrity is a terrible parent and we should stop going to see their films in protest. Later it turns out the story was completely untrue. The celebrity complains and the paper prints a retraction and apology.

Q: Who in this story has potentially committed libel: the paper, the blogger, or the commenter?

A: All of them.

If you didn’t get the right answer, and you’re blogging, you need to know more about libel. Simply put, libel law exists to protect our moral and professional reputations. Any statement that might harm that reputation can be considered to be defamation (if printed) or slander (if spoken).

Any time you publish a statement on the internet that might cause someone’s reputation to be harmed, you are potentially committing libel. That applies in any context – whether you’re reviewing a toy, writing about a celebrity news story, or describing your children’s school teachers.

I know it’s tempting to think libel law doesn’t apply to you. You’re small fry in the world of publishing, and nobody would worry about that, right?

Tell that to Yachting World, a tiny magazine with a 12,000-strong circulation. It ran a review of a yacht that claimed there were serious discrepancies between what the yacht could do and what the manufacturers’ claimed it could do. The yacht company successfully sued for libel, and the judge awarded the yacht company £1.4m in damages.

Then there’s the Liverpool radio station that ran a programme inviting listeners to call in with complaints about holiday companies. Someone made an allegation that was libellous – the radio station was successfully sued for libel, and had to pay £350,000 in damages. Think about that next time your blog comments section gets a bit heated.

There are some successful ways to defend a libel claim – if your statement was true; if it was an honestly held opinion of a true fact, expressed without malice; if it was made in a situation where there is privilege such as parliament; or the person concerned is dead.

There are some defences that can’t be applied to libel – you thought it was true; you were only repeating what someone else said; you took the post down when you realised it was libellous; the person you’re writing about could only be identified by one or two other people.

Next time: copyright and why it’s not just a pretty logo at the bottom of websites.

But today…ugh.

I woke up this morning feeling a bit ropy. Nothing major, but not tip top. The chap was leaving to go off to work for the week, and I told him not to worry, we’d be fine. Then I stepped into the kitchen.

The smell of last night’s dinner brought me out in a cold sweat, my legs went wobbly, my stomach turned. I tried to take Flea to the local park for the morning, but we had to turn around and come home before we got there, I felt so wretched.

I spent the rest of the day crashed on the sofa while Flea played quietly, periodically stopping to stroke my arms, or face, or tummy. “Does this feel better Mummy? Do you like it when I do that?”

I couldn’t bring myself to make her any food until gone 7pm, and then I managed to fall asleep while it was cooking, leading my daughter to say, “Mummy, sometimes pasta and pesto has crunchy bits in it, and Zara says that means it’s burnt. Do I have to eat that bit?”

Fortunately, I’m rarely ill, but on days that this, single parenting really sucks. I can’t tell you what I’d give right now to be able to hand someone over to Flea for the day, or just to play with her for a few hours, while I have a long shower and collapse into bed. Oh, for someone to bring me glasses of Lucozade and glossy magazines. Except it's the weekend, when married people are off doing married things. And except I'm self-employed so I'm not even in bed, I'm on the sofa, sending out invoices and trying to answer emails. 

Fellow single parents - any top tips for getting through illnesses?

[nb, the Tots100 might not be up for a couple more days]

We’ve moved on from those days. We’re older, wiser, more sophisticated. Yes, now that Flea is four, she’s big enough to get her own breakfast, thereby allowing me an extra two minutes in bed. I know. Bad Sally.

Perhaps sensing we need to develop better breakfast habits, Cereal Partners UK invited us along to a cooking event in London, where we’d get tips on cooking with wholegrains and nutrition from the likes of Annabel Karmel, Lesley Waters, Greg Searle and Zoe Ball.

The event was held in what I can confidently say must be London’s nicest kitchen. It was all artfully distressed French furniture, painted floorboards and stylish artwork on the walls. Obviously, we fitted right in.

Within five minutes, Flea had bumped into a coffee table that probably cost more than my car, knocking it into an alarmingly tall Zoe Ball, while I squeaked “Celebrity down! Celebrity down!”

We then chatted with the team from Nestle, who kept smiling even as Flea loudly announced her favourite breakfast was not Cheerios, in fact, but brioche. “My kids love croissants, too,” one of the execs confided to us.

My daughter then spat out Lesley Water’s muffin and spent 20 minutes squirting a tube of black icing onto a plate, with a generous amount distributed across her face.

Then Annabel Karmel introduced herself, like some kind of angel in a pink cardigan, and asked Flea if she liked to cook with her Mummy. Flea nodded. “And do you make fairy cakes?” asked Annabel. “What are fairy cakes?”said Flea.

Annabel wasn’t phased in the slightest and proceeded to teach Flea how to make delicious bumble bees out of crushed Shreddies mixed with melted marshmallow, butter and peanut butter, in the process handily addressing that wonder-if-Flea's-got-a-nut-allergy question - she doesn't (although if your child does, this recipe works just as well without the peanut butter). 

I'll confess, I'm not usually a big fan of 'cute' food, feeling life's too short for fancy shaped sandwiches,  but the bees looked impressive and required almost no cooking skill. Even I was able to knock up a couple of bees in around 5 minutes -  although Susanna said mine looked more like a bat, which I found deeply hurtful, if accurate. Annabel also offered to send us some recipe books to try out at home, and I'm looking forward to seeing if anything tops the chicken and apple ball recipe, which is a regular standby for us.

Despite our lack of social graces, everyone was really nice, and it was great to catch up with A Modern Mother, A Mother’s Ramblings, Nixd Minx, Suburban Mummy and Are We Nearly There Yet, Mummy.

Just to round the day off, as we left, Zoe Ball leaned over and said to me, “My little boy always has dirty nails, too.” It’s so important to leave a good impression, isn’t it?

Dear Sally,

I just want to know why you have obviously committed your daughter to a miserable childhood/adolesence by giving her such a ridiculously vindictive name, Flea? I just cannot grasp how you can be such a bloody selfish mother? I presume you are intelligent enough to realise the consequences of your actions and wonder why you have subjected an innocent, lovely little girl to your warped ego or fucked up outlook on life or whatever caused you to name her as you did...  This is one of the most evil and vindictive things I have seen from an otherwise aware and intelligent mother. Do you think you can make a point by using a little girl to experiment on?

I actually feel physically sick thinking about what your girl is going to have to grow up with and how much she will fail to understand why you have given her such a horrible name. You should be ashamed of yourself Sally. I guess you will bury your messed up head in the sand rather than confront this truthfuul email.

A very !  sickened and upset me.

Dear Ben,

It's a nickname.

Love,

Sally

But where's Flea?

What is it with kids and boxes?

But I have to say, this isn't my all-time favourite Flea hiding picture. That's the one below. You'll never guess where she is in this picture. She is TOTALLY hiding.

Wonder how old are they when they work out that you can still see them even though they can't see you?

It's a mature, sophisticated game that involves us saying, "You're a weirdo" and "No, YOU'RE a weirdo," at one another, in increasingly stupid voices.

One of Flea's teachers overheard us, and started to disagree. She got as far as, "Oh no, F..." then stopped and said: "Have a lovely weekend!"

I suspect the teacher realised the truth: Flea is weird. Not in a bad way - just in the way that many four-year-olds are weird. As proof, here are five things my daughter said on the way home on Friday:

“How cool would it be if we lived in a streetlamp? You could climb up that cylinder bit, and we could swing from one lamp to another lamp, like monkeys. That would be so cool.”

“When food goes in your tummy, does it come to life?”

“Why don’t fishes wear masks and flippers? Is there a lifeboat in case they can’t swim?”

“When there’s an earthquake, does the world change colour?”

“Do you think robots like it when children paint them?”

Since I split up from The Father, Flea has never seen me with another guy. Of course, she’s aware that I have male friends, but as far as she’s concerned, these are just friends we meet occasionally for lunch, or who come round to the house to put up lights and fix door handles.

Preserving this illusion takes some effort, and the odd bit of outright subterfuge. There’s a fair amount of military planning involved in my social life, but it means that Flea hasn't encountered any new faces over the breakfast table. If a guy is visiting during the day, then what my old headmistress referred to as “PDAs” are strictly off the menu.

I don’t know when is the right time to introduce your child to a new partner. A few months seems too soon. For me, personally, a year would probably still be too soon – but that's probably just my commitment issues talking.

I had a childhood with more than its fair share of upheaval, and I want something different for Flea. I feel as though, having made the choice to be a single parent, I have a responsibility to provide her with as much stability and security as I possibly can. And – to me – that means not introducing anyone new to our family unless I’m pretty damn positive they’re going to be a permanent fixture.

Flea has plenty of contact with male friends and relatives. Actually, she loves men – I think not seeing her Dad so often means she craves male attention. For example, recently we met one of my friends for a drink in a hotel, and Flea actually moved my chair while I was at the bar so she could sit next to him. She then proceeded to insist he ran through his entire repertoire of magic tricks, while I munched peanuts and read the bar menu 5,000 times.

This is cute to watch, of course, but it worries me that Flea would become very attached to anyone I was involved with, and of course I worry what it would then mean for her if my relationship didn’t work out. I guess at the moment, I feel she's too young and I would rather wait until she's old enough to understand a little more about adult relationships before taking that next step.

I’m not sure there’s a simple answer, but I’m sure it’s something every other single parent must think about. I’d love to hear your thoughts and experiences – when did you think the time was right? 

...you have this conversation with your four-year-old on the way home from school:

Me: “Was it meatballs for lunch today, Flea?”

Flea: “No.”

Me: “Lasagne?”

Flea: “No.”

Me: “Spaghetti Bolognese?”

Flea: “No. It was chicken pie and carrots.”

Me: “Well, what’s this big red splodge on your jumper then?”

Flea: “Oh, that. That’s from Monday.”

Oops.

The annoying thing about crucial parenting moments is the way they sneak up on you. I think you should get a letter 48 hours in advance that says, “On Tuesday you will be required to explain the concept of death to a four year old.  You may not refer to your notes during the examination.”

Unfortunately, you’re more likely to wake up at 3am to find a four year old lying in bed with you, eyes boring into your skull.

“Did you know, lots of Mummies and Daddies die,” Flea tells me, in the exact same voice she uses to say, “I know how to spell cat.” 

“Oh. What?” (my vocabulary shrinks by 60% with each hour after midnight)

“Natasha told me her Mummy and Daddy died.”

“Didn’t Natasha’s Mummy just have twins?”

“No, they are dead.”

“I don’t think so, honey. I am pretty sure her Mummy just had babies.” 

“Natasha told me they are dead. Lots of people have dead parents.”

“We’ve talked about this. With a bit of luck, most people don’t die until they’re really old. Then their bodies stop working and they die, and new people are born. Right?”

“Right.”

There’s a silence. I feel myself sliding back into unconsciousness, when Flea sits bolt upright, and says “Oh!” in a voice that suggests it’s all just slotted into place in her brain.

“Huh?” I mutter.

“Grandma will die quite soon, then, I expect.”

I pretend to be asleep.

But, friends, that would be a lie.

The meme rules are: “Name a song that reminds you of something, that has a story for you. Not necessarily your favourite song or a even a song that you love, but a song that instantly takes you back to that time and place.”

I’ve been wracking my brains trying to find a song, any song, that would make me seem even fractionally cool. I admit defeat. I have every Smiths album ever made. I can quote Green Day lyrics and I know I spent years listening to REM and Billy Bragg bootlegs. But for some weird reason, every significant moment of my life is inextricably linked with a deeply, completely, shoot-me-now-embarrassing, song. 

My first kiss took place while Five Star was playing in the background. Yes, Five Star. I rounded second base to the sounds of Richard Marx. And sadly, those are relative high points in my musical memory bank. I don't even want to think of the memory conjured up by She's Like the Wind. Oh, the shame.

So, after a good deal of thought, I was inspired by Rosie Scribble's response to this meme - she wrote about the song she associates with her daughter's birth. I didn't have music when Flea was born (I was out cold) but I suppose this song is my version of Rosie's single parent anthem.

I wish I could say that my single parent anthem was Green Day. Or Bob Dylan. Leonard Cohen, even. But it's Better Life, by Keith Urban. I know. Please don't judge me. I'm so much cooler than this might make me appear. Well, a bit cooler, at any rate (please note, comments on this post referring to the unfortunate Miley-gate incident will, of course, be deleted) .

To set the scene, I heard this song the day after I had told my ex I was divorcing him. I'd just had a phone call from one of my best friends saying she would never forgive me for what I was doing. And then I'd spoken with my lawyer, who told me what I should expect from the divorce settlement - his guess was somewhere in the region of minus 50 grand. Shit.

Someday baby, You and I are gonna be the ones

Good luck's gonna shine on

Someday baby you and I are gonna be the ones

So hold on

We're headed for a better life

There's a place for you and me

Where we can dream as big as the sky

I know it's hard to see it now

But baby someday we're gonna fly

This road we're on, you know it might be long

But my faith is strong

It's all that really matters

We drove through the country lanes, sunshine streaming through the canopy of trees above us, Flea in the back seat admiring her first ever pair of shoes, and I was just filled with this conviction that, no matter what, we'd be okay.

We still listen to Keith in the car every once in a while, and these days Flea knows the words and joins in, and we sing along together. One day she will tell people about the deeply uncool song that her mother inflicted on her, but I won't care - it's a great song. And it still makes me smile.

I'm pretty sure everyone has done this by now, but just in case they haven't and they fancy it, I tag: Being a Mummy, Glowstars, Beki's Bloggy Bits, Bringing up Charlie and Motherhood: the final frontier.