In defence of the housewife, by Lily Allen

I bought a sewing machine this morning. It's a Janome JP720. I got it from the John Lewis website. Of course. According to the blurb, it's small in size but big on features. A bit like me. It's also fully computerised, has an automatic needle threader (crucial, that bit, as my fellow machinists will know), a maximum speed controller, a needle up/down feature and lock-stitch facility. It's white. Because it only comes in white.

My first project is a cot valance (I'm expecting). I found the pattern on sew4home.com, where it's described as a Bloomin' Dust Ruffle. I've chosen the fabric from Michael S Smith's Jasper range, a Dutch stripe in Porcelain. It's going to look amazing. I'm going to start on it this evening, after I've made dinner for my husband. Confit duck leg with flageolet beans, I think. I bought some duck legs from Jesse Smith's in Tetbury yesterday and they have been marinating overnight. Leftover Victoria sponge for dessert. I tend to make at least one cake a weekend, and if we have workmen in the house, as we often do, I'll bake something for them to have with their afternoon tea, either biscuits or a cake, some sort of tray bake. If I'm honest with myself, I'm happiest in the kitchen, leafing through an interior design book, sticking recipes from the newspapers in my scrapbook, cosying up to the Aga, stroking the dogs, fielding phone calls from tradesmen.

Meanwhile, we've been having the most ghastly trouble with Ron, our border terrier. His running off into the village is getting slightly out of hand. It was even mentioned on Stroud FM the other day. Chasing after some bitch on heat, no doubt. I wouldn't want him getting a reputation, so, as a last resort, and over my husband's protests, he's booked in for a castration. I have to get him to the vet's for 8.20am. That's tomorrow morning's duty. After that I'll be digging vegetables from the patch (which I'd love to take credit for but really it's all down to our marvellous gardeners, a mother-daughter team, Annette and Imogen).

Believe it or not, I'm 26. And I used to be a pop star. I know. Weird, right?

The thing is, this is the life I always wanted. I always wanted to get married, I always wanted to have kids, I have always wanted to set up a home and take care of the people who live in it. I have always respected women who do that just as much - sometimes more - than I respected women who triumph in the boardroom, smash the glass ceiling or conquer the charts.

The strange thing - strange to others, not to me - is that the idea of becoming a pop star always seemed an eminently reasonable and achievable goal, while being a contented wife and mother was an impossible fantasy. Perhaps that says more about my background than anything else, but it means that I'm easily as proud of my domestic arrangements as I am of any professional success. And it's not true that I couldn't have had one without the other. Women work very hard to get to a certain point where they can devote more time to their families, and I respect that. I just got to that point earlier than I ever could have expected.

But you don't have to be wealthy or privileged to believe that some of the values of an earlier era are worth keeping. Like taking your husband's name. I got married on 11 June but I've been thinking of myself as Mrs Sam Cooper since, ooh, Christmas, at least, when he proposed (and maybe, if I'm honest, a little bit before then). For me, taking his name is about acceptance, his of me - which I'm deeply honoured by - and mine of him.

As for our home life, I enjoy making other people happy. I like walking into my husband's office in the morning, taking him a cup of tea and some biscuits. I like the satisfied look on his face after I've cooked him lunch. I wouldn't want to do it if he asked me to, or because it was expected, since I'm a woman. I do it because I enjoy it.

This isn't some silly retro fantasy of wanting to be the little woman with the pinny and the feather duster and the perfect hair. It's not role-play. It's certainly not promoting drudgery. It's not anti-feminist or even old-fashioned. It's about saying that being at home, looking after your family, taking pleasure in cooking and being house-proud, are all valid and valuable.

So let's hear it for the housewives. I'm thrilled to count myself among them. At least until my money runs out. Then it's back to pop stardom, I'm afraid. Oh well, you can't have everything. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a valance to stitch. ES