I was a real problem child. Not because I refused to wear anything but a hoody, but because I refused to eat anything other than a certain kind of margarine (which I am not allowed to name). For mum, this presented a very many problems. But mum was undeterred. She was (and is) well versed in the art of manipulating children (especially children who would later grow up to be men) and had a number of techniques at her disposal to get me to eat the other kinds of margarine. At first she had some success, but her conniving and diligent plan was soon brought crashing to its knees as I found out her secrets. And she did not know what to do! How could she? She had, for the first time, come up against an opponent as formidable as herself. For the first time in her life her training as a mother, wife and woman was no good to her. She had to turn to other tactics to fight her cause. But where would she go? Where would hold the secret and what person would be able to help her?

Nana, of course. Nana was the uber-woman, the woman of secrets buried past, present and future. Mum consulted with her (this is all stuff I have since learned) and that was when the terrible truth came: “I don’t know how to help you,” she said, on the verge of tears. Her and mum clung together as if savaged by a ferocious storm. It had finally happened! Son had overthrown Mum in the manipulation stakes!

Fortunately I eventually grew out of this expensive and ludicrous habit, and, for the first time in fifteen years, mum was allowed to use any other margarine in cake / bread and biscuits. That was the day mum smiled again. The day mum fought son and won. A bummer for me, but mum probably deserved it after everything I put her through.

I think I have a solution everyone will agree upon for what we should do for Rosemary’s engagement party. We should book some time at one of those spa resorts she is always going on about as a surprise. And you all said that men couldn’t have god ideas…