All badged up

The childen are out doing socially useful things.

As Deborah is presented with a friendship badge for inviting a mate to Beavers, I'm overcome with envy. Where are the badges for my sterling contributions to motherhood?

There's 'Drunk' - well, I'd sail through that, though seeing straight enough to sew on the badge might be a problem - 'Shrieker' (demonstrations a speciality) and 'Shirker' - PTA cake sale testimonials available on application.

Leo, meanwhile, spends a day doing sports in bite-sized chunks. The structure, 40 minutes per activity, could have been designed with the hyperactive child in mind.

He flirts with rugby, revisits his old love, football and essays cricket, all topped and tailed with a good run.

As we drive home, I asked him how the day went. "I hurt my hamstring and learned a new song," he volunteers.

"Would you like to sing it to me?" I ask, imagining something with a suitably boisterous outdoor theme - rude, rough, and indubitably masculine.

"OK," says Leo. He clears his throat with some preliminary giggles and we're away.

Sung to the tune of 'This old man', it goes:

'I like drugs, drugs like me
Crack cocaine and ecstacy
With a sniff, sniff here and a jab, jab there
Now I'm in intensive care.'

Is this proof that the government's pro-fitness, anti-drugs message is getting through? Or exactly the opposite?

And what sort of Beaver's badge would I get for singing it with him second time round, beating time on the steering wheel? Say what you will, but I reckon that 'Irresponsible' is definitely in the bag.

Coming soon: The Dangerous Book for Mothers.