Beth speaks.

Beth is talking to me again.

It's not been an easy couple of weeks. She refers to the stables, rather insultingly, to my mind, as 'home'. She has written me three notes, sent me 4 multi-page e-mails and posted a video on U-Tube, consisting of a very ugly horse failing to clear some small jumps while James Blunt plays in the background.

I avoid watching the video. "You haven't watched it yet," she scrawls on bit of paper. "I have," I say. "You haven't. I can monitor it," she says, in a distinctly scary way that reminds me of the Hitler Youth

But, though I have glumly watched the video, sound turned to 'minimum', I have also stood my ground. Her riding holiday is not happening. She accepts this.

First class parenting in action? Unfortunately not. Naturally my superb maternal instincts played a not inconsiderable part - notably my decision to refrain from pinning her against a wall and beating her to death with one of her own riding boots, something I felt was deserving of some small prize. The truth, though, is that the friend she was going to ride with may be on holiday with her own family.

"We're not sure yet," says her mother.

"Take it from me," I say. "You need a holiday. Go. Please, go."

"We may not be able to," she says. "I don't know if there are any flights left."

"There will be flights," I say. "And I'm prepared to sell my soul to Satan and clinch the deal with a goat sacrifice a night, even if 1001 Dry Foam doesn't do a ritual killing stain removal product. That's how desperate I am."

"It may be too expensive," she warns. "Then lie, woman, lie." I say. "Keep the decision to yourself until it's too late to book the riding holiday. Then I'm in the clear and there's no argument to have."

She agrees. For once in my life, I seem to have ended a stand off with a win win conclusion. Is this possible? Can it last? And am I dreaming?