Mums and daughters

"It'll serve you right if I'm raped and murdered because I'm on my own." says Beth.

I have just refused to let Beth ring her best friend for the fourth time in an hour in order, so she says, to 'confirm the arrangements,' so they can meet up at the shops. In the time she's spent running up the bill, she could have confirmed enough arrangements for Prince Harry, wearing a big sign saying, 'Third in line to the throne. Shoot here,' to complete a successful tour of Iraq in total safety.

"Oh, OK. Phone her." I say. "But no longer than five minutes, and you're to stay in here so I can time it." She looks at me, narrow eyed, dials, speaks briefly, then hangs up.

'She can't do it,' she says. 'So I'll go in on my own and meet up with her later."

"So how about being raped and murdered?" I ask. She grins. "Oh, I'll fit it in somehow," she says.

Upstairs, Deborah is supposed to be getting into party clothes. My standards are low. As long as the children don't actually look as if they're being reared by wolves, I'm happy. Though to be honest, I suspect many wolves would do a better job than me, especially as mine aren't showing any signs of going on to found Rome, or gain the power of man's red flower, come to that.

Deborah comes downstairs, modelling a pair of slightly sparkly jeans and an old vest, which is covered in food stains. The jeans are fine. The vest is not. I explain why. "But Mum," she says, her voice thrilling with indignation. "These are today's food stains." We compromise, a wonderfully generous term to describe my virtuoso playing of the various heartstrings until I find the one - I think it's the dry sob approach - that resonates just long enough for me to shove a shirt over the dirty vest. The food stains are plainly visible underneath.

Now she looks like a child brought up by wolves who haven't mastered the quick wash cycle yet.

In the car, we find a hairbrush which contains a large quantity of what looks suspiciously like dog hairs. Deborah drags it through her hair.

"Do I look cute?" she asks. I glance quickly in the mirror. She has a big, gappy smile, straggly hair and a hole in one knee of the jeans.

I take a big breath.

"Very cute," I say.