A feather from Lovely land

"Happy New Year," says Lovely Mummy to Vicky and me as we collect our children on the first day of the new term. A small form hurtles towards her. "Oh, sweetie, how was your day? Come and give me a big hug."

She and her daughter hold each other close. They are wearing identical coats, hats and gloves and no doubt would have gone for a 100% clothes match had the the school's brutal uniform policy not intervened - though her petite figure and ability to buy clothes for herself in children's departments means that a large sweatshirt and regulation hairband can't be completely ruled out.

Lovely Mummy is new to the area, and has yet to work out that some school run audiences are more sympathetic than others. "So, did you draw a picture of your guardian angel, like you said you would?" Her daughter nods, looking up at her with a radiant face.

"Woman's obviously got a paid residency in Lala land," says Bad Lindy, very nearly quietly enough not to be overheard. She's come to persuade either, or preferably both of us to thrust our children into the hands of the nearest gullible-looking parent and join her in a post-Christmas drinking session.

"I know it sounds silly," says Lovely Mummy, defensively, "but I'm quite sure everyone has their own guardian angel. You ask them something and tell them what sign you'd like them to send you as the answer. When I wasn't sure if we should move here or not, I asked for a feather if it was the right thing to do and two weeks later, a beautiful snow white feather floated down and landed in my hand. So I knew." With great dignity, she takes her daughter's hand and sets off down the road. We watch, temporarily silenced.

"Blimey," says Bad Lindy, "Let's hope she doesn't ask her guardian angel what it thinks of me. Forget feathers. Give it couple of weeks and she'll get a flock of pigeons flying over and crapping on her head."