Riding your little scooter up and down the path? Wear these skateboarding knee pads, elbow pads, thick sweater and pants and a helmet or you don’t go.
First day of high school? Let me walk you to the bus stop in case there are any paedophiles or fast cars lurking to take you from me.
WMD? Keep your mobile switched on at school in case we are bombed and I need to get hold of you.
My kids never stood a chance, really, and these are just a few of my mistakes with Tory Boy; never mind what I did to poor Spud.
But today, something wonderful happened: Tory Boy phoned (no, that’s not it; especially as he yammered on for thirty minutes while my cereal milk went cold). He told me that his philosophy lecturer threw a book across the classroom to illustrate a point and there was just one gasp of horror – Tory Boy’s. He stayed afterwards to remonstrate with the tutor, and refused to accept ‘But it was an old book…’ as an excuse. Now I know I was right to read to my babies in the womb.