Okay, so I’m no ‘earth mother’. In fact, I think I enjoy motherhood more the older they get. I hated being pregnant (fat, tired, sick, uncomfortable and you can’t fit into any of your clothes - what’s to like?), and I found their toddlerhood frustrating; I’m the original party pooper at Christmas, always sitting out of Trivial Pursuit (’Grandma! Stop answering the boys’ questions!’) and Newmarket because, frankly, I just don’t GET playing games. And trying to smile heartily and produce fake laughter while my 2 year old and I played our 47th game of Lucky Ducks was torture. It irritated the hell out of me that they screamed and ranted and insisted that Grandma and only Grandma could put their shoes back on when I could have done it just as easily, and potty training? I’d rather stick needles in my eyes.

So here I am, 12 years later and enjoying it a whole lot more. They’re quite happy to play on their X-box without my help (I’m rubbish at Gran Turismo - I always drive off the road and into the verge - my cyber-driving skills spookily reflecting my real ones, just without the sheep); they can wipe their own bums, get their own breakfast, and take the dog out for a pee. Life is sweet.

So, I’m relatively calm when considering that they’ll be on holiday from school for the next ten (count ‘em - and we’ve already had two!) weeks. My one worry is the weather. Yes, yes, I know it’s a British obsession, but blimey. Trudging round the field this morning being pelted with rain, the ruts between the lines of wheat ankle-deep in water, and Bertie sporting his sheepskin-lined doggie mac lagging miserably behind me, I could scarcely believe that this is July. One of my friends is convinced that Jack Frost has kidnapped summer and is holding her to ransom, probably in an igloo somewhere near Iceland. I’m almost expecting to open a jiffy bag containing a severed finger and a ransom demand. Two boys stuck indoors for the entire summer holiday, fighting over whose turn it is to be Captain Jack Sparrow, is a far cry from sunbathing in the garden with a good book and a cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc, listening to the far away laughter of children playing in the fields that I was envisaging.

Ah well, it could be worse. Game of Lucky Ducks anyone?

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