Mum knows best …

She does. It’s utterly true. Only I’m sometimes loathe to always admit it.

Throughout my life my mum has tried to impart to me her endless wisdom, as do, I don’t doubt, mums everywhere. Only I have a habit of not really listening, of thinking I know best, as do, I don’t doubt, all daughters.

My mum advised me not to get a glass table – said it would scratch and show all the dirt. A wooden table would be best. I went out and got a glass one, declaring that I would simply clean it every day. It sits in the dining room behind me now, covered in scratches and crumbs, and will be replaced by that wooden one as soon as we have spare cash.

My mum advised me not to get a wooden door for our recent extension – said it would rot and weather too quickly. A plastic one would be best. I went ahead with the wooden one, saying we would oil it every year and keep it nice. It too stands behind me now, blackened with condensation on the inside, and half-undercoated on the outside. It too will be replaced, one day, with that plastic one.

Need I go on? …

I always used to wonder why Mum felt the need to impart wisdom at every opportunity – until I had my own baby, and then I finally got it. Not only does Mum