If one's honest about it, spending time in a car with children is pretty ghastly.
The real me now may not be thin but she's got the cake and, if she likes, can eat it too.
I cry at everything, even the length of the queue at Sainsbury's.
There is an inherent tolerance and kindness in the state school teenagers I know.
Call me an over anxious, middle-class mum, but my eight-and-a-half-year old son looks very much, to me, like he's headed for a life of crime.
I was accorded the opportunity to learn by failing - albeit at the cost of a few honourable teachers' sanity - and now I realise what a rare and incredible luxury that is.