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It was in the summer of 2001 and we were in the kitchen at home, it was mid-afternoon, my husband had just poured something sticky over me, when the kitchen door opened and my mother stepped inside. "Diana,........I............I am so sorry!" She turned and was gone in an instant.

Bob looked at me, shocked, he'd been caught doing something unmentionable to her daughter, would she ever forgive him? The fact that I had started the food fight had no relevance. My mother had seen what he was doing with that tin of Golden Syrup and it wasn't spreading it on his bread. I kicked his shin and laughed "Serves you right!" I snorted at him.

"What do you think she'll say?" he asked rather glumly.

I laughed again, "What she'll say, I cannot tell." I told him, "I'd be more interested in what she'll think!"

"Should I go after her?" He asked.

"In that state?" I asked. He looked down at himself. He was wet through, with Yoghurt in his hair and custard down his shirt front. "Look, give her time to get home and I'll ring her to explain." I added

"What is there to explain?" He asked, "It was obvious what we were ...

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