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I’ve run out of kids to yell at, and have next to nothing to nag about. Actually I don’t like it, it’s far too quiet.

The significance of presents and commercialism on Mother's Day is just that, commercialism. I’d trade it all for a day with my girls, and if all that whispering and secrecy is about trying to get us all together even for an hour, it’s the best present I could hope for.

Just when I was starting to get that horrible feeling that something was desperately wrong, she came trotting around the corner with her bell jingling and we pounced on her like she had just returned from 20 years in exile.

For Jo Breen new white goods = domestic chores, so give me a holiday, car or jewellery anytime!

I, of no cooking skill whatsoever, had managed to get Friday night’s meal done (lamb shanks in the slow cooker – that’s not cheating, is it?), as well as a big pot of soup and some fried chicken pieces for wraps and rolls all done and dusted by 2.30pm. Nigella who?

Every year, my husband fails to get me my favourite chocolate treat at Easter.

The joy of an Easter egg hunt is now the domain of little nieces who get their big cousins to help build and decorate an Easter basket to collect their bounty.

When I got home from a party recently, I looked in our bathroom mirror and, to my horror, saw Alice Cooper’s sister looking back at me. The sisterhood failed me. I had mascara smudged halfway down my face — and not in a sexy, smoky eyes, Claudia Schiffer kind of way either.

Like many football fans — actually make that any sporting fan — I recognised and mourned the loss of Jim Stynes - a great athlete and all round good guy.

When Jo Breen's computer came to a grinding halt, her own meltdown also needed a reboot.