June 4

I was expecting high levels of hormonal lunacy and acts of depraved self-interest as the nervous excitement of a new half term kicks in, but the mothers surpassed even their lofty standards this morning.
It was back to school after the break for Superkid’s class and straight into a special 'one-off show and tell session’ based around growing plants.
Why is it that these mad mothers take homework instructions as no more than a starting point from which to go on a crazed journey of self-aggrandisement?
We were asked – well actually the kids were asked but since when did that ever stop the parents from taking over? Family pride at stake you know – anyway, we were asked to take a picture of Superkid standing next to his favourite plant in the garden.
He then had to write a few sentences about why he likes it. Simple.
So how did that straightforward order transform itself into children wandering to class dragging mature triffids laden with deadly fruit?
‘Oh, it’s just something we grew during the holiday,’ barked Germanic Automaton as her offspring peered through the swaying boughs of a gently weeping willow he had allegedly potted up in an idle moment.
Excuse me? You grew a 12ft willow tree during a one-week half term holiday? What have you been feeding it and why don’t you feed your malnourished child the same diet?
‘Saffron’s favourite plant is saffron,’ Saffron’s mother simpered quietly. ‘We are growing it, frightfully expensive in the shops you know.’
‘Did you name her after her favourite plant?' I asked, keeping a perfectly straight face.
‘Yes, we did,’ confirmed Saffron’s mother.
‘At that point how did you know it was her favourite plant?’
‘Well, err, err. Anyway it’s her favourite plant.’
To prove the fact, Saffron had brought some of her saffron in with her. In fact she had brought two trays of saffron bulbs in with her. Why?
After leaving her saffron on the side by the art cupboard for the day, Saffron and Saffron’s mother took Saffron’s saffron home again.
So that was nice.
Although aware that I am on thin ice and could end up in hot water without a leg to stand on following my shambolic Ofsted parenting grades, I am making it my mission to unsettle the Cappuccino Clan with inconsequential asides this term.
I started well this morning when I spotted a squadron of the clan’s sportier members trotting off to tennis coaching with their racket packs on their backs.
I rushed over.
‘Nobody told me we're having a golf day,’ I said excitedly.
Total blank.