I remember once watching the marvellous comedian Dave Allen mimicking his children scouring the fridge for food.

Like little Nearnderthals he told how they flung open the fridge door with the barely intelligible chant of "anythingdecentinere" usually following by the wail of "theresnevereanythingdecentinthebloodyfridge".

I laughed along with my favourie Irish comic, little knowing that his impression would come back to haunt me.

NEARLY 15 years ago I cradled my newborn son in my arms, the proudest bloke on this earth.

On Friday I watched a snapshot of the Edgbaston lunch session between England and S Africa from the pub near the office...a very proud man once more.

AS ANYONE with more than one child will tell you it's not always easy to identify the true culprit in a situation.

Which is why I owe the bloke who knocked on my front door a heartfelt apology...he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I rang home the other day and my little girl answered.

Now eight-year-old girls are teetering on that brink between being very, very sweet and being trainee women capable of twisting poor blokes around their little fingers.

But what she told me when I called has left me wondering what bracket she falls into.

WHEN I was asked by my son's school to give a talk about journalism I didn't hesitate to say yes.

It would be my chance to "give something back" and to see for myself just how difficult this teaching lark really is.

MUMS and dads, I've just uncovered two new words which will boost your street cred, or rep as I believe it's now called, beyond belief.

I BROKE a golden rule last night...and it cost me dear.

FOR a Government that supposedly puts family first, Gordon Brown's party is doing a surprisingly good job at alienating every ordinary hard working parent.

Sky high food prices and fuel costs out of control all inevitably eat into any working tax credit or allowances that Whitehall deigns to dish out once you've slogged through the red tape.

But today we hear of yet another tax. This time to clobber guess who?....Yes, the motorist again.

THE annual row took place in one of our news conferences this week - and as always it provoked strong views from different parties.

It centred, as always, around the greedy grasping holiday companies who revel in ripping off those people who decide to have children.

"You should've thought of that before you had kids," bleated the free and easy among our number who can disappear off to foreign shores at the drop of a hat.

MY ELDEST lad wanted a new pair of jeans at the weekend so naturally I was treated to around two hours of charm, which included tea making and general compliments.

When we went to look at the items in question they were black and seemingly made of cardboard...in fact, like the kind of jeans that I used to wear as a kid that stood up on their own.

Just one difference - the price tag of £60.

We decided against the purchase, largely because I refused to spend that amount of money on jeans that always seem to end up halfway down his backside, with his (designer) boxers showing.

God I feel old!