Janet Christie: ‘We’re too close to death now’

Deep in the Yorkshire Dales, we’re setting off on a family day trip. This involves a convoy drive to the starting point. In my car I have my gang and my aunty, whom we’ve taken hostage to exploit her encyclopaedic knowledge of the terrain. But she comes with other benefits.

The boy bickering starts as I pull off. “Mum, tell him, he’s...”

“Shut up, we’re having none of that,” she says pleasantly.

Silence. Ha, love it. Youngest smirks too.

Guiding us up hill and down dale, aunty chats.

“I’d like to move, smaller place, less garden. But He won’t. Anyroad, we’re too close to death now.”

I snort. She’s 60.

We arrive and everyone waterproofs up. Youngest sidles up to me. “I’m freezing. Why is it snowing?”

“I told you to bring your fleece. And your coat.”

“Well, duh. I wasn’t cold in the house, was I?”

“Don’t speak to your mother like that,” says Aunty, cheerfully.

Hee, hee. I’m thrilled by the intervention. Suddenly my kids are behaving. The big guns of the parenting world are in charge. A fleece is produced. Youngest accepts it meekly, even trills politely, “Thank you very much,” then skips off with the Gore-Tex branch of the family.

I break in to a run behind her. Who knows how long I’d survive out here on my own?