Janet Christie's Mum's the Word - Why you don't want your children to sleep through the night

I know I should have stayed in to watch celebrities baking, but after a modest night in the pub it’s only the back of 11 when I arrive home to find myself locked out. Youngest has turned in because she’s sensible - we’ve to be up at six and she’s locked up (see, sensible), but left the keys in the lock and has always slept like a mythical creature - Sleeping Beauty, the Kraken, take your pick.

After 20 minutes of bell ringing, door banging and shouting at her window because she’s only feet away (I can hear her phone ringing - that’ll be me) during which time Biggie Smalls and Missy Elliott join me and are sent on repeat missions through the catflap to wake her, she still doesn’t stir.

I know it’s 20 minutes because a neighbour appears to inform me as much and to tell me to shut up, which is effective, because the sight of him clad only in boxers waving his arms around and shouting does indeed render me speechless (and is seared onto my retina for ever), plus the force of his door slamming will surely wake Youngest.

That hope flickers and dies as I continue to stand in the dark and rain, surrounded by cats (Pat Stanton from next door having joined in with the collective kitty schadenfreude - ‘now she knows how we feel, sitting on concrete in the rain’).

It’s time for a plan B.

I’ll sleep in my car. It’s right outside and Youngest might wake and see the 14 missed calls and messages. But the car doesn’t lock any more. Maybe not.

Children? I knew there was a reason I had three, two now in their own flats, yay! Eldest and partner? They’ve been to their dancing class and might be asleep. Middle? He’ll be awake, plus - and I’m ashamed of this - he may have a vape as mine has died and I’m starting to crave (I’ll be stopping soon).

As my phone dies too, I make a last call, and ten minutes later Middle comes over the hill on his trusty steed (white van). “Always got time to rescue my maw,” he says.

“Sorry. But that’s us quits now,” says Youngest by way of non-apology next day.

“I locked you out once. Years ago!” I say.

“Yes. And now I’ve locked you out once too. So far...”