A word in your shell like....

The phone rang in an irritable fashion. It could only mean one thing.....

'Good morning' I said cheerfully, 'you're through to Matricide Anonymous. How may I help you?'

I could picture my mother's eyes rolling in her head, like the line of lemons in a one-armed bandit.

'I've been thinking' she snapped, 'about your lack of prospects.' This is one of her favourite themes - my inability to settle down.

'Thank you, Jane Austen. Was there anything else? I'm just about to iron my crinolines.'

But my mother's not easily deflected by sarcasm.

'Elizabeth Blake has a lovely son, and we've decided you should get together. He's in medicine. And he's very nearly your height.'

I sighed. "Mother, we're no longer in the 1820s; I don't need you to matchmake. Anyway, Len Blake's not 'in medicine' - he sells surgical supports. He's got that shop near the hospital, called 'Truss Me, I'm a Doctor'. And,' I added, 'as far as I know, he's otherwise inclined.'

My mother tutted. 'His religious beliefs are of no interest to me. I've invited him for afternoon tea tomorrow, so make sure you're here too.' And with that she hung up.

You may well wonder why I don't tell her to mind her own business, but it's impossible. It would be like asking Donald Trump to respect Mexicans, or Muslims, or women......