"Well, once I'm dead, you'll be free", was her parting shot - that'll teach me to shut up

I think it may just be mothers are straight from Satan's personal collection of people. On the sly, and thus doubly wicked and evil.

I've been thinking darkly about my maternal relationship whilst window-cleaning this weekend. I rather like window-cleaning. I do a reasonably good job too, rarely any stripes, although it is not often I am allowed to do it because My Mum usually announces out of the blue that she's done it already.

My Mum rang me up on Sunday morning asking whether I wanted to go to mökki (the summer cottage). No, I said, I can't really, because the dog has a runny tum again, I'll be cleaning windows instead. Oh no, you mustn't, she said. Wait till I've brought you my special cleaning thing with a long handle. You can't be climbing onto chairs to reach up, not on the tenth floor. Mum, I don't have to climb onto chairs, I can reach just fine without. No you can't, I always have to climb onto chairs. Yes well you have higher ceilings and windows and you are a lot shorter than I. Well, remember to use vinegar water. No, I have Windus. OH. I never use Windus. Well I have it so I'm going to use it, okay? Okay, okay. I'll call you later to make sure you haven't fallen out of the window.

I have known many people, often women, who will never get over a certain bitterness towards their mums. I am pleased to report I do not feel it - but there are times I feel there could be reasonable grounds for it.

And I'll surely never be grown up.