The Mother's nostrils twitched in anticipation. "Lovely!" she said. "Smells like we're having pork chops for lunch. I was getting fed up with all that pasta and noodles."

I sniffed too. "Well, somebody's having pork chops for lunch but it isn't us," I said. "We're having marinated tofu and a rice salad - much better for us than fatty meat."

The Mother looked as if she might cry.

"One of our neighbours is having a barbecue," I said, opening the back door into the garden.

I didn't want to admit it but those pork chops did smell very good.

The Mother sighed: "It's always the same. As soon as the sun shines, people start going into their gardens and cooking all the sorts of lovely food I like but you won't buy. It's not fair."

"Well, as someone who's trying to lose weight, I don't think it's fair that as soon as the temperature starts pushing 30C slim people start wearing bits of clothing that leave nothing to the imagination," I said. "Makes me feel like a sumo wrestler."

"You wear far too many clothes for a sumo wrestler," said The Mother.

"Now look here ..." I said, but she changed tactics.

"Why don't we get a barbecue? It would be nice," she said.

"Because you don't like eating al fresco," I replied.

"I wouldn't mind eating outside though," she said.

"No you wouldn't," I said. "You won't even sit in a pub garden with a drink and a packet of crisps or eat an ice cream on the seafront in case you're attacked by wasps."

The Mother was not deterred: "If we had some nice garden furniture - a table with one of those big parasols, perhaps, and some comfortable chairs with cushions so you don't get ridges on your bottom - it would be a real pleasure to eat outside."

For once I found myself agreeing with her.

We are always being told by those television lifestyle gurus that the garden should be regarded as another room of the house in the summertime.

It should be as welcoming as a living room with a cosy log fire in the winter or as inviting as a well-stocked fridge after two weeks on the cabbage soup diet.

"That's not a bad suggestion. Let me think about it," I said. I thought The Mother would be pleased but she just shook her head.

"That's what you said when I told you I thought we should have a garden shed," she said.

"You've been thinking about that for two years and by the time you've decided I shall be long gone. I won't need a garden shed then."

Feeling that the discussion was getting a bit morbid I decided we needed a treat and to hell with the consequences.

While The Mother was ruminating on her own mortality - or possibly contemplating a G and T down by the hostas - I slipped out to the local shops.

When I returned there were two large and deliciously fatty pork chops in my bag.

The Mother was nowhere to be seen so I popped the chops under the grill with some tomatoes and mushrooms - and went upstairs to my bedroom.

About ten minutes later there was a shout and The Mother's head popped round the door.

"Smells like we're having burnt pork chops for lunch ..." she said.