She would never go to work in pyjamas," remarked Tony, the gorgeous urban housecleaner.

She, being the gorgeous new class teacher, the pyjamas being the ones I was wearing (underneath a long jacket - so they looked like linen trousers, rather than pyjamas) to take the rug rats to school.

Tony had overheard, or rather had listened to, the conversation I was having with "she" as he was waiting "to have a word with her" - like the rest of the increasing numbers of men suddenly bringing their children to school (Thomas included) - so they can make themselves look ridiculous by flirting with their offspring's teacher.

The fact that I was there at all (and still in pyjamas) was because she had specifically asked Thomas if I would come in for a word with her sometime.

"She obviously recognises the fact that I take all the decisions regarding rug rats and your recent trips to their class, with your tongue hanging out, have had nothing to do with their welfare," I told him when, having said I could have a lie-in while he took them to school, he suddenly reappeared, saying he had remembered she wanted to have a word with me, forcing me to leave house in more of a rush than usual.

Still, I managed to arrive five minutes before classroom doors opened and made my way through throng of men waiting to have their words.

They looked at me enviously when I was invited in.

I hadn't noticed Tony hanging around in the background when teacher adopted stern expression and asked if I wouldn't mind not giving eldest candy-floss for breakfast, as it had effect of making her extremely hyper for the rest of the day and having her whizzing round the classroom was unsettling for the rest of the children.

"I can't believe you let them have candyfloss for breakfast," said Tony in earshot of teacher, as if he would never commit such grave sin.

I was then forced to explain that I had had important deadline to meet last week and was trying to finish piece of work while rug rats were cared for courtesy of Ceebeebies when the telly blew a fuse and the childcare immediately disappeared in smoke, leaving me with no option but to bribe them into going up to room to play while I got on.

Chief negotiating rug rat somehow managed to get me to agree to a deal in which, for three quarters of an hour without interruptions they got to have whatever they wanted for breakfast for a whole week.

Because time was ticking, I agreed, not realising that she was not planning on choosing anything we already had but would force me to supermarket and seafront to stock up on supplies of sherbet, candyfloss and mint choc-chip ice-cream.

I and everyone else she comes into contact with have been paying for moment of weakness/desperation ever since.

"But you told Miss Gorgeous that you let her have candyfloss for a special treat, as it was her birthday," said Tony.

Which is when her expression softened and, instead of being cross with me for being irresponsible parent, she became conspiratorial and told me in hushed tones (which were not hushed enough to escape Tony's big flappers) that she had a pair of pyjamas exactly the same ...