Indulging in a spot of displacement activity - ie savouring the full, rich body of a cup of aromatic coffee, while listening to radio, while supposed to be working.

Over airwaves woman, taking part in discussion on health service rationing, was arguing that spending money on treatment for elderly was merely prolonging the inevitable - and waiting lists would be much reduced if we faced up to this.

In sitting room telephone was ringing.

So forced to snap out of mid-morning torpor, get up and answer it.

"Did you see your father on Richard and Judy?" said the voice of Lucy, who obviously thought the question was a good enough reason to interrupt me when I was supposed to be working.

"No," I replied. "I don't really have time to watch Richard and Judy. What was he doing?"

Before letting me in on what my aged parent had been up to, Lucy decided to take umbrage at implied criticism of herself, ie she had nothing better to do than watch Richard and Judy, in between sessions at the gym and overseeing Nanny's schedule, while I was too busy juggling work and children to indulge in any such trivia.

"I seem to remember several conversations we've had about things we've both seen," she said huffily and I was forced to explain that since R and J have changed channels and times I've been unable to watch as new time clashes with general household mayhem, following Rugrats' return from school and nursery.

"I used to watch when it was on in the mornings and I was supposed to be working and looking for inspiration for story ideas," I told her, not wanting to give the impression that I simply slumped on the sofa for large part of mornings, wondering whether Richard ever emptied the dishwasher when the two were not slumped on their own comfy sofa.

"Well, all right," said Lucy. "Anyway, you know these new drugs they've been giving to rats to rejuvenate them? . . . Well, your dad has agreed to act as Richard and Judy's guinea pig and take some to see what happens . . . are you still there."

If I was momentarily silent it was because I was contemplating the prospect of father who, for most of my adolescent and semi-adult life, had done his best to pretend he was much older than he actually was (making ridiculous claims such as never to have heard of James Dean "Is he some modern actor?"and being absolutely delighted when school friends mistook him for my grandfather) now trying to reverse the ageing process and appear younger than his 70-plus years. Next thing I knew he'd be asking if I could get him tickets to see S Club 7.

Lucy went on, confirming my fears. "According to this American scientist who gave his rats the drugs, the effect was like watching them get up and dance the Macarena."

"I trust my father didn't get up and do the Macarena," I said.

"No," said Lucy. "But he is going to be on again at regular intervals so that we get a chance to see if the drugs are doing their stuff."

We arranged to meet for lunch later in the week, ended the call and I went back into the kitchen where the radio discussion was hotting up.

"I'm saying that you have to draw the line somewhere," woman who had originally heard was saying. "Unless you want to live in a world dominated by elderly people carrying on like teenagers . . . "