In my recent state of confusion I must have asked my mother if she would cook a turkey and bring it down for Christmas Day.

I remembered we'd invited my parents and brother for the festive lunch but suffering from winter illness, the stress of moving house and my brain shrinking due to pregnancy - I'd clearly forgotten the turkey request because last week I pestered my husband to order a big, organic bird.

It was only during a casual phone conversation with my mum this week, during which I mentioned that my husband had been to the butcher's to pay a £10 deposit, that she reminded me she had already ordered a boned turkey from her local butcher's.

"We agreed that I would cook the meat and you'd do all the trimmings," she said.

"I did?" I said.

"Yes, weeks ago," she insisted. "You said you were nervous about doing it."

I had a mini flashback at that point but my memory of the conversation was mum had said she'd be pushed for time to cook the thing and that she would rather provide a vegetarian quiche.

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," she pointed out. "You'll have to cancel your turkey."

"Or you could cancel yours," I said. "I really don't mind cooking it now that I've found an easy-to-follow guide in last year's December issue of Good Housekeeping."

"But I put my order in two weeks ago," said my mum, her feathers clearly ruffled by my apparent change of heart.

"But I didn't know that," I said.

However, suspecting that she was probably right about me having asked her to cook the bird, and not wanting for us to get into a stew over the whole thing, I capitulated.

I subsequently phoned my husband at work to find out what we stood to lose if we cancelled our order and discovered that the first thing to go would be his temper.

"We're the hosts on Christmas Day, therefore, we should be cooking the turkey," he said, getting into a bit of a flap. "Tell your mother to cancel hers."

"I can't," I squawked. "I've already told her she can do it and we will do the rest."

He then gave me a roasting. "Well, that's just typical. Why couldn't you be more firm with her. Why do you always give in whenever it comes to anything to do with your parents."

"I don't," I screeched. "That's not fair. I've agreed to her request because it's my fault the confusion arose."

I then had a sleepless night worrying about how I would resolve the familial conflict.

By 5am I had to conclude that, in the general scheme of Christmas, this was a fairly minor skirmish and it could all be quickly settled by me phoning up to cancel the order and reimbursing my husband with his £10 deposit.

So that's what I did. And I immediately felt happier. Except . . . now I can't remember whether my mum said she'd be bringing a Christmas pudding or whether I said I'd try to make one.

I can't face a repeat scene and yet more reminders about how dim I've become recently, so maybe I'll make one.

I'm bound to get boiled either way.