Anyway, my memory's not what it was since I had the kids, but I have to try to remember. Someone has to. What's that awful word? Multitasking. Women are meant to be great at that. But Rich, if you ask Rich to hold more than three things in his head at once you can see the smoke start to come out of his ears: the circuits have blown in there. I've heard women on the radio arguing that guys play up how useless they are in order to avoid doing stuff. Unfortunately, extensive scientific trials in the Shattock home have revealed that the inability to remember the dry cleaning and the dishwasher tablets plus the film for the camera is, in fact, a congenital defect, like colour blindness or a dicky heart. It's not laziness, it's biology.

On the endless drive down to Wales on Saturday, I was watching Richard, observing the way he can screen out the kids when he needs to, when there is a destination he has in mind. Life is a road for a man; for women it's a map - we're always thinking about side roads and slip roads and doubling back, while they simply plough on in the fast lane. Their only diversion is an occasional brilliant idea for short cuts, most of which turn out to be longer and more treacherous than the original route.

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"You have a child?" He seems interested, not appalled.

"Two. Or so they tell me. I don't see as much of them as I'd like. Emily will be six in June, she thinks she's Sleeping Beauty. Ben is one and a bit and you can't get him to stay still he's... Well, he's a boy."

Jack nods solemnly: "Amazing they're still making us. Strictly, we men should have been phased out with the stegosaurus. But a few of us wanted to stick around and see what the place would be like when you were running it."