WHAT was Tony Blair thinking of when he told the Sun newspaper on the eve of the General Election that he could perform five times a night "at least - I can do it more, depending how I feel"?

Cherie made it even worse when asked if he was up to it. "He always is," she grinned.

Perhaps, in a tired, unguarded moment, they thought it might impress a few Sun readers. But even as the words were out of their mouths, they must have realised their children would never forgive him.

Euan, Nicky and Kathryn, like spotty-faced youths everywhere, will have been disgusted, repulsed and revolted at the thought of their ancient, saggy parents getting it together under the duvet. Teenagers prefer not to dwell on the fact that their parents have obviously had marital relations at least once. Because this generation, like every other before it, likes to think it is the first to discover the attractions of the opposite sex.

Two of my older boys have recently discovered girls. I know this because they have started having regular baths. Without being asked. But, more to the point, girls have discovered them.

When I took them all swimming recently, it wasn't long before the older two attracted the attentions of a few pretty young girls in bikinis. While they played with a football, flexing their muscles and showing off their strength, the girls circled them a few times, giggling and whispering to each other as they did so.

I watched this particular ancient mating ritual with amusement. But then the boys caught my interfering mother's eye.

They stared at me icily. The message was clear: "Don't dare come near us or talk to us or act as if you know us. We have never seen you before in our lives. Just go away and leave us alone..." The usual sort of thing.

I couldn't help worrying, though, about how they were coping with all the turbulent emotions and surging hormones surrounding the dating scene.

Girls now seem more forward than we ever were. One of the boys has been phoned, texted and followed around by one girl asking him out. He's not interested, but she won't give up.

I broached the subject: "I remember, when I was your age and boys started asking me out. Sometimes it could be a bit full-on and I didn't really know how to handle it."

His jaw dropped. "Boys asked you out? You?" One of his younger brothers joined in: "Did you go out with boys before you married dad? Did you kiss them? Yeeuuuch." They started retching. This wasn't the reaction I was after.

"I've had lots of offers in my time, and so has your dad," I told them. But they weren't having it. Because they can't imagine anyone ever finding a pair of pathetic, wizened, old, decrepit wrecks like their mum and dad attractive. And the thought that we might fancy each other is just too much to bear.

If they ever do catch us hugging, kissing, or showing the slightest affection, there are instant fingers down the throat and loud vomiting sounds all round. That's if the two-year-old, a doting and extremely possessive mummy's boy, doesn't see us first. He simply shoves his father out of the way, screaming: "My hug, my kiss," as he leaps on top of me.

We find it easier to keep at least two feet apart at all times. But I tell the boys it could be worse. At least we haven't announced to the nation that we're at it like jack rabbits all night.

Poor Euan. Poor Nicky. Poor Kathryn...

OUR six-year-old insists he is still five because we haven't given him a birthday party yet. His birthday fell the week his dad was in hospital for a gall bladder operation, so we said we'd wait until he, and the weather, were better. But since we're no longer tied to a particular date, I keep putting it off. Having organised 40 parties in the last 13 years - never mind the 400 presents bought and wrapped and trips to various venues for the ten or so parties every year each of the boys is invited to - I feel birthday partied out. But how long can I get away with telling the five/six-year-old: "Sorry, it looks like rain again this weekend"?

I TOOK one of the boys to get new trainers last week. Despite costing £30, the pair he picked had a cheap rubber look. "What are they made of? Are they leather?" I asked the salesman. "Oh yes. They're synthetic leather," he replied. "What's synthetic leather?" I asked. "It's a man-made leather," he smiled. I was tempted to come back and pay him with Monopoly money. Well, it's real enough, isn't it?

Published: 12/05/2005