EVEN if I say so myself, I wasn't bad at art when I was at school. I even managed to scrape a respectable A-level. And I'm delighted to say that it looks like that talent has rubbed off on my 12-year-old daughter.

She takes her art very seriously. Ever since she was a toddler, she's loved drawing and colouring and it's paying off because she keeps getting top marks for her homework.

Her latest task was to draw various parts of a face in different positions.

She'd drawn two very well-shaded eyes - one open and one closed - a couple of ears from different angles, a nose, and a rather serious-looking mouth.

"Mum, I need to draw a smiling mouth now. Can I draw yours?" she asked, as Sunday evening wore on. And so my wife had to sit on the settee, watching a serious medical documentary on the telly, with the maddest fixed smile you've ever seen, not daring to move.

She could only speak in a way reminiscent of a very bad ventriloquist: "Gan I ag a gup og gee glease?" she said after half an hour or so of posing.

"I beg your pardon?" I said.

"Gan I ag a gup og gee?"

"Ah, you want a cup of tea," I translated. Naturally, I made her one but it was cold by the time the drawing was finished and she was allowed to drink it. It was 10pm by then and the artist was told it was time to draw the curtains upstairs and go to bed.

"But I haven't finished my homework yet," she protested. "It's got to be in by tomorrow."

"Well, what have you got left to do?" Mum asked.

"I have to do a wrinkled nose," she said.

"Well, don't worry - Dad'll get up early with you and wrinkle his nose, won't you, Dad?"

What is a dad supposed to do when he's put on the spot like that? I had no choice but to agree. I was woken from my dream at 7am with a sharp nudge and a reminder that I'd promised to get up and be a nose model. Hannah was already waiting for me downstairs with her sketchpad and pencils at the ready. I positioned myself on the settee, still half asleep, and duly scrunched up my nose.

"Right, Dad, you have to keep still," she said.

I'd always fancied being a model - being asked to sit for an artist who liked the look of my features. But I never imagined it would be like this.

You try wrinkling your nose and not releasing it and see how long you can last. It's torture - much harder than smiling.

"You look like you're doing an impression of a pig," remarked my wife, thoughtfully.

After five minutes, my piggy face started to ache. After ten minutes, I felt like I'd been kicked in the hooter by a horse. After 15 minutes, the pain forced me to relax my nose, just for a second.

"Dad, you mustn't move," snapped Hannah.

"I couldn't help it - I was desperate," I protested, wrinkling my nose again and assuming the position.

"It's not the same," she said. "The wrinkles are different."

To my horror, she started rubbing out the drawing so she could start again.

"Now, keep perfectly still," she instructed. She ended up getting a 10+ and the teacher wrote "Excellent piece of work" on the bottom.

They say you have to suffer for your art - no-one knows that more than me.

* I'd love to hear about your homework nightmares. Write to me at Dad At Large, The Northern Echo, Priestgate, Darlington, DL1 1NF.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

CLIFF Davey, of Yarm, writes about the time his grand-daughters, aged seven and five, were staying.

The younger of the two, Imogen, climbed into Grandma and Grandpa's bed for a snuggle while they were having a morning cup of tea and a biscuit.

"Can I have a biscuit?" asked Imogen.

Grandpa couldn't resist the request, despite knowing that Imogen wasn't normally allowed to eat biscuits in bed.

"We won't have to tell your Mummy and Daddy or Grandma and Grandpa will end up in the naughty corner," he said.

Quick as a flash, Imogen retorted: "It'd be a tight fit, wouldn't it!"

CLIFF'S grandson Alex, aged two, was out for a walk with his mum and they were passing a cemetery where a gravedigger was preparing for a burial. "Look, Mummy," cried Alex. "Mole!" It turned out that Alex's dad had been having all kinds of problems with his lawn at home.

* It's coming soon. Dad At Large 3 - Whose Paper Round Is It Anyway?

On sale at Ottakar's bookshop in the Cornmill Centre in Darlington and through Northern Echo offices, priced at £5. Watch this space.