MEN never grow up - at least that's what women like to think. That's why we still play with train sets and Scalextrics.

But sometimes it strikes me that women don't grow up either.

Take Pop Idol for example. Like millions of other families, we've been addicted to the TV talent programme.

As you probably know, it came to a wildly exciting climax last Saturday, with Will and Gareth fighting out the final. And I found myself caught up in a Pop Idol catfight between the two girls in my life - my daughter, aged nine, and my wife, aged, well, I'd better not say.

My little girl was firmly in Gareth's camp: cuter than Will, with spiky hair, an angel's voice, and a huge appeal to the younger generation.

My big girl, who's never got over Donny Osmond, wanted Will to win: he's got a significantly bigger chin than Gareth but appeals to older women with his easy smile and a sexier, more soulful voice.

I wasn't bothered who won. I was happy just to put my feet up and laze in front of the telly. It had been a long week and there are times when you just want to be an idle pop.

Fat chance. Little girl and big girl bickered throughout the show. I imagine it wasn't too different from the way big girl used to argue with her sister when she was a little girl about Donny being better than David Cassidy. (She even had a Donny hat!)

The fur really started flying when the phone lines opened. Cunningly, little girl had snaffled the phone early and was waiting with her finger poised and Gareth's number scribbled down.

Oh no - it was engaged. Big girl took her chance, snatched the phone and keyed in Will's number: "It's engaged," she said, but refused to hand back the phone. She hit redial. "Engaged." Redial again. "Engaged." Little girl tried to wrestle the phone back but big girl resisted. "Engaged."

But it hadn't been engaged at all. Big girl had secretly registered four votes for Will and mockingly waved four fingers in little girl's face before running off to hide the phone.

They chased each other round the house until little girl stomped off upstairs because she couldn't find the phone.

Big girl finally realised she'd gone too far and coaxed her back downstairs by telling her where the phone was, but by then I'd had enough. How could I relax with all that screaming and foot-stamping going on?

There were a couple of hours before the result, so I decided to pop into town for a take-away curry. Little girl, panic-stricken, rushed over: "Daddy, promise you won't vote for Will while you're out. Promise, promise."

Naturally, I promised. By the time I got back, little girl had managed to get through for Gareth four times to equalise the score.

When Ant and Dec declared the shock result - that Will had won - tears welled up in little girl's eyes and big girl suddenly came over all motherly: "Don't worry, Gareth'll be fine - they'll both be pop idols."

Choking on a mixture of chicken tikka and rank hypocrisy, I phoned another middle-aged mum from work who'd gone to a wedding reception and left me with strict instructions to ring the result through on her mobile.

History will show that Will won Pop Idol and we've had a week of frenzied debate about whether the phone lines were fixed. Rubbish. The simple truth is that mums are to blame.

THE THINGS (DESPERATE) DADS DO

IT was the night before Valentine's Day and I looked at the office clock. It was 8pm and I'd forgotten to buy a pressie.

Panic set in. Through the door, I spied the framed George Clooney poster hanging on my secretary's wall.

* Rang her home number: "Er, you know your George Clooney poster? Don't s'pose you fancy selling it do you?"

* From next week, Dad at Large and Mum at Large will appear in this column on Thursdays.

Published: 15/02/02