YOU'LL have to excuse me if I smell a bit strange. Blame it on the boys.

Being the mother of sons, I thought there'd be things I'd never experience - borrowing of clothes, sharing of shampoos, oils, conditioners. Fat chance.

Years ago, when they were sensible enough not to be blinded by designer labels - and they were a lot smaller - the boys regularly borrowed walking boots, trainers, and sweaters from my wardrobe. Now the mere idea makes them recoil in horror. But there are other things...

I'm basically a shower person. But sometimes nothing hits the spot so much as a long leisurely soak in the bath. That's why I have a special selection of smelly bath oils, the sort that promise to relax you, moisturise you, wash your troubles away.

Gone. Cupboard shelf empty. Senior Son's got there first. Baths are more relaxing than showers, he says, when he comes home from a hard day at the pie face. Well yes, they would be if he had half a bottle of my expensive bath oil sloshing round him.

Which means all I'm left with is a giant bottle of something bright green which cost 29p for two litres and was probably overpriced. Also, it brings me out in a rash.

Most mornings I shower and hair wash at the health club. Shampoos, conditioners, mousses all live in my sports bag. But, of course, I keep a couple of bottles of my special organic, herbal, gently scented, highlighting, moisturising, conditioning, miracle working shampoo on the shelf in the shower. This morning, as I didn't go swimming, I tried to find it. Gone.

Oh, the bottle's there alright. So is the matching bottle of conditioner, both of which I'd used just once. They are now empty. All my miracle haircare over the boys' heads and down the plughole. I wouldn't mind so much if the boys actually had any hair to condition. But they both have hair so short they look as if they've just been deported from Euro 2000. It brings tears to their Granny's eyes as she fondly remembers their baby silky blonde curls, now reduced to a sort of challenging spiky fuzz, the sort of haircut that makes David Beckham look like an intellectual.

By the time I discover this, I'm in the shower with water cascading into my eyes. I grope around the steamy shelves and find a bottle of something. It's not even the good old family standby of Vosene. No, it's something dark and masculine in a black bottle. I slosh it on. It turns out to be a cheap supermarket shower gel for men. It smells disgusting. It's been clearly lurking round the shower since we tested men's toiletries for the Shop page about two years ago. The boys have since refused to use it and quite right too.

I don't know how many stars we gave it, but if it was more than one, we were too generous. It stinks. And so do I. Sorry.

I wouldn't swop the boys for anything of course, but I can't help thinking if I'd had daughters, there might have been a chance of my borrowing things from them - and it might have been something that smelled a bit sweeter....