AT this time of year, three little words are guaranteed to strike terror into the hearts of schoolchildren everywhere: Back To School. And you see them everywhere, in shoe shop windows, in clothes shops, stationers' and high street chain stores.

In fact, they have been emblazoned all over town ever since the children broke up from school, a constant, gloomy reminder that the holidays will be over before we know it.

As the mother of five children, just the thought of it fills me with dread. Not because I can't bear to let the little darlings out of my clutches - I'll be gleefully waving them off on the school bus every morning.

What I detest is the mad, frantic rush to get the school shoes, uniforms, games kits, football boots and haircuts sorted in the week before school starts. And, as we know our children tend to have growth spurts during the summer, most of us are crowded into the same shops trying to do it all at the last minute.

It must be one of the worst jobs of parenthood. Taking one or two of the boys shopping for clothes is a nightmare at the best of times. If only the clothes fairy would come in the night and place neatly folded new clothes in their drawers. They hate trying things on, and loath being dragged round shops.

This task involves taking the whole, surly, reluctant gang of them round lots and lots and lots of shops. They'd rather be playing football. Come to think of it, I'd rather be playing football, or rugby, or bungee jumping from the top of a 600ft crane. Anything but this.

The sheer scale of the strategic planning involved in the Back To School shop has turned it into the equivalent of a major military operation. "You and you, cover that side, your job is to take the trousers, I'll check out the pumps. Keep your heads down. Don't let the others distract you. We'll rendezvous at 1100 hours beside the pencil cases."

Then there is the battle over the haircuts. They like it long, so I let them grow it over the holidays. But the school rules say it has to be above the collar. I give the barber his brief and tell him to take no prisoners.

In the shoe shop, there's open warfare. It's hot and sweaty and full of parents and children fighting for the sales assistants' attention. In one of the larger shops, they issued us with numbered tickets as we walked through the door. I left when I realised they were serving number 10. I was 32.

Buying shoes used to be so simple when I had one or two children. I would wander around from shop to shop, finding the perfect pair. Now, anything that fits will do: "I don't care if it's got a Barbie on the side, we'll take it."

Of course, it's not just shoes we have to buy. They also need trainers for games and rugby or football boots as well as pumps. Multiplied by four (the little one, thankfully, hasn't developed Imelda Marcos-type tendencies yet, although he does grow out of his shoes every three months) it's enough to make any parent long for the days when children walked barefoot to school.

Still, this time next week, it will all be over. Shops will be dismantling their Back To School displays and clearing the shelves stacked with pumps, pencil cases and book bags.

They need the room. After all, there aren't many shopping days left until Christmas...

THE 13-year-old returned from his first school trip abroad the other week. I picked him up at 5am from the coach park. "It was great," he enthused, waving goodbye to his mates, his pockets bulging with empty French sweet and chocolate bar wrappers. "So what did you think of the Normandy Landing beaches?" I asked. "Nothin' much," he grunted. The Bayeux Tapestry? "Boring." So, did you use your French much? "Nah." What did you learn, then? "That French people all speak English." So, the £400 we paid for the trip wasn't totally wasted then.

I CAUGHT the six-year-old, who likes to busy himself cutting out and sticking things, wandering around this morning muttering to himself: "Stupid house, stupid, stupid house." What's the matter? I asked. "This house doesn't have any cardboard boxes. Why can't we have a house with lots of boxes?" It's not something estate agents ever think of, is it?

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