'My mum says I can have a dog for my birthday.'

'That's nice. When's your birthday, Kyle?'

'In two years. Or four. And when it's my party I'm having a disco, only not with girls.'

Natasha tuts.

'You can't have a disco with no girls.'

'I might have some. Just not you.'

Natasha doesn't seem particularly worried by this.

'When it's my party I'm having a magician, and swimming. And a disco.'

Kyle looks rather crestfallen, and starts kicking the table leg while he carries on winding his wool.

Finlay puts his hand up. Bless.

'I don't want to do knitting. It's crap.'

The rest of the group giggle.

I think I'll just pretend I haven't heard: I'm pretty sure we don't say crap in school, however much we might be tempted.

'Boys don't do knitting. Only girls do.'

He puts his pom-pom down and fixes me with a very determined look.

'Well, clever boys do, Kyle. A long time ago the men used to do all the knitting, in special groups called guilds, and you had to be very good to join them.' I'm quite pleased with my vaguely educational answer, but he carries on looking at me. 'And all the sailors in the navy used to learn how to knit, so they could fix their sails, and the soldiers in the army did too, so they could make socks and mend their uniforms. It's no good being in the middle of a big battle with no socks on.'

He picks up his pom-pom, just as Mrs Tindall comes over to congratulate them on their progress, and then we're tying off and cutting and trimming, with very blunt scissors, and then I've got a whole new group of expectant faces, and my skirt is covered in tufts of wool.

'Could you help Mrs Channing if she brings her group over to join you? She's having a bit of trouble.'

Like I didn't see that one coming.

'Sure.'

Mrs Channing brings her group over and the children all squash round the table.

'How does it go again, Miss?'

They're learning a rhyme to help them remember how to knit a stitch: In through the front door,

Around the back,

Out through the window,

And off jumps Jack.

Unfortunately one of the smaller boys turns out to be called Jack, so he's showing us how good he is at jumping until Mrs Channing rallies and starts on a quick bit of number work, and we all start counting our stitches, with answers ranging from three to nine, holding up our fingers and counting together and checking our needles, by which time half of us have dropped them on the floor.

'One two four six.'

I'm not sure if Michael, who's sitting next to me, is doing some special kind of binary maths, or he's just not that good at number bonds, so I put my needles down and count on my fingers slowly.

'One two three four five six.'

He grins.

'I miss out five, because I don't like it. I like four. And seven. That's my favourite.'

'Oh, right. What about three?'

'Sometimes I quite like it.'

I think he's either a budding maths genius, or he's one of life's Challenging Learners.

He looks down at his needles and sighs.

'In through the front door. And off jumps Jack.'

We finally get six vaguely square shapes and I help them cast off and then it's playtime, thank God, followed by another round of pom-poms and then story time, during which I almost nod off. So it's quite a shock to find myself standing in the playground waiting for the boys to come out, and I'm wondering if I can have a nice little sleep when we get home, before I start on the ironing, which is reaching epic proportions in the cupboard under the stairs.

Jack's had a good day, but Archie's not pleased when he eventually comes out, trailing his packed-lunch bag along behind him.

'We had to do stupid knittin'. And it was meant to be choosing time.'

'I bet you'll be very proud when you see your knitting on the banner.'

'No, I won't. I wanted to do cars in the home corner.'

He swings his packed-lunch bag around and then releases it, just in time to narrowly miss Horrible Harry, who is throwing some sort of fit with Annabel.

'Go and pick that up, Archie.'

'No.'

Jack sighs, and goes over to pick up the bag.

Harry is now clinging on to the railings while Annabel tries to pull him off and keep a smile on her face. Thank God she's too distracted to make a formal complaint about flying lunch bags.

Connie's laughing.

'Harry has extra maths today perhaps, or French? The lessons he loves so much?'

Annabel was boasting about his prowess at French classes and some kind of special boffin maths last week; but it doesn't look like Harry's too keen.

Archie's decided to be penitent.

'Sorry, Mum.'

'Say sorry to Jack he had to pick it up.'

'Sorry, Jack.'

'It's all right, Arch. I used to do that, when I was only five.'

'But I'm nearly six now.'

Jack ignores this.

'What's for tea, Mum?'

'Cheese omelettes?'

They both pretend to vomit.

'Or fish fingers, for people who aren't being annoying.'

By the time the first guests arrive for Archie's party I'm perilously close to complete hysteria. I hate the bit just before parties, when there's still time to produce some dazzlingly stylish backdrop, if only you knew how. But once we get going I feel much calmer, which is strange since I'm trying to help Connie pass the parcel whilst simultaneously discussing sausage rolls with Gran and the timing of the bonfire with Martin.

Reg has tracked down a few fireworks and a boxful of packets of sparklers, and he and Mr Pallfrey have been in the garden for most of the day filling buckets with sand, and burying rockets in the flowerbed by the back wall, with Trevor helping with the digging. Mr Pallfrey's been busy making a start on the garden for the Seaside in Bloom competition, so at least it's looking tidier now, even if it's all gone a bit bare now all the weeds have gone. The Diva's due any minute, and there are already a couple of photographers by our front gate, much to Jane Johnson's amusement, who posed for them when she dropped Seth off.

Martin's wearing the bobble hat Elsie knitted for him, which makes him look like he's out on day release, but she's still having a major sulk about the barn, so I think he's trying to be as conciliatory as he can, without actually promising to stay living at home for all eternity. So far he seems to be meeting with a fair amount of tutting and pursed lips, but you've got to give him marks for persistence.

'Shall I light the fire now then, so it's got going by the time they've had their tea?'

'Please.'

'It's just possible this bloody hat might fall into the flames by mistake.'

'Good plan. Only make sure the kids don't see. I really don't need Archie getting the idea that fire is the solution for clothes you're not keen on.'

He laughs.

'I'll bear that in mind. Actually, it's not so much the hat that I mind, it's the bobble.' He shakes his head, and the bobble moves.

'I see what you mean. Still, she means well.'

He gives me a Look.

'Anyway, thanks for helping, Martin. I'm sure there are better things you could be doing with your Saturday.'

'Oh no, I loved bonfires when I was little. Still do, actually. I'm having quite a few at the barn you must bring the boys out. I think they'd enjoy it.

'We'd love to.'

Actually, I'm not sure bringing them to a building site with bonfires is exactly top of my list of things to be doing in the near future.

'How are you feeling?'

'Fine. Oh, you mean ... fine. Great.'

He's blushing.

'Is that her arriving then? There's quite a lot of flashing going on in your front garden, if you get my drift.'

Elsie's opening the front door as we walk into the hall, to see Ellen posing for snappers before sweeping up the path. I notice Martin quickly takes his hat off, which leaves his hair standing up in little tufts, and I'm tempted to lick my fingers and flatten them down, like I do with Archie, but thankfully I manage to resist.

'Hello, darling, hi, Martin.'

She looks amazing, in very high-heeled boots and a tiny tweed skirt with a fabulous leather coat.

I'm still in my stretchy black skirt, which is now much shorter than it used to be, with black woolly tights that I used to wear when I was pregnant with Archie. I thought I'd thrown them out, but they reappeared in the back of my sock drawer, like magic, which was a lucky break otherwise I'd be in socks. The local shops don't seem to sell giant tights, so they're on my list for the next trip into Canterbury. And my green jumper's a bit tighter than I meant it to be, but I can't quite keep up with my ever-expanding chest.

'Great jumper, darling.'

She kisses Martin, which makes him retreat into the garden pretty sharpish.

'Here, let me hang your coat up.'

'You're right about his hair, much better. I think we should definitely keep him on your list for later.'

'I haven't got a list for later, and I'm having a hard enough time with his mother as it is, so stop it. Do you want a drink, or something to eat? Mark's in the kitchen with a fabulous fish soup, and Antonella and Salvatore are here, Connie's mum and dad, and they're lovely. And Gran's making sausage rolls. So take your pick.'

'God, the noise is amazing. It reminds me of that football thing I did last year.'

'They'll quieten down when they have tea. Well, a bit.'

'So what can I do to help?'