Date night. Two words which leave me shuddering in disgust. It’s not so much the getting ready – I’m actually quite partial to Mummy’s wardrobe, and there’s always a chance of a dab of powder and a smear of lippy coming my way if I keep her company as she dresses. It’s not the prospect of a babysitter either. I’m a savvy creature, and I can normally convince them that yes, I am allowed to stay up for the whole of X Factor, and yes, I usually get hot chocolate and hobnobs before I go to bed. So there’s a definite upside. But what really bothers me is the thought of what might happen once we’ve waved them off on their date.