Embark on a tentative conversation with Sexy Domesticated Dad outside the school gates, our first alone since the beginning of term.

“How have you been, Lucy?” he asks.

“Fantastic,” I say. I stare at my feet and hop from one to the other to avoid catching his eye.

“Have you taken up morris dancing to fill in those long hours that were previously filled by lattes with me?” he teases. I take one step backwards and he takes one step towards me.

“Morris dancing has been off the curriculum since the Black Death,” I say. I step to one side. He follows suit.

“Look, I think we’ve proved that we can resist temptation,” he says abruptly, his face so close to mine that I can see my reflection in his eyes. I am about to capitulate to whatever he offers when Alpha Mum emerges from the school gates holding a damp handkerchief.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, wondering whether her husband has announced he’s going to marry his new girlfriend or her Nanny Stroke Boyfriend is returning to Poland or her money is frozen in an Icesave account.

“Much worse,” she wails. “The school has refused to move us into the first team for netball.”

“But your daughter isn’t any good at netball,” says Sexy Domesticated Dad.

“That’s irrelevant,” she babbles, a wild look in her eye. “I need to get into St Paul’s and to do that I need to be an all-rounder of the highest calibre, and to be an all-rounder of the highest calibre, I need to be in the first team for at least one sport, and not in defence because then it looks as though I’m the kind who stands back and waits for things to happen around me.”

“But if you’re an all-rounder of the highest calibre, that means you’re not an all-rounder,” I say.

“And aren’t you a bit old for school?” asks Sexy Domesticated Dad, with a puzzled look on his face.

“Not me, my daughter,” she says impatiently.

“But you said ‘I’,” insists Sexy Domesticated Dad.

“And I’m not going to be reduced to bribing the school with promises of new libraries or sports equipment like Yumski Mumski. I can only use tried and tested methods of persuasion,” she continues.

“Like what?” I ask, wondrously.

“Litigation,” she says.

“You mean you’ve threatened legal action if they don’t move your daughter into the netball first team?” asks Sexy Domesticated Dad in astonishment.

“Unlike Russia, we live in a proper democracy,” says Alpha Mum imperiously. “I have utter faith in the British legal system to resolve problems. Are you heading off for a coffee?”

“Er, no, we’re going morris dancing,” I say, beating a hasty retreat in the opposite direction, closely pursued by Sexy Domesticated Dad.

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