Mrs C. ran in Rome and I faced my own marathon at home

How are the kids, are they ok?' It was Mrs Canavan on the phone, calling from Rome where she'd buggered off - sorry - I meant where she went at the weekend to run a marathon.

- Steve Canavan

"Yeah, they're fine," I replied, "the same as they were when you last called three hours ago."

'Ok, ok, there's no need to get ratty, I'm only asking.'

"I'm not getting ratty, I'm just saying you don't need to keep calling-they're fine.'

'Well, you could at least sound like you're missing me.'

Silence.

'Well, are you missing me?'

What I should have done here was lied and replied, "of course I am darling," perhaps quoting a spot of romantic poetry for good measure, "my heart aches within from missing you, my lips long for the feel of kissing you, right now all I need is to gently touch your skin, to look into your eyes and see deep within."

But what I actually said was, "no, not really-now if you don't mind I'm going because I've two kids to look after and they're currently knocking seven bells out of each other over who gets the bigger boiled egg."

This has always been a fault of mine, I tend to say what's on my mind.

Indeed on my first date with Mrs C many years ago we were sat in a bar drinking and she asked if I liked the trousers she was wearing, to which I replied no because they do nothing for your hips. 'What do you mean?' she asked. "Well, you've got quite wide hips," I replied.

My theory was that by being honest she'd realise she could always trust me not to be deceitful, but what actually happened is that she fled from the bar in tears and it took 37 phonecalls and lots of backtracking before she agreed to see me again.