Comfort blankets of nonsense nuggets

HANNAH. Marie. Jones. Whenever I heard a slow regurgitation of my name with the inclusion of my middle moniker, I knew I was in trouble.

- HANNAH JONES

If my mother ever-so-softly crescendoed her way up from Hannah to Marie and then landed on Jones, accompanied by her Big Eyes - I knew I was in trouble.

There was no shouting, no rowing, no outburst.

And if the Big Eyes were accompanied by the words "One... two..." I knew I'd better shift myself because not doing so would be catastrophic to my TV viewing/pop 'n' crisps quota.

MAKING A NOTE OF PARENTS' MAD AND FAB MUTTERINGS

Landing on three was unthinkable. I shudder at the thought, even now.

I haven't got kids but that hasn't stopped me from turning into my parents when speaking to my husband. I find myself using their sayings without realising - like when he put the big light on in the kitchen during a heatwave and I blurted out, "It's like Blackpool Illuminations in here!" followed by, "Do you think we've got shares in OVO?" Both classic Jones The Folks sayings.

Both my parents aren't well at the moment. It's been hard and emotional.