Comfort blankets of nonsense nuggets

MAKING A NOTE OF PARENTS' MAD AND FAB MUTTERINGS

- HANNAH JONES

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.

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.

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.