I’m forever just a clumsy oaf in the eyes of my mum

I'm going to appear on the news so I text my mum to tell her. "You haven't been nicked have you?" she replies. I explain that I'm chairing a discussion amongst some young people about politics. "Make sure you don't fall over," she advises, helpfully.

A couple of days later, she comes over to the house. "Did you see me on the box?" I ask. "I could barely watch!" she cringes. "I just kept thinking, 'Any minute now the idiot's going to fall arse over tit!'"

No matter what I achieve in life, mum will never see beyond the clumsiness. If I told her I’d been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize she'd say: "Mind you don't trip up and hurt yourself at the ceremony, you know what you're like."

If I somehow got elected President of the United States, her only thoughts would surround the possibility of my slipping over in the nuclear control room and accidentally destroying the planet.

This perception of me is based on a couple of minor youthful calamities. Once, I slipped over and kicked my niece face first into a paddling pool. She nearly drowned. But these things happen to the best of us.

And then there was the time I tripped on the landing when her mate was visiting. But, come on! Who can honestly say they have never come careering down a flight of stairs in an open dressing gown exposing their flapping privates to a horrified family friend before?

Still, mum finds these things hard to forget. "I'm nothing more than a clumsy idiot to you, am I?" I moan. "No!" she protests, patting my head. "You're my special, handsome clumsy idiot."