Understanding Beckham's problem

THERE we were, my hubby and I, sitting in a café sipping our lattes when we both arrived at the same conclusion - we're jolly glad we don't have David Beckham's problem.

And no, we weren't discussing what he should do with his millions -although I wouldn't mind giving him some advice on the subject - but his inability to do his six-year-old son's sums!

Apparently he told a national newspaper recently that they leave him totally baffled.

Well, I really feel for him. If there's one thing that's destined to send a cold shiver running down my spine it's the sound of a child's voice asking for assistance with their homework.

When the smell of wax crayons and felt tip pens permeates my nostrils, I'm immediately back struggling to help colour in some portrait or other.

Or horror of horrors, trying to sketch images to accompany French or German words.

Just what exactly is the point of that by the way? I've never understood why learning a foreign language is dependent upon the ability to draw. Oh, the blood, sweat and tears that have been spent struggling to produce recognisable parts of the body. I've come over all hot just thinking about it.

It's a huge burden you see, when your children are still convinced of your infallibility.

Imagine how poor David must have felt when he realised that Brooklyn's maths assignment was out of his league.

It seems that it was eventually left to Victoria to help. I wonder if they played the 'Ask your father' - 'No, ask your mother', game like my hubby and I always did.

Of course it soon dawns on your offspring that perhaps mum and dad aren't brilliant at everything. Then as they approach their GCSEs they begin to wonder if you're actually any good at anything.

I'm sure Brooklyn, like our daughters, will soon work out who it's best to approach for which subject, which is okay as far as it goes. The trouble arises when both parents are devoid of talent in the required area.

Thankfully by the time our children were doing A-levels they hardly bothered asking for our help anymore.

Now their school days are over, my hubby and I can relax at last. We can sit back and reflect on those twenty one years and smugly savour our coffee knowing that we'll never again hear those ominous words, 'Can you help me with my homework?'

Well, at least I won't!

Have you noticed all the oddly shaped and strangely coloured fruit and vegetables that have been sprouting up in supermarkets lately?

Shops, it seems, are going out of their way to try and make things more appealing to children. Which is just as well as it appears that they are as reluctant to eat their “greens” as they ever were.

Now I never stayed for school dinners but my hubby did and he often recites the tale of how he used to fill his pockets with soggy tasteless cabbage in order to avoid the all knowing, all seeing eyes of the dinner lady, for whom a clear plate was everything. This sadly has left him with an aversion for cabbage for life. Ditto, lettuce.

There's just something about sprouts, broccoli and cauliflower, to name just a few, that makes most children react with disgust.

The other day I was attempting to encourage William, a young relative to eat up his veg. Knowing he loves heroic characters I thought I'd be clever and use that age old adage, 'They'll make you grow big and strong'.

A slight giggle was my only response.

Not wanting to be defeated I decided I'd take a completely different angle.

'I bet you didn't know,' I said lowering my voice, 'that carrots help you see in the dark.'

That got his attention. But I should have known better than to try and outwit a four-year-old.

'Don't be silly, Auntie Bev,' he laughed, 'carrots don't have headlights!'