When I was younger and did totally catastrophic things that warranted me getting into Big Trouble such as hitting my little brother, horrifically failing important exams and inadvertently smashing irreplaceable pieces of bone china (a trait most unfortunately passed on to Toddler), the one silver lining in a sky of black clouds was when my parents would look on me pityingly and say: "The good thing about mistakes is that you can learn from them."

Aye, there's the rub: if only we could. If only we didn't keep making those same mistakes over and over: stop slapping younger members of the family, study conscientiously for three solid years instead of hoping that a quick squint at a text book five minutes before an exam was enough to merit an A* or even a grade G and placing expensive crockery on the edge of the table where a passing zephyr (or Toddler on a bike) could knock them to their shattering, heart-breaking end.

I'm sure that 50 per cent of my problems would be solved if I was more organised, thought rationally and didn't act on impulse. (And the other 50 per cent would be solved if I did).

Thus I would avoid those moments in my personal history which have traditionally been the cause of great consternation, such as going to town with money.

This always results in me frittering it away on some awful impulse buy which I think looks great in the shop but detest as soon as I get home and take it out of the bag.

My second mistake is to lose the receipt and then I have to go grovelling back to the shop where I will provide my own proof of purchase to the snooty shop assistant: "I bought it from here, honest."

The only sure-fire way of avoiding future mishaps is to listen to my mother. My mother is always right (except when she is wrong) but most of the time her observations of life are correct and I have found her advice most inspiring in times of trouble: 'Health is wealth' , 'where there is life there is hope', and don't over-fry aubergines.'

One of her other favourite comments is: "Never leave until tomorrow what you can do today" but unfortunately I am a bit slack in following this bit of important advice. I know that a stitch in time saves nine, but by the time I have located the sewing box, things have already fallen apart.

On any important occasion like Eid when we are expecting a lot of guests, I rush to the bathroom at the last minute wrestling with face mask, toothbrush, conditioner and an epilator, which is designed to pull unwanted hair out at the roots, but looks like a frightening instrument of torture to be used only in the beauty salons of Tehran.

The wise words of Jane Fonda rise into my subconscious: "No pain, no gain" but then again, that much pain and I'll be unconscious. So I leave it.

Meanwhile our guests wander to and fro, speaking of Leonardo DiCaprio and I realise that as far as big blunders go, the Titanic was just the tip of the iceberg.

I have a much harder task: to walk down the stairs in my high heels. Let's hope it will be "All right on the night..."

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.