By Nature, I'd like to think I'm, well, a mixture of progressive and laid-back in my attitudes. I can hum along to most of the Top 30 - I know more about "girl power" than "flower power" at this stage, even if I was a child of the Sixties. And it was a defining moment when one of Clara's friends announced "God! I love the way your mother dresses. She's so cool!"

And I am, I am. I like to think I'm open, liberal and that I encourage my two girls to question convention. This is why Shauna is the only girl who trains with the local under-10s and Clara wants to be a builder like her dad. And that's all fine by me.

Sex, too, has no taboos and they all found out the facts of life early on and it was no big deal. I believed that this would make them informed and responsible later on. Much later on!

So, in face of all this, I got quite a land at my reaction to hearing Clara (sixth class) describe a boy in her class as a "ride". I was appalled! A ride! Not cute or cool, or even "God, boys are so stupid." (I wish! Maybe the Sixties were over-rated, anyway.)

What should I do? Charge in and demand to know what lewd acts were taking place behind the school bicycle shed? Lecture on a responsible attitude to sex? (but she's 12 - I had that chat well and truly on the long finger.) Ban the youth club, swimming training, the homework sessions? Hell, ban everything!

Now, I think I may have been a little hasty with my claims of being cool. A bit of a morale boost is in order here. Coffee and crisis at my house, girls.

We discuss our prehistoric experience in the boy department. It's like it was another life. Jackie magazines and Mills and Boons on the school bus were our secret stash of passion - vicarious, and not in sixth class, either.

Yes, I'm losing the last vestiges of street-cred here - I'll be buying stirrup skipants and a jacquard jumper next.

But what did we call boys? Hunks, Fine Things, Dishes, blah-di-blah! Susan remembers one particularly tasty specimen being breathily described as a "Lay", but that was in college so we rule that one out.

Then, suddenly, Helena becomes near-hysterical. She shrieks and rocks and gasps "Jesus, how did I forget? It was the nearest thing to Satan himself arriving at home and joining us for supper." What happened? Well, apparently, her youngest brother decided to contribute to the adults' chat about the daughter of a local family who had been called to nursing. Praise was being heaped on her suitability to the profession, when Tom piped up "And Brendan Hynes says she's the village bicycle." The Holy Water was the only hope for her apoplectic father!

Would it be a huge leap of faith for me to think that maybe Clara is only descriptively challenged, too, and simply needs to refine her vocabulary? Or am I a complete fool? We'll let the jury stay out a little longer on this one for now.