My husband and his brother, Max, are kind, loyal and considerate towards each other.

They talk on the phone at least twice a week, they remember to send birthday cards and they are proud of each other's achievements.

This doesn't stop them from being ridiculously competitive, however.

Last week, during a short break with my in-laws in Lancashire, a wet afternoon activity intended to amuse the children turned into a battle of stamina, determination and ingenuity between the two grown men.

It started with Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, which our five-year-old, Eve, and her cousin Harry were watching on video.

"What are those things?" asked Eve as the Oompa Loompas waved something fluffy.

"Pom-poms," said Dawn, my sister-in-law. "Shall we try making them?"

"YES," chorused the children, having lost interest in the film after its fifth showing. So Dawn racked her brain to remember exactly how to make pom-poms and dug out some scissors, some cardboard and a big ball of red wool.

For those of you unfamiliar with the science, you cut a circle out of card, then cut another circle out of its middle and wrap the wool around the edge and through the hole in the middle until you can't squeeze any more through.

You then cut the wool around the circle's outer edge, get another long piece of wool and tie it around the middle, remove the cardboard, and with any luck, you have something to admire and cherish forever.

So Dawn got the children started in the kitchen. After 30 seconds they were bored, at which point Dawn took over making Eve's pom-pom and Max began working on Harry's. Dawn's deft finger work soon set her ahead, which made both Max and Harry quite cross.

"I want mummy to make mine," said Harry a little tearfully.

"No you don't," said Max huffily. "Look, ours is much neater. Ours is the best."

"What's going to be the best?" said my husband, who had wandered into the kitchen after having woken from a snooze in front of the telly. Max held up his wool and cardboard.

"What the hell is that?"

"We're making pom-poms," said Dawn. "Do you want to have a go?"

It was a challenge my husband couldn't resist. He took over from Dawn and his pom-pom was soon bulging, although a little unevenly compared to Max's.

"This is the sort of mindless activity I quite enjoy," he mused. But Max was getting more angry by the second. "I need a new strategy," he announced.

He then tied three lengths of wool together to thread through the middle and not only did he catch up, he shot ahead.

"Whahey, look at this," he said, delighted.

By now the sun had come out and the children were pleading to go to the park.

"Not yet, not yet," said both Max and my husband as the battle of the pom-poms escalated.

Just then the phone rang. It was their mum wanting to ask my husband something about lunch arrangements. During the ensuing five-minute conversation, which my husband spent mostly hopping from foot to foot and saying "yes" several times rather tersely, Max reached the finishing post.

When my husband put down the phone, Max was proudly waving his red fluffy ball, chanting, "I've won, I've won."

"Didn't want one anyway," said my husband sulkily.

And nor, happily, did the children.