There was a time (last Friday to be precise), when I didn't own a rolling pin. Now I have two.

Not bad for a woman who has never rolled pastry and has no intention of doing so in the future.

Strictly speaking, the rolling pins are The Mother's property but she arrived with them at the weekend. Funnily enough, she doesn't roll pastry either.

She also brought an electric carving knife, a cheese grater, a Pyrex measuring jug and a stainless steel colander.

I already had these, plus a microwave, a freezer and a washing machine.

Correction: I now have two microwaves, two freezers, two washing machines - and one small kitchen.

Meanwhile, in the living room there are two TVs, two copies of the Radio Times, two yucca plants and three ashtrays, which are filling up nicely.

Since The Mother sold her house, and moved in with me this week, we've been discovering whether three (as in three-bedroom semi) into two (as in two bedroom terrace) will go.

The answer? Yes, sort of . . . in the sense that it's snug and cosy if you' re being ridiculously optimistic, and crowded and chaotic if you're looking at the situation through my eyes.

It could be worse. I've actually had some wooden boards laid in the loft so we can store the sort of things you put in lofts and then forget about - china teapots with broken spouts, soft toys with their eyes gouged out, and pictures of hay wains and laughing cavaliers.

The biggest problem is my 'office' which I've moved from the dining table (returned once more to its official function) and into my bedroom.

Cramped is an understatement.

The Mother, of course, has suggested ways of improving my lot.

According to her, I could make lots of extra space in my bedroom by getting rid of the double bed and replacing it with a single divan.

"Why do you still need a double bed?" she asks. "It's not as if you're married or anything."

On Sunday, The Mother and I spent the day being organised and efficient.

It was the final roundup for the possessions she's accumulated since moving to Brighton over 30 years ago. "We don't need two of everything," I told her.

The Mother was astonishingly ruthless - with my bits and pieces.

Out went my rusty wok, my slightly charred wooden spoons and my toasted sandwich maker, adorned with cobwebs and dead woodlice.

At about 11pm we finished work. "How about a glass of wine?" I suggested.

This went down very well with The Mother.

I went to my wine cellar (a cardboard box under the stairs by the gas meter) and produced a nice Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon, courtesy of ASDA.

In the kitchen chaos I found a couple of wine glasses and reached in the cutlery drawer for my corkscrew. It had gone.

"I must have thrown it away when I was clearing out your old knives and forks last week," said The Mother. "Don't worry, I've got one, it' shaped like a monkey."

"No you haven't," I said. "I got rid of that ugly thing yesterday when we took those carrier bags to the charity shop."

We looked at each other and then at the unopened - and unopenable - bottle of wine.

"Feel like rolling some pastry . . .?" I asked.