Yesterday I spent a couple of hours making a list. No novelty in that as far as I'm concerned, of course.

I live my life by lists - lists for shopping, lists of appointments, lists to remind myself that I need to make more lists.

Yesterday's list was slightly different in that it wasn't meant for me. It was compiled for The Mother.

The Mother does not make lists, ever, although she does keep a diary in which she records events of importance that occur in and around our house.

Oh, watch your back, Mr Pepys!

The list designed for The Mother was, is, basically a series of instructions, some marked DO and the others (by far the majority) marked DON'T.

I thought it necessary to make this list before I set off for a weekend break, leaving The Mother to her own devices.

For the past two years I have organised most of the daily activities in our joint lives. I like to think of myself as a sort of benign dictator, though the Mother thinks the "benign" is superfluous.

However, while I'm around, things do get done, though again The Mother would disagree. She would argue that things such as the lawn being mowed or the cooker getting cleaned only get done because she performs these tasks herself.

So, nowhere on yesterday's list will you find instructions such as DO mow lawn, DO clean cooker. We don't want a mutiny in the ranks while the captain's away, do we?

Instead there are what I hope will be accepted as words of friendly advice.

DON'T allow "stray" cats or dogs inside the house. They probably have very good homes already and, if not, will be jumping with fleas.

DON'T raid my wardrobe for clothes to put into plastic bags left on the doorstep for donations to OXFAM/NSPCC/RSPCA etc.

DON'T put empty gin bottles into plastic refuse sacks. Take them to the bottle bank.

DON'T play your Mario Lanza CDs too loudly in the evenings. We don't want complaints from the neighbours.

DON'T light up in the kitchen and then go to make a phone call leaving a smouldering ciggie by the chip pan.

DON'T use my face flannel for cleaning the bath.

DON'T eat all my dark chocolate digestives.

DON'T make jokes about men in white coats when people ask you where I've gone.

DON'T put all my mail back in the postbox marked 'Gone Away.'

DON'T rent out my room.

DON'T . . .

What are you doing? You look very preoccupied," said The Mother as I paused for reflection between paragraphs.

"It's nothing," I said. "Just a few little ideas I've had to keep you safe and sound while I'm away."

"I've been keeping myself safe and sound for over 80 years now, without your help - or hindrance," The Mother replied.

Then she saw the sheet of paper on my knee. "That's not one of your wretched lists is it?" she asked (only she used a slightly stronger word than wretched but they both have the same meaning).

"It's only meant to help you, in case you forget something," I protested.

"Help?" said The Mother. "The only one around here who'll need any help is you if you dare to give me any of your lists."

And off she stormed. Taken aback by the strength of her emotions, I thought about her words for a few moments before taking up my Biro to write a few final words at the bottom of the list.

PS: DON'T get so angry, it's not good for you, and DO have a good time while I'm away.