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I set out early this morning, driving west along the motorway to collect our son from his week away.

On the way back, I stopped halfway to buy supplies so we could make him his favourite biriyani to welcome him home.

But in the end, our meal just descended into farce as brother and sister bickered like they’d never been apart.

Both ended up storming off from the table without as much as a word of thanks for a hearty meal lovingly prepared.

And we parents just glanced at one another, perturbed, every act of kindness greeted with hostility.

Parenting seems like a thankless job. Any sweet word must be answered with an I don’t care or a raised voice.

Yes, we’re back to normal, treading on eggshells once more. “You do nothing,” they tell us.