I was rather surprised to hear this week that 'mothers are on the brink', due to recession, kids, failing careers etc.  I misread the title as 'mothers on the drink', and went off to find something alcoholic to drown my so-called sorrows in support of the sisterhood.

 If only they'd read the plight of another Mother, the one in Till Lindemann's song Mutter, then they'd surely have something to worry about.  Not for him a caring, nurturing figure but a damnation and curse on the whole of motherhood, the very she-devil of a fervent imagination.  Take the lines:  No real daylight there for me, No mother's breast, milk running free; And down my throat a tube with label, No belly button on my navel.....  (he continues)  No nipple there for me to suckle, No folds of skin to hide and chuckle; No-one gave me any name; Spermless, made of hate and shame....

 After reading this, I cuddled the kids, the neighbour's cat, anything I could get my hands on.  Realising he was probably right, that we do indeed have a lot to answer for, I raised another glass of Mothers' Ruin & tonic in grudging recognition.