When you're the father of boys,

How you worry,

But when you're the father of girls,

You do more than that,

You pray!

THE lyrics of the old Perry Como record my dad used to play didn't mean that much to me at the time. But these days, I know exactly what Perry meant.

Boys have started calling round the house with alarming frequency, asking my only daughter - soon to be 15 - if she wants to go out.

And, I'll be honest, I'm finding it tough to find the line between worrying about her and knowing I have to mind my own business as far as is humanly possible.

I'm civil to these boys when I answer the door - but no more than that. I could probably be friendlier but something stops me. And I got particularly worked up by a new development the other morning.

My wife had left the house to drive our eldest, Christopher - otherwise known as The Big Friendly Giant - to college, and I was busy getting the other three ready for school when the phone rang.

"Has Hannah left for school yet?" asked a deep, adolescent voice.

"No. Do you want to speak to her?" I replied.

"Well, yes, if that's OK," he said.

Although boys have been calling at the house, none of them - to my knowledge - has phoned before, and certainly not at 8.30 in the morning.

"I'll get her," I snapped, my over-protective nature kicking in and turning me into Mister Frosty.

Hannah was summoned downstairs, she spoke to him, and she set off for school a few minutes later.

He probably wanted to walk her to school, I thought to myself, gloomily, as I got on with making The Little 'Un his breakfast.

That night, I told my wife about the phone call. "Some boy rang Hannah before school this morning," I moaned.

"Oh, who was it?" she asked.

"I've no idea," I replied.

"Well, didn't you ask his name?"

"No, why should I?"

"Oh, for goodness sake..."

At that moment, Hannah walked into the kitchen and Mum took the bull by the horns: "Who was the boy who rang you this morning?" she asked.

"Boy? What boy?" queried Hannah.

"Dad said a boy called before you left for school," Mum went on.

Hannah, looking puzzled, insisted that a boy hadn't phoned her.

"Yes, he did," I interjected. "I took the call and shouted you to come downstairs."

Hannah thought for a moment, then let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes. She leaned forward, hands on hips, like a teacher preparing to scold a naughty little boy.

"Dad, that was Christopher, stupid," she said.

"Christopher Stupid?" I mumbled, not recognising the name. "Do I know him?"

"Well, you should do," she said. "He's your son. You know - my brother. He happens to live here."

Apparently, on the way to college, my wife had asked The Big Friendly Giant to ring Hannah to remind her she had a dancing lesson straight after school.

It wasn't some unwelcome boyfriend after all. It was my own son and I hadn't even recognised his voice.

Mother and daughter looked at each other, shook their heads solemnly, and left me alone with my demons the kitchen.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

AT the New Year lunch of the National Trust's Leeds and District Association at Headingley...

John Coney remembered the time he took his great nephew Thomas, aged seven and a half, on a train journey from Derby to Crewe.

"This is a diesel car, Thomas," said Uncle John in a lordly way. "Oh yes," said Thomas, "it's a Class 222, they sold the Class 70s to Scotrail.

There's a diesel engine under each carriage and be careful of the toilets - the doors are electric and they can fly open at the wrong moment."

Uncle John kept quiet after that.

AN anonymous member of the National Trust recalled a boy, aged six, coming home full of excitement because he'd been chosen for a part in the nativity play.

"I'm going to be a piece of paper," he announced.

It turned out he was going to be a page.

MEANWHILE, at a meeting of the Teesdale Luncheon Club at Headlam Hall, near Darlington...

Treasurer Kathleen Caig remembered the time her granddaughter Maisie, aged seven, came home from school to a big surprise.

"I've got some really exciting news," announced Maisie's mum. "We're going to Disneyland in Florida for the half-term holiday!"

Maise promptly burst into tears.

"But why are you crying?" asked her mum. "I thought you were going to tell me you were going to buy me a goldfish," sobbed Maisie.