There's no doubt that I'm turning into my mother

A metamorphosis that began some years back, slowly at first, and then with the speed of a pimped-up mobility scooter, is complete.

I am no longer turning into my mother. I AM my mother.Many moons ago I noticed that occasionally when I opened my mouth, my mother popped out.

I found myself moaning about the things that, previously, would have had me rolling my eyes at her.

The lines on my forehead, the cost of white goods and the substandard coffee in particular café chains are all examples.

However, a few weeks back, when I was 39 years, 5 days, 11 hours and 40 minutes old, the transition became complete.

I was in Lakeland (a sign in itself), having just purchased thermal socks and vests from M&S. You may think that this is the key giveaway, but no. It gets worse.

The exact moment came with my gleeful exclamation, ‘I’ve just found this little beauty on the shelf! Non-drip limescale remover! NON-DRIP!’ And I rest my case.