I HAVE just enjoyed a weekend away with my four older sons, who have all left home. A mother-and-son bonding break, which was an inspired Christmas present from their dad.

Aged between 19 and their mid-twenties, with three in the world of work and one at university, they are leading independent lives, most of them having long escaped the watchful eye of their mother.

Yet, when we all get together, they appear to regress back to childhood patterns of behaviour. At least I hope this is what’s happening as I’m assuming they don’t behave like this with others, in their everyday lives.

“When are we eating?” and “I’m hungry, Mum,” is a common refrain.

Another, from adults, who now all tower above me, is: “Mum, I need the toilet.” Because it is clearly my job to locate public conveniences, march us all in that direction and provide the correct coins needed for entry when necessary.

So I find myself regularly announcing to this group of grown men before we set off anywhere, just as I did when they were younger: “Has everyone been to the toilet? Go now, in case we don’t get another chance,” which must look peculiar to onlookers.

Having grown up jostling for attention and determined to get their fair share of everything, they all have issues around food, being ferociously protective of what’s on their plate and confessing they’re often told by girlfriends to ‘slow down’ because they eat so ridiculously quickly.

Partly, this is because they grew up fearing that, should they pause for breath or leave the table briefly, someone is likely to steal something from their plate, or hide it to wind them up.

So, when we should have been enjoying a leisurely lunch together in a stylish gallery café, the boys were making mischief.

When William went to get a knife and fork, Charlie took a bite out of his sandwich. Then, when Charlie wasn’t looking, William hid his plate of soup, while Patrick reached over and helped himself to a few someone else’s chips.

And so, I found myself trying to keep the peace between these grown men who, in their other lives, it is hard to believe, actually wear suits and go to meetings with other adults in suits and, I presume, behave reasonably sensibly.

William had another theory as to why they all eat so quickly: “We were always aware there were some seconds at every meal, but not enough for everyone. So you always had to try to finish first to get them. There was a race at every meal.”

But it’s not just mealtimes which are competitive. These boys are competitive about everything, no matter how silly or inconsequential, whether it’s a race to get somewhere first, throw something the farthest or simply earn a compliment from their old mum.

The gallery which we visited, after one of the boys mentioned he’d heard something about it, turned out to be very good: “That was a great suggestion,” I remarked. “Well done for that,” William.

“Hang on a minute,” said Charlie, outraged. “It was me who came up with that idea, I told William about it.”

A minor squabble broke out when Patrick intervened to point out that he had actually read about it first in a guide book: “I told you about it, Charlie. It was my idea first, Mum.”

One thing they had no disagreement about, however, was over who was paying for everything, for they are all very loyal customers of the Bank of Mum and Dad.

SOMETIMES it feels as if the boys think we’re running some sort of large multi-national corporation, rather than a bank, though. I overheard the 19-year-old, who had to buy an additional, and rather expensive, train ticket after changing his transport plans due to the snow over the weekend, explaining to one of his older brothers how it wasn’t going to cost him anything because his dad and I said we’d pay for it. “Don’t worry, he said, I’m going to claim it back.”

I LOVE my friend Rebecca’s four-year-old son’s term for when you wear a T-shirt with a long-sleeved top underneath: “Spare sleeves”.