Mum's in charge

It was their dad’s idea, he booked flights and organised a hotel for a bit of mother-son bonding time over two nights in Copenhagen.

With ages ranging from 25 to 21, they’re all adults now. So this was going to be so different to all the family holidays we’ve enjoyed over the years where I’ve been in charge of shepherding them around.

No longer responsible for everything from the schedule to the maps to when and where we’re going to eat, I could relax. Or so I thought.

These are boys who have travelled all over the world with their girlfriends. They’ve been on Interrail. Two of them rent their own flats and hold down jobs, the other has been coping on his own at university for the past three years.

And yet, when I commented in the taxi from the airport that I hadn’t realised until I went to order money that Danish currency was the krone, not the euro, they all looked at me blankly.

None of them had bothered to get any cash. And none of them knew anything about Copenhagen: “What are we going to do?” they asked when we arrived.

It was as if these mature, capable, independent males had regressed back to childhood, because they were with their mum.

I stayed at an airport hotel in Manchester the night before with Patrick, since we were travelling from the North and meeting the others, travelling from London, in Copenhagen. I had done our online check-in and printed out our boarding passes, which I automatically took charge of, along with the passports and European Health Insurance Cards.

“Can I have the toothpaste please?” asked Patrick when we got to our room. He is more than capable of packing his own toothpaste, but why bother, when you know your mum will sort all that out.

It was the same when we got to Copenhagen. Travel adaptor plugs? Phone chargers? Guide book? I had them all covered.

Not that the boys ever looked at the guide book: “Happy to do whatever you want, Mum,” they said. Which was another way of saying: “You organise everything.”

At times, I had to remind myself that they’re all in their twenties now. In fact, being back in a group with their mum and brothers, I think they forgot it too.

Which could explain why one of them came up to me in an art gallery – which they had all, of course, complained was ‘boring’ – and whispered in my ear: “Mum, I need the toilet.” Because finding it was clearly my job.

Another nudged me in a restaurant as the waiter passed by: “We need more bread,” he mumbled, then waited for me to ask.

They never once dug into their pockets to pay for anything. But then I know I would have done exactly the same at the same age.

Of course, we had a great time. I adore being in their company and enjoy their witty banter. And it wouldn’t matter where in the world we are. I just love being with them. I can’t help wondering, at what age do adult children begin taking charge with their parents? The roles must reverse at some point. On balance, I think I prefer it this way.

PLAYWRIGHT Alan Bennett wrote about how horrified he was by the greed he witnessed at a hotel breakfast buffet bar recently. Luckily, he was not staying in the same hotel as us in Copenhagen.

After paying exorbitant hotel room rates, and with many hungry mouths to feed, I have always been a great believer in getting our money’s worth from the hotel buffet, encouraging the boys to pile their plates high with all sorts of mismatched items, from three types of baguette to assorted pastries, sausages, bacon, waffles, eggs any which way, slices of ham, blueberry muffins, muesli, cheese, smoked salmon, ice cold wedges of melon, ham, capers, cheese and black pudding.

Mr Bennett would, no doubt, have been appalled. But at least I can be sure they will keep going until at least lunchtime.