IMPORTANT lessons have been learned in our house this week - lessons about telling lies and apportioning blame. We first noticed the purple stain - stretching from floor to ceiling on the kitchen wall - while we were making breakfast.

Tucked away in a cupboard, we discovered a purple cloth where someone had tried to clean up and then hide the evidence. We thought it was blackcurrant juice but, after smelling the cloth with her highly experienced nose, my wife detected the bouquet of red wine - Merlot probably.

"But how did it get all the way up there?" she wondered out loud.

The four children were summoned, interrogated, and all swore their innocence.

Hannah, 12, was alone in having a solid alibi - she'd slept at a friend's house.

"Was it you?" asked my wife, looking at me.

"Yeah, it must have been Dad 'cos he drinks red wine," said Max, seven, all too readily.

"It was not me," I protested. I'm a grown-up and, even when I've occasionally had one glass too many, I'm not aware that I've ever chucked wine up the kitchen wall.

The kids filed out of the kitchen, Max keeping his head down.

"I can't understand how it's got all the way up there," repeated my wife.

An explanation suddenly dawned: "I bet Max was sword fighting," I declared.

I could imagine him taking a swipe at an invisible enemy, hitting a wine bottle and spraying it up the wall - detective work Sherlock Holmes would have been proud of.

Max was recalled to the kitchen: "Did you hit a bottle of wine with your sword?" Mum asked sternly.

He burst into tears, sobbing: "It wasn't me - it must have been Dad," before running off.

He had guilt written all over him. It was in the lack of eye contact and the swiftness to lay the blame on me. He also had form for being the naughty one.

Mum followed him into the lounge, determined to get a confession. One by one, she made the three boys look her in the eye and promise they weren't responsible.

"Not me, Mum," said Christopher, 13.

"Not me, Mum," said Jack, ten.

When it was his turn, Max couldn't speak. He just shook his head slowly. He was starting to crack.

Mum went in for the kill: "I'm going to town and when I come back I want one of you to tell the truth. It's acceptable to make a mistake but it's not acceptable to lie about it."

Mum went shopping and, over breakfast, I tried the softly, softly approach.

"Whoever it was is better off telling me while Mum's out 'cos I'm not as scary," I said.

Max glanced up from his boiled egg and soldiers and I returned to the kitchen.

As I expected, there was a tentative knock on the door and in walked... JACK. Breaking his heart, he could hardly get the words out: "It was me Dad, it was me. I'm really sorry for lying, I'll never do it again..."

I hugged him, assured him it would be all right and told him he must never tell lies.

"But how did the wine get that far up the wall?" I asked.

Jack took a deep breath and, with his words punctuated by sobs, he wailed: "I was just practising my backhand."

He has tennis lessons and Derek, his coach, had told him to keep his head down and swing right through the ball. He'd been testing his technique in the garden, the ball had flown through the open door with topspin and clipped the wine bottle.

Jack gave his Mum a full apology when she came home and received one more lecture about the importance of honesty.

Then it was our turn to apologise to Max for assuming he was to blame.

"It's OK - my money was on Dad," he said.

Hannah, 12, later admitted she'd been so scared of Mum she'd almost taken the blame even though she was half a mile away at the time.

As for Jack, he's learned one of life's most important lessons: If you make a mistake, own up and say sorry. Telling lies just makes the hole deeper and deeper.

He's also learned that he needs to work a lot harder on his backhand.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

OLIVER, aged four, was telling his Grandma that he only wanted two things for Christmas.

"I want Beyblades and the other thing is a present for Mummy," he said.

"What is it you want for Mummy?" asked his Grandma.

"A bed," replied Oliver.

"Oh, what for?" he was asked.

"So she doesn't have to share with Daddy any more," he replied.

* Grandma is Pauline Holdsworth, chair of Ova The Rainbow, a support group for gynaecological cancers based in North Ormesby, Middlesbrough.

ADAM, nine, had called for his Grandad to see if he fancied a game of football.

Grandad, despite not being as fit as he used to be, was up for it so they went off to Stewart's Park in Middlesbrough.

Grandad immediately spotted a pair of trees the ideal distance apart and went in goal.

"Grandad - here comes a Beckham bender," shouted Adam.

Grandad did his best to save the shot but it rebounded off one of the trees and into the goal with a clenched fist and a shout of "YES!" from young Adam.

The boy walked over to his Grandad, stricken on the ground, and said: "Grandad, if you'd been eating Flora Light, you'd have saved that."

* Grandad is Bill Beadnall, also of Ova The Rainbow.

EMILY, aged two, was playing with her mum when she suddenly said: "My feet hurt, Mummy."

When her mum looked, it was obvious why: "You've got your shoes on the wrong feet," she said.

Emily looked at her mum and said: "But I haven't got any more feet."

* From Emily's godmother Christine Watson, of Darlington.

Published: 03/06/2004