WHEN they're babies, you can't wait for them to talk. Once they start, you just wish they'd shut up for five minutes.

And then, when they become teenagers, life turns full circle and they're back to not saying a word.

I'm going through a phase where my children aren't talking to me. I drive my 17-year-old son to college and he stays silent throughout the four-mile journey, apart from barely mumbling 'cheers' when he gets out.

I drive my 15-year-old daughter into town and she's too busy dreaming about the new clothes she's going to buy to worry about speaking to me.

Last week, I took my 13-year-old tennis-mad son to Wimbledon. Jack attached himself to his ipod as we were leaving Darlington station and that was it until we arrived at King's Cross.

It cost me more than £100 for the tickets into Court Number One, more or less the same again for the rail fares and an arm and a leg for food. Apart from seeing less than an hour of tennis, we waited for the rain, hail, thunder and lightning to stop before giving up and heading home, wet, frustrated and a good deal poorer.

Jack didn't speak to me all the way back home because he was tired, fed up and seemed to think I'd had something to do with turning the sky black.

The only one who seems to talk to me these days (because he isn't a teenager yet) is ten-year-old Max. But even he went all quiet on me last week and I couldn't work out why.

Normally, he's waiting at his bedroom window for me to get home from work at night, then he runs downstairs to give me a hug and tell me all about his day.

But when I got home the other night, there was no squashed face at the bedroom window and no heavy-footed race down the stairs.

When I went up to see him, he was lying, wide awake, on his back and staring at the ceiling.

"Hi Max, how are you doing?" I asked.

Silence.

"You OK?"

Silence.

"What's wrong?"

Silence, a sharp turn towards the wall, and more silence.

I went downstairs and asked my wife if she had any idea why Max wasn't talking to me.

"It'll be because you threw his roof away," she replied.

"His roof?"

"The cardboard box that was in his bedroom," she explained.

Like a good husband, I'd been tidying up and the clear-out involved chucking out the flattened cardboard box which was getting in the way in Max's bedroom.

It had once contained the pool table we'd bought from Argos and I couldn't see any reason for it to be still left lying around. How was I to know it was a vital part of the roof whenever he built a den in the lounge? It was nearly three days later when Max finally deigned to speak to me again and that was only after I'd rummaged round the storeroom at work and found an old cardboard box which had come with a delivery of office furniture.

"It's not as big as my other one so the light's gonna get in at the corner, but it'll do," he said before giving me a reluctant cuddle.

At that moment, his 13-year-old brother popped his head round the door to ask if we'd be able to get tickets for Wimbledon again next year.

"Only if they're for the Centre Court," I replied. They might have a roof on by then.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

NOW that Tony Blair has departed as Prime Minister, it is time to tell the tale of the day in November 2003 when President Bush visited Sedgefield.

As a consequence of the security, children from local primary schools had their freedom restricted for much of the day.

One four-year-old took this particularly badly, stating tearfully: "I don't like it and it's not fair. We should all be allowed to see Basil Brush."

THAT story was remembered by Durham's former director of education, Keith Mitchell, who also supplied an unforgettable story about an educational psychologist.

The psychologist had called at the home of a pupil and the child's father opened the door in a string vest and a fag hanging from his mouth.

The psychologist was invited inside at the same time as an Alsatian dog ran in from the garden. The room was unkempt to say the least and the Alsatian proceeded to urinate against the table leg and then a chair as the psychologist discussed the child's education with the father.

As the psychologist left the house, the father shouted after him: "How! Are you not ganna tak yer dog wi yer?"

CONGRATULATIONS to my secretary Sue who has become a proud grandma due to the arrival of Taylor Kate.

Son-in-law Billy confided in Sue that he was feeling guilty.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I'm totally in love with two women."

Aah...