Boxing Day. My husband was a surgeon and was in the hospital treating an emergency. I had to stay at home with our children, who are three, two, and nine months respectively. Were we going to spend our morning playing with toys and watching CBeebies? Hell, no!

Enid Bleyton’s stories were my inspiration, and I knew it was time for me to get out on a Boxing Day hike in the countryside. The best combination of brisk air and rosy-cheeked little cherubs is possible. My plan was to bring gingerbread people and have fun with everyone.

Alas my children didn’t get the memo. The baby became so hungry that I was forced to place her on a tree stump in order to nurse her. To stop other children running away, I also played The Very Hungry Caterpillar from my cell phone.

My 2-year-old son, who was a little bit older than me, spied danger as usual and raced towards a swift-flowing stream. Then came the unhonorable sight of a mother running through a field, her top up and her baby strapped to her chest. She then jumped into the stream to rescue her toddler.

Clare Foges, who fell into the trap of attempting perfect parenting on Boxing Day, explains her decision to act 'more like a man' in 2022 (file image)

Clare Foges, who fell into the trap of attempting perfect parenting on Boxing Day, explains her decision to act ‘more like a man’ in 2022 (file image)

I turned back to see my three-year-old standing with her trousers by her ankles, trying to answer a call of nature while singing ‘underpants are falling down’ to the tune of ‘London Bridge is falling down’.

An enthusiastic family dressed in Santa hats gathered, with the mother calling home on her cell phone. Was she dialling social services?

Another failed attempt at perfection in parenting. A sudden realization struck me: I was falling into the female trap of trying everything and doing it flawlessly.

After I brought the kids home, I looked at my whiteboards. Three large whiteboards are my evidence of perfectionism.

The lists contain orders to do a hundred squats a day, to research nutritious meals for my children, to learn baby sign language, to apply fake tan daily, to bake a showstopper cake for New Year’s Day tea, to make a rewards chart, to start chapter two of my young adult novel, to make a shadow puppet theatre for the children, to run 10k for charity, and on and on.

There are many sub-lists to the massive to-do-list, as well. These include seasonal tasks I need to do for my children, such as blackberry picking or making Easter bonnets.

Fed by social media images of perfect mothers and ‘have-it-all’ career women, we set the bar ever higher across all aspects of life. It is not enough for us to just feed our children fish fingers any more; they’ve got to have home-cooked meals every night.

We can’t just look half-decent; we’ve got to be toned and stylish into our 50s and 60s. We can’t just bumble along in a 9-to-5 job; look at all those influencers, ‘mumpreneurs’ and business owners realising their dreams.

Clare said men seem to be better at feeling ¿good enough¿, at refusing to feel guilty about their shortcomings as a husband, parent or worker

Clare said men seem to be better at feeling ‘good enough’, at refusing to feel guilty about their shortcomings as a husband, parent or worker

We can’t just have bog-standard magnolia décor, our home’s got to look like something out of a magazine, scattered with cool objects ‘we just picked up on our travels’.

This is all confusing to my husband. He doesn’t make lists, doesn’t worry about being a good enough parent, doesn’t fret about how he measures up to other people.

But then he is a man, and men — excuse the generalisation — tend to sweat the small stuff less. Their appearance is less important to them. They regard their pot bellys with more affection, indifference and even love than the self-loathing they have for their bodies.

It is less common for men to apologize. While many women can barely seek a supermarket worker’s attention without apologising — ‘sorry, do you know where the Tabasco is?’ — I know men whom I have never heard apologise.

Men seem to be better at feeling ‘good enough’, at refusing to feel guilty about their shortcomings as a husband, parent or worker.

So here is my New Year’s Resolution: To be more like a man.

No more sweating the small stuff, or apologising for things I haven’t done wrong. There’s no need to make endless lists or squeeze 48 hours of exercise into 24. Or feel guilty for not being the perfect wife, mother or size.

As a man, I am going to do everything in my power to be a better person. I have wiped my list clean. It’s time for a fresh slate or whiteboard.

  • Yes, the Duchess of Cambridge is radiant, and the Queen is majestic in every way, but there’s another royal lady I’d like to see more of in 2022.

Sophie, Countess, of Wessex I nominated for more attention. She comes across as a genuine, sensible, classy soul — an antidote to the narcissistic carnival of Harry and Meghan.

The Firm should play Wessex front and center in the year of the Platinum Jubilee.

Ivy Richmond is 100 years old and has done the equivalent to Everest by climbing her steps. Perhaps we can connect elderly, brilliant people such as them to the national electricity grid in times of energy crises? The small town could benefit from their efforts.

My kids are so fond of chocolate

Researchers at Aston University claim if parents smile while eating broccoli, their offspring are twice as likely to eat it (file image)

Researchers at Aston University claim if parents smile while eating broccoli, their offspring are twice as likely to eat it (file image) 

Aston University scientists are trying to solve one of the greatest mysteries: how to get kids to eat their greens. To no avail, I tried roasting, steaming, and tossing them in butter (not the vegetables, but the children). According to the researchers, it is easier than you think. The researchers found that if parents smile and eat broccoli while smiling, their children are two times more likely to enjoy it. My children know the reason I love chocolate. They have witnessed my exuberance as Dairy Milk buttons are poured down my throat. 

All of us need to get away from the showy stars

Clare questions celebrities such as Myleene Klass (pictured) who rub the sunshine and wealth into the faces of their thousands of followers on Instagram

Clare questions celebrities such as Myleene Klass (pictured) who rub the sunshine and wealth into the faces of their thousands of followers on Instagram

How delightful to see Myleene Klass and family enjoying themselves in a tropical locale and Rio Ferdinand’s bikini-clad wife Kate throwing back her head with laughter in some sunny clime, and TOWIE’s Billie Faiers lounging in the surf.

It was a refreshing relief to be under such harsh skies. These celebrities have not learned anything from the Covid era about solidarity.

It’s fine to go on holiday, of course, but why rub the sunshine and wealth into the faces of their thousands of followers on Instagram?

Why I’m still haunted by Chequers

Clare said a photo of Boris and Carrie on the sofa at Chequers made her shiver, as she recollects spooky happenings there

Clare said a photo of Boris and Carrie on the sofa at Chequers made her shiver, as she recollects spooky happenings there 

Seeing the picture of Boris and Carrie on the sofa at Chequers I shivered — not at the décor (very nice), but at the recollection of a spooky happening there.

A few years ago, when I was working with David Cameron, some of us spent the night in that room to make a speech. I bunked down in the ‘haunted bedroom’, an attic room where a woman called Lady Mary Grey was held captive in the 1560s for two years. You can still see her writings on the plaster.

Cameron teased me about the haunted room, but — not believing in such things — I shrugged it off.

The door was banging at the back of my head that night and I was suddenly woken up by 1am. I scrabbled for my glasses (I am blind as a bat) but couldn’t find them. The bedside light wouldn’t work. To my dismay, no one was there. I wandered around looking for help but, not wishing to disturb the PM in his pyjamas, I crept to bed and didn’t sleep a wink.

My glasses and some of mine were found in the pile underneath my double bed the next day. Poor Lady Mary could have done some ghostly tidying up, but it still chills me. Here’s hoping Carrie hasn’t turned the room into a nursery for Wilf and Romy.