Hooker Mum

Every morning and afternoon, I stand outside the school and wait for my two youngest sons to go into or come out of the school. The cliques amongst the mums are worse than anything I've seen since I graduated from high school in 1985!

And the "Chief Mum In Charge of Deciding Who Belongs to the Cool Mum Clique" has to be seen to be believed. I've nicknamed her Hooker Mum. I shouldn't do that, I know. Prostitutes don't deserve to be tarred by her brush.

I don't know what Hooker Mum's real name is. I do know that I have never seen her wear a pair of jeans, go without makeup or let her hair grow out to its natural colour. She even has a jewel implanted into one of her front teeth. She wears mini skirts, animal prints and high heeled boots. This is just to do the school run, mind you.

The worst thing is what she's doing to her own daughters. Last year for sports day, she dressed her youngest, who is five, in a pair of shorts so short her butt cheeks hung out. She's already the class tease according to one of the other mums. The girls also have names that are more appropriate for poodles.

I am definitely not saying this because I've been left out of the cool mum clique. Believe me, if the criteria for belonging is spending a fortune on clothes that I wouldn't even wear to a nightclub, driving a car that will depreciate faster than it will drive down the motorway, and living in a housing development where the houses aren't big enough to turn around in, I'll stay uncool. Besides, in the uncool mum clique we have a lot of fun. We drink pints rather than martinis, our kids aren't afraid to be seen with us, and our credit cards aren't maxed out.