Take a letter, Ms Gray

No word from my darling daughter since the weekend. I find myself perusing her old emails from her early days at The Manor, two years ago. In those days, she occasionally thought of me. Sometimes she even missed me.

Look at this one!

MUMAMUMAMUMMUMAMUMAMUMAMUMAMUMA

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJ:JJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

Aww. And this one:

MUMA

MUMA

MUMA

MUMA

ME WANT TO SEE YOU ‘GAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NOW

Lily xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Awwww. My little bubba. I mean, I know it seems like she's about six years old, but that's just an affectation. I think.

Ah. The phone. 

'Hi,' says a perky voice. 'How are you and Dolly?' 

It's Lily! Who never rings me. I've conjured her up! 'Hello, darling! That's amazing telepathy! I was just looking at your old emails from the days when you actually missed me.'

'Really?' She sounds astonished. 'Did I?' she adds in a well-I-never-whatever-next kind of tone. 'Mu-um, I haven't got enough Christmas cards for my whole year, can you send me some more?'

I get a notepad and pen, ready to take down my instructions. 'How many do you need?'

'About 20?'

'You could always make them...' I suggest.

'Na, there's too many. I have actually made a really pretty card and I've stuck a picture of Dolly inside and... it might be for Cousin Claude... or it might be for you... or it might be for me! "Dear Lily, Have a lovely Christmas. Love from You Know Who." It can be done!'

Honestly. She's such a tease. I start scribbling. 1. 20 Christmas cards.

'We got fitted for our costumes for the Nativity yesterday but we haven't actually got our wings yet. Mu-um, can you bring my white strappy vest?'

2. White strappy vest. 

'We had our lighting rehearsal today and it's so glary in our eyes! I wish the angels could wear sunglasses.'

I laugh.

'I'm serious! It's seriously glary! Mu-um, can you bring my new party dress for the carol service?'

'It's a bit glittery and eveningy isn't it?' I venture. The entire bodice is a shimmering mass of sequins. We bought it for Lily's first ball, the day after she breaks up, in the village hall next to the school.

'No, it'll be fine. Esme's going to wear her party dress, and so is Mattie, and they really want to see mine.'

3. Party dress. 

Lily's conversation seems to have run out, so I tell her about my scintillating week so far, which consists of what I had for dinner today and what I just bought from Sainsbury's. 'Anything else you'd like to say to your Muma?' I ask.

'We-e-ell,' says Lily, 'I would like a new Ipod case, hint, hint.'

And that's it. We have fast-tracked into the kind of boss-secretary relationship that usually kicks in when offspring leave home for university. 

4. Ipod case.