“Petticoating.” mum replied.

“If you haven’t worked it out, it means dressing naughty boys in girls clothes until they can behave themselves.” she explained.

“Now… why don’t you two jump in the bath before you get ready for bed?”

“BED!?!” we protested in unison.

“It’s only half past five.”

“And by the time you’ve had your bath it’ll be six o’clock…

and six o’clock is the time you get ready for bed.” mum stated, before smiling wryly.

“Don’t look so worried boys,

bed time isn’ ’til eight.” she said.

“Now come on…

bathroom.” she said as she began to shepherd us on to the landing.

I was planning on legging it down the stairs and, providing the front door was unlocked, to the street outside.

But since my grandmother stood on the landing effectively blocking my path, I went into the bathroom, followed by my brother Peter.

The bath was already full of fragrant bubbles.

Of course we begged and pleaded and promised we’d be good as we slowly peeled off our clothes.

I can’t speak for my brother,

but part of me was certain it was all pretence…

“surely dressing boys as girls is child abuse?” I thought as my grandmother scrubbed me clean with a big pink sponge.