"So," asked my mother, "what did you do at work?"

"Oh," I said, "it wasn't very interesting."

"No, tell me," she said, "we haven't got anything better to talk about and it might be more interesting than my day."

I explained in tedious detail how I had accessioned a second deposit and then added it to the collection already on the shelves. I didn't explain how I'd sorted a load of press cuttings and correspondence because that really was boring.

My mother told me about the people she met at the village hall, the news they imparted, her success in the raffle (we are a begonia richer), followed by her trip to Buckleberry to see her friend's art show.

We concluded that her day had been much more interesting than mine.