Will You Please Welcome to the Floor - Media Mum and her (not-so) Professional Partner, Media Dad

The countdown is well and truly on. There's just a week to go until Media Parents step onto the dancefloor for our first public performance.

Ok, let's qualify that a little. Our first public performance as part of a dance demonstration, rather than messing around at parties when we've been on the rioja.

Last Christmas, I finally persuaded Media Dad to join me at salsa. It's fair to say I unleashed a monster - he was instantly smitten - after months of claiming he'd hate it - and rushed out to buy a pair of Blochs. (Not a patch on my sparkly purple shoes, but he loves them nonetheless.)

He rose through the ranks quickly, joining me at Level 3 just nine months after his first twirl through Absolute Beginners. The nightly practice sessions at home might have had something to do with that - believe me, it's years since the kitchen floor saw that much action.

The upshot is that we're both in the Christmas demo given by the Level 3s. It's meant to show everyone else what we've learned and where they're going with their dancing - in reality, we're all just hoping they don't notice our mistakes.

I've always loved Strictly Come Dancing, and of course I'm an armchair critic along with everyone else, but this demo has given me a new respect for those taking part. It's not just remembering the steps, in the right order, and fitting them to the music - you have to smile and look like you're enjoying it, too!

The Princess is desperate to come and watch, while The Boy just thinks we're embarrassing. Even our impromptu rehearsals in the kitchen make him cringe, and it's not like anyone else can see us. I hope we're as confident in the real thing as we are behind closed doors......

All I Want For Christmas....

They never cease to amuse me, the kids' Christmas lists. So I was a bit disappointed when The Boy's came in with only four items, and sensible ones at that - a new iPod, new visor for his race helmet, new race suit and money.

The first one - well, I would say he's having a laugh, but that was before the phone call from his over-generous grandfather. Someone will be very pleased come the big day.

But I digress. The Princess has come up trumps with a list that defies interpretation. Well, at least until her puzzled Media Mum can snatch an hour on Google and text her more savvy mummy friends.

"What on earth is a 'mermaid-bath-bomb-thingy'?" I wondered idly to Media Dad. "Dunno," he said helpfully. T'interweb gave me too many options so I decided to call in outside assistance. "It'll be a Mermaid Magic Fizz and Surprise," said Newspaper Mum, helpfully. "They're all the rage this year."

Ok, one down and several more to go. I shan't bore you by reciting them all, but suffice to say they were all a lot simpler than they sounded, and thank God for Amazon.

I can't, however, top a tale from Plumber Mum, who told me of the time she was sent to the shops by her four-year-old son to buy "one of those hairy things that goes clip-clop". It took her ages to work out what he wanted. No, not a pony - it was a coconut, of course!