MY DAUGHTER started work last week with a paper round. I couldn’t believe how much she moaned on her first day: the time it took, the weight of the trolley, the state of people’s letterboxes.

“Welcome to the rat race,” I told her.

I admit, with almost 300 houses, it’s a big round, but it’s only once a week, and she is getting paid. She’s already trying to wriggle out of it, saying how difficult it will be when she starts her GCSEs.

I’m half expecting her to contact the union rep and start battling for better terms and conditions.

I’m going to have to make her sit and watch Third World child labour documentaries to remind her how lucky she is not to be breaking rocks in a mine or collecting refuse from landfill all day, every day.

Once they reach their teens, I’m all in favour of children having jobs. It teaches them the value of money, as well as encouraging them to be reliable and responsible. Most of my daughter’s friends have jobs. Her best friend and her brother are great examples: she has a paper round, and he’s trained to become a life guard at the local pool.

I worked from the age of 11, and I’m happy for my daughter – aged 13 – to do it.

But seeing her head out with her trolley also made me sad, as if entering the workforce somehow spells the beginning of the end of the carefree days of childhood, like dipping the first toe into the adult world.

In my experience, once children start working – whether its paper rounds, waitressing or shop work – they don’t stop. Even as a student, I worked.

I remember my first full-time job, which I did for a year after leaving school, before I went to college. The idea of only four weeks holiday really floored me. Going to work for the first time, day after day, is a shock to the system. And a bigger blow when it dawns on you that it could be forever.

I can understand why – finances permitting – some people become permanent students, accumulating qualifications until they’re well into mid-life. One of my husband’s friends remained at college until he was almost 40, mainly because he couldn’t face the prospect of work.

It was strange seeing my daughter’s name on the official forms of employment, thinking of her having a national insurance number and a pension – which I’ve told her to start saving for now.

Maybe this is the first step towards Apprentice-style entrepreneurship, and she will be able to support me and my husband in our poverty-stricken retirement.