SOMETIMES I can be alarmingly inarticulate. My friends and family have got used to my blundering, distracted, wittery way with conversation down the years.

They know I usually come to a point eventually and are happy to go off and put the kettle on or watch a film while I twitter my way towards it.

But strangers are not generally aware of my conversational disability. Until I open my mouth. Then, as all manner of disconnected nonsense spills forth, a look of bemused pity begins to spread across their face as they back slowly towards the nearest exit.

I'm at my worst when confronted by people with a certain air of authority. Teachers, doctors and dentists in particular, who I come into contact with on a regular basis since having kids, leave me gibbering. It doesn't matter that they are all younger than me, I still can't pass the time of day with them without giving the impression I am heavily medicated.

The pinnacle of my inarticulate career came last week when I had to phone my son's school to say he wouldn't be in for a while because he had chicken pox. It wouldn't have been so bad if the phone had been picked up by a school secretary, I can just about splutter out a sentence in their company. But it wasn't, it was snatched up efficiently after the third ring by - gulp - the head teacher.

I managed to mutter something along the lines of "I'm the mother of a son with chicken pox...your school...year one. Erm, he's very spotty. And, er, itchy".

Sounding suitably sympathetic, the head teacher said: "Oh dear, the poor little chap. I hope he feels better soon."

Which should have been it: end of conversation, goodbyes all round, phone down. But no, my mouth had other ideas. Without any help from my brain whatsoever, it blundered on regardless."Yeah, yeah, I'm sure he will," I said, sounding breathless and stupid in equal measure. "But at the moment he looks really, you know, really spotty. Like a, like a, erm, like a zebra."

A zebra? A ZEBRA? For once in my life, I was speechless.

I'VE had a quick lie down in a darkened room and am now ready to continue... so let's get back to chicken pox, a virus so fantastically scabby and oozy it looks like it should fall into the 'plague' class at the very least.

Never having seen it in the flesh before, I was surprised at how gloriously gory the spots are.

They are the sort of spectacular crusty globules that pop up in cartoons or, singularly, on the faces of particularly unfortunate teenagers, soon followed in both cases by pus explosions of volcanic proportions.

I knew, of course, it was going to be itchy and uncomfortable, but who knew chicken pox would be so much fun? We started with spot the spot. My lad had the upper hand in this game because he knew the whereabouts of spots that were, shall we say, invisible to the rest of the populace.

Dot to dot was next on our 'to do' list. We didn't actually get out the felt tips and tattoo the poor lad in pen from scalp to shin, but we did pretend to join his scabs into aesthetically pleasing patterns.

"It's an elephant on a scooter" was one suggestion as we stared, mesmerised, at his crusty back; "no, it's the Mona Lisa" was another.

Thankfully, no one mentioned a zebra.

Then came my favourite: pass the pox.

Within hours of my inarticulate ramblings to the head teacher, numerous mums had asked if they could rub their own children vigorously over my son's person so they too could be as stupendously spotty.

Great fun for all the family, I'm sure you'll agree.

And just imagine what a hoot we will have when his little sister gets it too!

Updated: 09:25 Monday, April 25, 2005