I WAS late as usual and there were only a few seats left. The head teacher was standing at the front, smiling broadly but undoubtedly yearning for a blackboard to screech her nails down to get our attention. I smiled back and pulled a "sorry I'm late" face, which was something like a cross between a grimace and a gurn, before spotting a couple of pals at the back and scuttling off in their direction.

My attempt to make a quiet, dignified entrance was scuppered once again when I reached my seat. I might have been born on a Tuesday, but I have never been over-burdened with grace. So instead of pulling out the plastic chair discretely and silently slipping into place, I dragged it noisily across the floor and plonked my bum down gracelessly on its unforgiving, rock hard seat making a noise not unlike a sack of spuds falling off a two-storey scaffold.

Tardiness, embarrassment, clumsiness and sniggers: a typical scene from my otherwise uneventful school days. Only this wasn't a scene from the 1980s, this was last week. And the location wasn't the lofty, barrelled hall of my Leeds high school, it was the all together more cosy hall of my son's primary school in York.

Luckily he is still too young to be embarrassed by me, although I'm sure it can only be a matter of time before he completely disowns me at the school gate and tries to pass himself off as the child of one of the more glamorous mums. You know the ones: perfect make-up (I am organising the silver jubilee celebrations for my one and only mascara), gleaming hair (I'm cultivating the badger in a wind tunnel look) and fashionable clothes (I'd just be happy if mine were ironed).

I thought that when it came to my kids' school days I might be a bit more organised, more confident and, dare I say it, more grown up. But some things never change. As soon as I entered the school last week for the parents' meeting, I got the same knot in my stomach and the same dread as I dodged nervously past the women in reception, even though I was fairly certain they weren't going to phone my mum and demand a reason for my late arrival.

There was no good reason for my reaction. The staff and teachers couldn't have been more friendly or more welcoming. But this was a school and schools make me nervous.

I am pleased to report, however, that it appears I am not alone. From all the giggling and whispering going on in the back row, I can only assume that all parents have a regressive tendency when their kids start school for the first time.

Let's take a look at the evidence: there were plenty of seats left at the front, but all the stragglers (myself included) immediately headed for the relative obscurity of the back row; when the head asked for questions from the floor, everyone suddenly became fascinated with their own footwear; those keen beans who had a question put their hands up and waved enthusiastically (while, I'm sure, yelling "miss, miss" in their heads) until it was their turn; there was an unmistakable guffaw when someone spotted the words "sex education" in the prospectus; and three mums (again, myself included) missed what was probably a vital piece of information with great bearing on our children's futures because we were gossiping in ridiculously loud stage whispers at the back.

Thankfully, our kids behaved with infinitely more grace and common sense. They played happily in the classroom that will be their weekday home away from home come September, and they diligently came to collect their giddy parents from the hall at 3pm, leading us away firmly by the hand so we didn't dawdle or run out into the road.

I can only imagine what we will be like when the first day of term dawns. Somehow I don't think it will be the children who will be snivelling uncontrollably and refusing to let go of the gate.

Updated: 09:36 Tuesday, July 15, 2003