This depressing statement is certainly fact in our house where I am constantly clearing up and putting away, only to find a day or two later the coats, shoes, bags and general debris that teenagers cart around with them, have all magically reappeared.

The favoured place for dumping 'stuff' is our dining room, which is used for anything but the purpose for which it was intended.

The table is usually strewn with papers left by our eldest who is keen to demonstrate that he is taking his A-Levels seriously at last. I'm reticent to keep moving his files because now he's on a bit of a roll with his studies, the last thing I want to do is slow down his momentum.

But recently, I've become so ashamed of the mess on the table and floor, and so fed up with not being able to open or even get to the sideboard to get out plates and cutlery, that I have taken to keeping the door firmly closed so visitors can't see in.

Shamed into action at the weekend, I finally gathered up three enormous piles of discarded books and files and ordered the boys to take them to their rooms. Amazingly, I unearthed a piano in the corner of the room - can't remember how long it is since I last saw that or was able to prise open its lid, now free for the first time in months of a mound of paperwork, and have a tinkle on the ivories.

But silly me for thinking the boys would obey my instructions.
After all, why do something now if you can put it off for a few hours, days or even months, even if the old matriarch is going ballistic.

So in desperation, I carted everything upstairs myself and dumped it on their beds.

They all made it into bed for the night so I assume at some time they finally got their acts together and hopefully sorted through everything.

Who am I kidding? They probably simply crammed it all under their beds in two seconds flat. Still – at least I don't have to look at it.