"Barbara" strikes again. Literally.

"Barbara", you may recall, is the appellation that I give any child that crosses me. In that respect, the concept of "Barbara" is a bit like the concept of "Bob" in Twin Peaks. It is a malign spirit that can enter any child, at any time, cause great evil - and then leave again. "Barbara" was in the child that made Eavie's Barbies "do sexing" in the kitchen. Then "Barbara" entered the child who decided who could and couldn't play with her, on the basis of whether they had Sky+ or not.

This week, "Barbara" visited a childrens' birthday party, and entered another willing vessel. Whilst in control of this child, "Barbara" made it take up a stick against a rival - and smack him right in the knackers. Apparently, the clatter was hard enough for the boy to start bleeding in a fairly copious manner - leading to one of the sights no mother ever wants to see at a birthday party for an eight year old: a boy walking into the kitchen, screaming, cupping his bloody crotch in his hands. Especially when you're in the middle of pouring out Ribena into 27 small, plastic cups.

When I heard of the latest doings of Barbara, I was initially quite horrified. After all, partial circumcision is a heavy toll to pay for a hand full of Jamboree Biscuits, and a party-bag. But then I remembered, at my school, a boy - who I suppose we must refer to as "Barbara" - stabbed another boy - who, as he was quite annoying too, probably also must be referred to as "Barbara" - through the eye with an icicle. And at my husband's school, one pupil murdered another. But that was in Birmingham. Barbara, it is clear, is as old as time.