The battle of the on switch.

Every autumn it's the same, the battle over when to switch on the central heating. We circle each other, me looking for the opportunity to make a dash for the on switch, him keeping an eye on me to stop me doing so.

If he had his way we'd all go around in so many layers that we'd resemble a family of Michelin Men and the only way to get on and off any piece of furniture would be to roll. The heating would go on when there was snow on the ground and the bird bath was frozen solid. I, on the other hand, will have been itching to light the log fire since the August Bank Holiday weekend.

He grew up in a big oldish house that looked lovely from the outside but was so badly built if you knocked a picture hook into a wall, a brick would fall out outside. The heating system was woefully inadequate and that's putting it mildly. It is the only house I've ever known where, if you took a glass of water to bed with you in the colder months, it would be frozen solid in the morning. Visiting any time between September and April necessitated layers of clothing, preferably cashmere, and I once was so cold I kept my coat on throughout dinner. Having a bath there was like one of those gruelling treatments at an Austrian boot camp spa, the water never got above tepid in the huge cast iron bath.

I grew up in a relatively modern house which had underfloor heating when we first moved in. Great idea except in reality it meant roasting feet but every part of you from the knees up was cold. My parents liked to walk around in short sleeves all year round so that was soon switched off and a whizzy proper heating system went in. Oh we were snug. Actually I spent most of my teenage years virtually comatose because not only would they have the heating pumping out at a constant 25 degrees but my mother had an aversion to open windows so it was like being sealed in a very hot, airless bubble.

I'm somewhere in the middle, I like to think heatwise I'm your average person. I don't expect to swan around in a camisole top indoors in December but neither do I want to have to wear 16 layers to be warm. I like fresh air but I also like to be cosy and warm as the temperature drops.

This morning I saw my chance. He was distracted by the Match of the Day he'd recorded so I made a break for it. Success. The heating is on.

The 11-year-old has just walked past the conservatory radiator and put his hand on it.

'It's warm! Yay, the heating is on. Finally'. See, it's not just me.