So little concern for what he is wearing does my 12-year-old son show that he often appears wearing a T-shirt back to front. He pays such scant interest, that he's even been known to come downstairs wearing his nine-year-old brother's garments.

Isaac, on the other hand, is far more sartorially aware. Unlike his older brother, he examines clothes put out for him. If he doesn't like the look or the feel of them, he won't wear them.

He had one favourite pair of jeans that were bright red. I took an instant dislike to these offensive trousers and whenever he managed to find them from where I'd hidden them, I could normally be found four or
five steps behind my son.

To make matters worse, Isaac grows slowly. Which meant that he refused to grow out of the horrid things, which he would wear specifically to wind me up.

Thankfully his red jeans tore easily (with a little help from a pair of scissors) and were so badly mangled they couldn't possibly be made into a pair of shorts.

Anyway, I mention clothes as my sons have slipped very easily back into their post-school habits. Isaac comes in from school and refuses to get changed out of his uniform until he gets into his pyjamas for bed.

Gabriel is the opposite. As soon as he's through the door, he gets into his pyjamas, so his school uniform doesn't get any dirtier. Guess which one loves school and which one hates it?

* The "who's getting what for Christmas" debate began some time ago.

One brother is trying to persuade the other to get a joint present of a laptop computer. The other argues that the joint present should be a new computer game platform.

I have been tempted to intervene on several occasions, but I'm pleased I haven't. For the arguments are well-made, eloquent, often passionate and normally very logical.

Both Isaac and Gabriel can be very persuasive, and if I were a third brother instead of the parent, I'm unsure which one I'd support. My pension plan involves at least one of them being a lawyer, so I think it's excellent training.

* IT'S official, I'm an embarrassment.

I've suspected for some time that Gabriel views me more as a hindrance than a help.

Two incidents have proved that I am now the cause of red faces and pity.

The first involved the phrase "super pig". He and a friend were talking about "super pig" and I asked what it was. The look of horror was a joy. Apparently, it's a character in the new Simpsons movie, "that I really, really should have known about".

Less than a day later, I was at it again.I couldn't get the DVD player to work.

My wife asked Gabriel if he could help.

His face snarled scorn: "It's a TV dad, not difficult." He picked the right remote up out of the choice of four, made some bewildering movements, spoke in tongues and my movie appeared on screen.

I enjoy my son's derision. It's sometimes the only conversation I can get out of him, and as he enters his teenage years, it's something I'm going to have to get used to.