I wasn’t an authentic hippy so I’ve never really said, ‘Hey, man,’ without it being tongue-in-cheek. Born in the sixties, I was really a child of the seventies, the teenage years marking each person’s era. I just liked the seventies’ clothing. Some of it’s still in my wardrobe.

Abba, 10CC, Fleetwood Mac, Genesis, ELO, Sailor, Queen, Sweet, Slade, Thin Lizzy, Nazareth, too many musical memories to mention. And quite an eclectic mix. Memories of doing the diva at disco dancing while ultra-violet lights showed every white speck and rendered teeth Osmondesque. Village People heralding the death-knell of disco. I was young once and must have had a language known only to my generation.

With Glee covering every song known to man, my tastes in music are deemed quite ‘cool’ by my children because husband and I have many of the originals on LP. (That’s a big dod of plastic with grooves and a hole in the middle, to those too young to know.)

But, beware.

Just because you may be considered acceptable in your musical tastes, if not your clothes, does not mean that you can casually use teen-speak and get away with it without shame and a rosy red flush on your fizzog.

Words I am not to use in the presence of my children or their friends include, ‘Sound’, ‘Sorted’, ‘Random’, ‘Cool’, plus any acronyms identified in text-speak. So, LOL is out, too.

When I got my first ‘brick’, a hand-me-down mobile phone from my eldest because she was upgrading (me paying for it, of course), I was humiliated to learn that, ‘C U l8ter’ was no longer regarded as appropriate by those in the know.

Now, I hadn’t taken a course on what was conventional but I understood that shorter texts were meant to be better. I gave in and reverted to proper English in my texting life. The downside is, it takes so long for me to text a message, I would be quicker phoning.

I thought it was part of my remit, as mother, to ensure I adequately embarrassed my children in the presence of friends by recounting stories from childhood and showing foolish photographs.

Apparently, that’s nowhere near as cringe-worthy as speaking out of turn in a language fit only for them.

Which is cool, as long as they don’t mind me, occasionally, recounting some totally random LOL moments that tell how sound and sorted my day has been.

Hey, got to move with the times, man.