HAVING never been particularly maternal, I'm afraid I often find children more irritating than endearing.

I admit to occasionally feigning interest when friends talk about their offspring, I can't coo over newborns with any sincerity, and I couldn't care less about the imminent Royal baby.

But as I get older I seem to be turning into a reluctant mother hen.

My heartstrings were tugged recently when my sister returned from a holiday in Portugal with a sad tale about a little girl she saw left outside a "gentleman's club". Sitting outside a bar nearby, she saw the child arriving with a man, presumably her father, who left her on the street while he went inside the club. The youngster amused herself for a while, dancing to music from the bar, but eventually got bored and just stood there, listlessly. By the time my sister and her boyfriend left, going up to midnight, the poor child was still there. Sadly, she was probably used to it.

On a less shocking scale, my heart has gone out to the fed-up youngsters I've seen trailing through shops over the Easter break. Can parents not think of anything else to do with their children other than dragging them around stuffy stores or soulless retail parks? I know sometimes it can't be avoided, but I've noticed an alarming number of adults greedily shopping while their brood stands around looking bored to tears. "Take them to a park," I've muttered, attempting to squeeze past an enormous pushchair, three under-tens, 15 shopping bags, and a gaggle of mums on mobile phones.

One of the saddest things I ever saw was children in a pub on Christmas Eve. I'd gone with some friends for a festive drink and we were shocked to find the place teeming with young families. Surely, if you have children, Christmas Eve is a special night at home - yet some families were still in the pub past 10pm; parents merrily guzzling while their children grew increasingly tired. One little girl, sitting at a table of adults, all boozing, looked utterly miserable.

By the time they got home those youngsters would've been exhausted and grumpy, and all the magic of Christmas Eve bedtime would be lost. We all like a sherry at Christmas - Santa more than anyone - but if you have young children it's a particularly lovely time that doesn't last long, so it's a bit sad to waste it down the pub.

Childhood is short but precious, and the memories last a lifetime. Pity the poor child whose memories are built on slouching by the pub fruit machine way past their bedtime, or traipsing around a shopping centre on a sunny bank holiday.