Claire Dunn: Hearts and flowers? I'd rather have a new drill

In fact, I had to tell a couple of them off for giggling just a bit too hard.

And the reason for their hooting and their honking?

Well, it wasn't my age, although it could quite well have been since I'm now the wrong side of 40.

No, it was that my husband bought me a drill.

Apparently, this is not the done thing. Wives buy those sorts of things for husbands, not the other way round.

I, on the other hand, was delighted with my new toy. I haven't had my own drill before.

I've got a toolbox full of screwdrivers and other bits and bobs, but no drill.

So for my birthday present, hubbie quite literally hit the nail on the head.

It was exactly what I'd wanted. After all, I'd dropped enough hints.

"Wouldn't it be lovely to put up those shelves that have been sitting on the floor for well, a couple of years," I said in desperation.

"Wouldn't it be nice to put up some hanging baskets outside the house and they stayed up? Pity I haven't got a drill, dear . . . "

It's now time to confess that I am a bit of a DIY freak. I'm not very good, not at all. But hey, I'll give anything a go.

My husband is not a DIY freak. In fact, he would freak out if someone asked him to do anything with a screwdriver, drill or hammer.

So, I guess we balance each other out quite well. And he's more than relieved that he doesn't have to try putting up a curtain pole or hang a picture.

Indeed, family Dunn would all be sleeping on mattresses on floors if it were down to hubbie and his phobia of anything with an instruction manual.

I have to say I'm rather proud of some of my DIY achievements over the last few years. Some less so; the giant crater I made in the wall while trying to install a stair gate, to name just one.

However, my proudest DIY moment was just last week.

I managed to put up a my son's cabin bed complete with chest of drawers and desk all on my own. Yeah, it took three days, and my husband had to keep plying me with cups of builder's tea, but I was rather chuffed with the results.

First and foremost, my little boy got into bed and it didn't collapse. As an added bonus there were no trips to A&E, for either myself or my child. Only once I had to undo everything and start again. But I blame the instructions: don't you find that they are always utter gibberish?

So as I write I'm also jotting down a to-do list of all the jobs in the house that require a drill. Oh heck, there's quite a few.

To start with, my youngest son now wants a cabin bed with a new chest of drawers and a desk. Another three days work, I guess.

Loads of pictures need putting up, the curtain pole on the landing is falling down, the trellis needs fixing in the garden and don't even get me started on the shelves in the bathroom.

Eeek. Maybe my friends were right, Pass the Yellow Pages.

Next birthday I'm having a manicure.