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Once a year, it comes to this point without fail or relief, as the children begin the countdown to their exams. "You mustn't have your friends over," says my son, "it disturbs my concentration."

"Go study in your room," my wife directs him. "I prefer to study in the living room," he protests. "That's because he can watch TV instead of studying," complains my daughter.

I watch TV only as a break," my son explains. "You study only as a break, considering the TV is always on," I butt in. "Just because it's on doesn't mean I'm watching TV," he says, "it's just that sound helps me to concentrate better."

"What helps me," my daughter reasons out, "is pizza and chocolate cake." "There's no scientific theory to support that," I suggest, "so you'll eat what the rest of the family eats."

"Don't blame me if I don't do well in science then," says my daughter, "when a pepperoni pizza might help me get really good grades."

In addition to not allowing our friends over, and minding the menu, the children have evolved a set of rules for us to adhere by: my wife is not to hog the phone lines, I'm not to work on the computer, we mustn't just read or relax ("it's irritating when we're trying to study hard"), the servants must lurk in the background with beverages and snacks on call, and of course we're not to go out in the evenings or else they'll think we don't care.

To show we do care, I take on the family alarm duty. My daughter wants to study till midnight, but says she'd like to nap at 10 pm, so could I allow her forty winks till 10.30 pm?

At 10.30, she asks to be allowed to sleep a little more, then decides it's too late, why don't I go to sleep too, and we'll both wake up at 5 in the morning.

I set myself an alarm for the midnight hour, which is when my son hopes to wake up. "I'm tired," he says in response to my attempts to rouse him, "could I sleep for another hour please?" I set the alarm for later, but sleep eludes me till it's finally time to wake him up again. "What I'd really love," he says, "is a cup of coffee."

Now fully awake, I decide I might as well polish the silver. By the time it's done, the clock shows it's 3 am. I check on my son to find him dozing at his desk.

I shake him awake, and tell him I'll keep him company while he swots. "You go sleep," he says, "you look tired." "Sure?" I ask him. "Sure," he confirms.

Still, I set the alarm for 4 am to check on him again. The bell seems to ring before my head's rested on the pillow. Groggily, I go check on my son only to find him fast asleep. I let him be, and set the alarm for an hour later, this time to wake my daughter.

My daughter wants to snuggle for 15 minutes more. I keep vigil. Fifteen minutes later, she asks for another reprieve. At 5.30, I rouse her from her bed and sit her down at her desk.

"Could I have some cake and cola please?" she asks. "Cake yes, cola no, but I'll give you milk instead," I say, rustling about in the kitchen. Because it's almost 6 now, I wake up my son. "Could I have breakfast," he pleads, "I'm hungry?"

Later, when they've both left for school, I wake up my wife. "My, my," she says, "don't you look a sight? If you don't shower and freshen up, somebody might think you hadn't slept a wink all night."