I'VE always though of myself as one of the more careful (when it comes to money) members of my family.

After all, I don't buy a new pair of expensive shoes every week, as my elder sister does, and I don't throw out my handbags at the first sign of wear and tear, like my eldest daughter. Mind you, I'm nothing like as careful as Auntie Milly, who hoards leftover food . . . one potato, a handful of peas, several slices of carrot. Her fridge is filled with small containers, each with its own leftover. (My mother would never eat soup at Milly's house.) However, I did a really wasteful thing last week . . . and it felt so good! What did I do? I painted a door with gloss paint and instead of soaking the brush in white spirit and shoving it into the cupboard to marinate, I threw it away!

What a wonderful feeling. Over the years, I've accumulated many glass jars each containing a turpentine-soaked paintbrush. But I've never re-used the brushes. (Whatever I do, the bristle coagulate and the handles rust.)

So, from now on, I will continue to wash out brushes from water-based paints; but as for the glossy ones . . . into the bin with them, I say!

My father would have been aghast at the waste . . . but I say I wish I'd done it years ago.

I heard someone talking about a bachelorette party recently. Unfortunately, this was on an American TV programme. We will seem to talk about a hen party. As I've said before in this column, I don't understand how any self-respecting woman can want to be thought of as a cackling, waddling thing on stick-like legs. Particularly since men call themselves stags!