EVERY now and then something happens that makes you feel really, really ancient.

This week I felt like a quaint, old-fashioned grandma of 93.

I was out having coffee with a young colleague at M&S. When I say young ... she's 30, a real grown-up, married with a mortgage and everything, not a teenager.

She was telling me about her new fridge being delivered, but said she hadn't plugged it in yet because the instructions recommended giving it a wipe around with a solution of bicarbonate of soda to get rid of any stale smells.

"What is bicarbonate of soda anyway?" she asked. "I don't even know where to get it."

I whittered on about how you can use bicarb for loads of things ... cooking, cleaning, getting rid of smells ... and blithely said they'd probably sell it in the cake making section at M&S, next to the baking powder. I was wrong.

Don't worry, I said. We'll pop into the big Boots up the hill. They'll definitely sell it.

I was gob-smacked when the slightly shame-faced assistant at Boots admitted she didn't think they had any. She half-heartedly checked a cupboard under the counter. I felt as if she was looking back in time.

"People probably don't know what to do with bicarb any more," she said.

She's obviously right — my friend certainly didn't. She looked at me as if I was describing some kind of elemental witchcraft when I started telling her about de-furring kettles and unblocking drains with bicarb. It makes cakes rise and peas go mushy and cleans silver and stops bee stings from stinging.

It's antiseptic and a disinfectant and is a good anti-fungal. Come to think of it, bicarb is kind of magical.

But I suspect that the lack of common use is only half the reason why they don't sell bicarbonate of soda (chemical compound NaHCO3, also known as baking soda and sodium bicarbonate).

Maybe it's also got something to do with the fact that bicarb is a great, cheap, non-proprietary product which isn't being pushed as a brand by the multi-nationals. They'd rather package it up and sell it under a trade name for 10 times the price.

Now I feel like a little old lady, but I'm a little old lady wearing a witch's hat on top of my Citizen Smith beret and Che Guevara T-shirt.

Cleaning power to the people. Bring back bicarb!

IT'S probably a bit sad that the bicarb incident is the biggest excitement in my life this week.

I don't want to sound sorry for myself or moany, but life really is just hard work and a constant juggling act at the moment.

I don't know if it's my own pig-headedness, but I have a big problem about constantly having to ask people for help.

I like being free and independent. But I'm totally dependent — and will be for a few years now — on a small handful of incredibly kind people who help out every week by picking up my youngest from school and child-minding so that I can go to work.

It's an incredible commitment and I am grateful. But I don't like feeling indebted and beholden. It's an odd feeling for me and I'm not comfortable with it. It's like borrowing something and not being able to pay it back.

One of my brothers has been a complete revelation.

Every Monday he's at the school gates at 3pm, brings my son home here for a snack, and then takes him swimming, just like his dad used to do.

It's a wonderfully practical and supportive thing to do — both for me and for my little boy who has been going to the same swimming club with his dad every since he was three.

What is particularly impressive is the fact that my lorry-driving brother has never had children of his own, and seems completely nonplussed by some aspects of stepping into this parental role.

For example, I get a phone call at work at the same time every week.

I'm ready for it now. It seems that my son is ill at 3.30pm on a Monday.

For the first few weeks, as I wasn't there to check for myself, I had to agree that if he wasn't well, he shouldn't go swimming. And to be fair, there were a couple of times over the winter when he was suffering from odd viruses.

But basically, my son was trying it on. He'd quickly cottoned on to the fact that his uncle was a total novice at this parenting game. And much as he loves swimming once he gets to the pool, he also loves getting home from school and crashing out in front of the TV/Xbox/Playstation/Wii (whatever that thing is in the corner of the room).

So now every week I have to get my boy on the phone and go through the same ritual. First I listen and empathise and make motherly 'Oh dear' noises while he tells me about his stomach ache/headache/ sore throat.

Then I suggest that he has a nice glass of milk and a sandwich and half-an-hour in front of the TV. And then I tell him to go to the pool.

"Just see how you feel when you get there," I say. "If you still feel ill, you can come back straight back home again."

Not surprisingly, it works. He always feels absolutely fine once he's there and comes bouncing back home feeling proud of how well he's doing and telling me how good he is at diving or the butterfly.

This week my brother moved up to a whole new level in the impressiveness stakes by cooking dinner too. I walked in the door from work to find he'd rummaged around in the fridge and made a lovely pasta sauce full of wholesome veggies. It was delicious.

I really don't know how I'll ever be able to repay him. Saying 'Thank you' over and over each week to him and everybody else who helps out just doesn't feel like enough.