...well, that's what my Nan says, anyway.  It's her, along with my other well-meaning grandparents, who I blame for setting me up for a disappointing time as far as the harsh reality of the modern world is concerned.

There are daily media outcries that kids are being brought up on a diet of violent films and computer games.  Yet I happen to think this is infinitely preferable to the sweet, innocent and inoffensive 1950s musicals my sisters and I were brought up with, where the men were always dashing and heroic, and the women wore pretty dresses with satin and ruffles.  Aside from the obvious affront to feminism, let's face it - if you spend all your free time watching 'Die Hard' and 'Severance', followed by an energetic round of 'Death Fighter' on the Xbox 360, the world outside is only going to be improved when you step out of the front door on your way to work.  In fact, you're probably both pleasantly surprised and grateful that a hooded warrior waving a 50-inch Samurai didn't jump out at you in the alleyway round the back of Sainsbury's.  The real world is a wonderful place by contrast.

I, on the other hand, was set up for a lifetime of disappointment when I go out and it's raining, for example.  Men either ignore or try to splash me by driving through mud puddles at the side of the road instead of rushing up and offering me an umbrella with a jaunty song, a la Peter Lawford and Judy Garland in 'Easter Parade'.  And when I struggle through the office carrying boxes of photocopier paper (hold me back!) there are no rugged Paul Newman types insisting he takes them off my hands while flashing a white toothed smile. 

Ever since I was a little girl I'd imagined my hen night to be something like Grace Kelly's in 'High Society' - diamond-encrusted, with crystal chandeliers and buckets of champagne with Bing Crosby and Louis Armstrong crooning a few jazz numbers in the background (well, I was eight years old).  Now don't get me wrong, I did enjoy my hen night, but a boozy meal at the local "three courses with wine thrown in" pub didn't quite compare, especially as the musical accompaniment wasn't Bing Crosby, but Steps and Madonna through a set of tinny speakers (what else do you expect for £15 all-in?)  I'm also pretty sure there wasn't anyone throwing up in a bin in 'High Society' either, but I can't be 100% sure about that as I haven't seen it in a while. 

And don't get me started on the festive season.  How can a stressful and expensive Essex Christmas measure up when every year you're watching the idyllic scenery and dreamy romanticism of 'White Christmas'?  I used to feel guilty that my relationship with my sisters was more about hair-pulling and stealing each-other's clothes than performing effortlessly glamorous renditions of 'Sisters' like Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen (it took a few years to realise that this was a good thing - we didn't exactly have their voices, for a start).

I happen to think music in everyday life is much underrated - sometimes a song makes everything feel better.  Had your heart broken?  Don't go home and drown yourself in a sea of wine and chocolate, instead just wander out into the street and sing your sorrows away, accompanied by an invisible pitch-perfect orchestra and a merry dance routine with unsuspecting passers-by.  You'll go home all ready to find love again with that irritating yet strangely loveable work colleague with a heart of gold, living happily together forever in a haze of song and roses, with delicious baking smells constantly in the background. 

So in conclusion, if you have children, save them from insipid romantic illusion: bring on the computer-generated gore and make ‘Saw’ family viewing! Real life will be marvellous in comparison, and your kids won't end up as gibbering romantics hoping for Cary Grant to sweep them off their feet on the 8:15 from King's Cross.