TOP OF THE frocks

Ann Glover, 63, from Belfast

My son, Declan, 22, popped his head round the living room door.

‘I’m just popping to the pub for a pint, Mum,’ he said. As usual, he was dressed to the nines in a smart top and jeans. Declan loved to look good. He adored labels like Yves Saint Laurent, Ben Sherman and Nike, spent ages hunting through the rails in TK Maxx for bargain designer clobber.

‘Make sure you’re back before midnight,’ I said. ‘You’ve got work tomorrow. Anyway, you’ll turn into a pumpkin if you don’t!’ ‘Aww Mum,’ he grinned.

‘Anyway I’m not a pumpkin - I’m a chick magnet!’

I smiled back. I wasn’t worried about Declan. A popular lad who loved his boxing, he had