The word ‘nit’ is enough to make most of us break out in a rash of head scratching. In my day, those decades ago, head lice affected a tiny percentage of the school age population. Now more than one in three primary school age children can expect to experience an outbreak. Why the rise? Partly the demise of the school nit nurse ‘too intrusive’, apparently; partly parents wising up to the side effects of using nuclear levels of nit- (and everything else busting) chemicals; partly head lice getting resistent to chemicals anyway.

Apparently today is National Bug Busting Day and The Family GP is running a useful guide to eradicating pests – read all about what nits are (brown winged, the size of a sesame seed) and how to eradicate them here.

In my experience (I’m not too ashamed to admit that three of my four children have had nits. The baby I suspect is still immune as he’s as ‘bald as a boiled egg’ according to one of my son’s nursery teachers) nits are boring but can be got rid of. My favourite tool is the Nitty Gritty Comb. Jonathan Ross waxes lyrical about its ‘fantastic twiddly bits’ and it really pulls out all the ghastlies, often leaving them trapped between its teeth wriggling like butterflies on a pin. Which is fascinatingly gross and not behaviour that induces restful sleep. I’m less sure about their repellent spray, only because my sons resist being misted with it and scream like banshees. It’s the ‘cold’ and the ‘girly pong’ and frankly I spend enough time chasing the boys around the house as it is.

If you’re plagued with nits, good luck dealing with them. But do deal with them. I have a friend who refuses to get rid of them, saying it’s ‘nature’s way’ and they’ll ‘drop out eventually’. I now pop my sons in balaclavas whenever they go and play at her house.

I promised myself I wouldn’t get sucked into Xfactor this year. Being emotionally manipulated by Simon Cowell makes Sunday night blues worse, even though we’ve  never voted for any of the contestants, and therefore don’t need to feel guilty about putting money in Mr Square Top Head’s pocket. Despite the good intentions I’ve just watched Kitty (Amazonian blonde, great voice, emotionally needy and bonkers) leaving the competition.

What happened? How did I get sucked onto the sofa for another year?

I’m afraid I find it all too easy to sit slack jawed and let the brain switch to energy saver mode. The program passes in convenient cup of tea making/dishwasher emptying instalments, occasionally producing bouts of semi creativity, such as the performance from a blonde starlet who made me realise a truth that should have been staring us all in the face: Lady Gaga is a School-Run Mum, don’t you know?

The rest of the time, it’s downtime (something that’s even more important now there’s no Downton). And after another full day troubleshooting the four children aged six and down, my brain probably wouldn’t be able to cope with University challenge. So here’s what I think about this year’s lot.

Mischa B. Wow. Great voice and she looks like a star, if being a super confidant diva with (Simon, don’t sue me) bullying tendencies means being a star. But she’s a bit scary, and it seems to be cute contestants who do well at the moment, so I don’t think she’s in for the long haul.

Little Mix. A band like this makes me feel I’m looking endlessly into mirrors, watching the same people reflected into infinity. Little Mix is a manufactured band created from manufactured contestants. This is confusing and poignant at the same time, revealing how interchangeable and forgettable most Xfactor rejects and winners are destined to be. They might win. They might not. They certainly won’t be remembered in five months time. Sweet girls with bubbly personalities and long legs and eyelashes, one of them has been subject to some nasty comments on Twitter about her looks and weight (she’s all of nine stone to the other girls’ seven). In the absence of any real life stories this has served as the ‘personality’ bit in the girls’ camp.

Janet Devlin. My goodness, if this girl could be distilled, bottled and freely distributed, there would no longer be any need for Bambi, Moshi Monsters or kittens. Spray yourself with essence of wide-eyed Irish girl infused with top notes of tumbling brook-washed organic hair, and instantly feel as though you’re sitting next to a peat burning fire eating fresh baked soda bread. Sigh. You just want to give Janet a big hug and a mug of hot chocolate. Will this sell records? Not sure, but what is certain is that Janet is definitely not Lady Gaga.

Craig Colton. Also known as the Incredible Shrinking Man. Gary, who has revealed himself to be quite the headmaster figure, has him on a strict diet of tofu, and mung bean shakes. This cute as a button Liverpudlian still lives with his parents, has a lovely voice, and never stops smiling. One of the favourites to win. But would you recognise him if you passed him in the street?

Marcus Collins. There’s nothing wrong with this guy. He can sing, he can dance, he dresses well and – unlike most of the other contestants – hasn’t let the show’s stylists turn him into a cross between someone forced to wear a cross between a Christmas cracker and an extra from Glee’s leftover outfit. He’s the favourite, and apparently gets the ‘mums’ vote’, whatever that is.

Amelia Lily. I didn’t watch Xfactor at the beginning, making it even more annoying that I’ve been sucked in during the latter stages. So I don’t have a clue who Amelia Lily is. She looks like someone from American Xfactor, all polished skin, perfect teeth and tumbling yellow locks that it’s probably safe to assume you shouldn’t get too close to with a naked flame. She’s good. Not sure why she got called back to replace that naughty Frankie, but I could find out on Google in a nanosecond. Which is probably how long Amelia Lily will enjoy being famous.