Mother-in-law: The 11 worst MILs - The mother-in-laws you love to hate 3 - The Apologist She'll ring in the middle of children's teatime, when baby is choking on lumps and his brother is painting his own name in mashed potato on the French doors. "Is this a bad time?" she simpers. I know what it's like. "It's OK," you spit out, catching a glob of shepherd's pie in your free hand. You wonder if she didn't start out like that, whether it might not occur to you to feel annoyed. She tiptoes around you like a gopher in a bear cave, apologising for her own existence, until you can't help but snap. "Oh dear," she sighs, with the dying breath of the little match girl striking her last flame. It seems I've overstayed my welcome. 4 - The Equivocator You will never get a straight answer from her; no matter how hard you try, no matter how many times you ask the same question and no matter what question you ask. She puts a spin on everything, applying creativity to fact with the verve of a Renaissance painter. Remember when she took Mikey for a trial session at day care and he screamed so much he choked on his own mucus? "He absolutely loved it, once he'd got going," was the version you got. You understand that she's trying to make your life easier but every now and again, you want to grab her by the shoulders and yell: "SAY WHAT YOU MEAN!" 5 - The Snob She's the only person you know who uses your house name "Little Brympton" in place of a number, even though you live in a two-bedroom semi in Dorking. Her wedding present was a copy of Debrett's Etiquette and Modern Manners, with key sections flagged up in post-it notes: "Good manners are the most visible manifestation of civilisation." What on earth prompted you to tell her about being sick in the fountain at Bluewater, on your hen night? You are not the sort of girl who appears in Country Life snuggling Hungarian Vizslas in her cleavage and sucking on a cake pop. You are greens to her vegetables. It was never meant to be. 6 - The Stalwart You'll find her in the farmyard, skirt tucked into the top of her tights, whooshing through muddle puddles with a Sliver Cross pram full of hooting children, three collies and four more sprogs in pyjamas and wellies trotting alongside. Nothing fazes her - last summer, on holiday in the middle of a thunderstorm, she grabbed your children by the hands and leapt into the pool, fully dressed. The littlest one cried, worried he would be struck by lightning: "Oh, nonsense," she tickled him until he squealed with laughter "you're far more likely to be eaten by a whale." 7 - The Steamroller You have to let a house breeeathe! She marches through the rooms like she's flushing out smokers at break time. Those poor boys, there's no air in here. It's a wonder they don't die in their sleep. It's -4 degrees outside - you wait until she's in the loo and whip round and shut all the windows. She'll inspect your washing basket, hooking out the greying bras like a factor sorter on quality control and correct your ironing: "Not like that - turn the pockets out first! Centre the inseams! It's all you can do to stop yourself cranking up the temperature and slamming it into her imperious, know-all face. Instead, you take it out on the steam button and lose her in a cloud of water vapour. 8 - The Storyteller Give you strength; it's starting again - the infinite history of the ninety-nine-pee chilli sauce. Chill sauce or crème fraîche, it's always the same. You don't get A to B with her, you get A to Z and back again. You dig in for the long haul, leaning on the banister for physical and moral support. How did this woman manage to spawn your highly intelligent primatologist, conservationist husband, currently on a field trip in Madagascar writing about a new species of mouse lemur for National Geographic? You tell yourself again - and again - that just because her conversation is less stimulating than benzodiazepines does not make her any less of a person. Needless to say, the children love her and her bags of goodies from Lidl. 9 - The Reluctant Grandma She rolls her eyes when you ask her to babysit. Everything is too much trouble. She's done her bit. She had two much children and she didn't much like raising them - she's not about to start all over again with yours. She only just about tolerates your eldest daughter - but that's only because she will sit through an episode of Countryfile without complaining. To the rest of your children, she's about as interesting as the Queen Anne chair in the living room that can't be climbed on. 10 - The Social Climber She cuts a striking figure in Cheltenham High Street striding out in her Viyella suede trim blazer and red silk cravat (she tells her friends it's Valentino), her brassy hair dressed with a pair of DG knock-offs. She's as wispy as a husk of brown rice - thanks to Luigiano (her Dutch Adonis) down at Fitness First. "How are they in restaurants these days?" she trills down the phone, clearly wondering how to get the grandchildren through from aperitivo to digestivo without forfeiting her prized sailing club membership. You should see the Italian children at the table. Three years old and not a peep! 11 - The Manipulator You used to trust this woman. In the early days she would bake cupcakes with vanilla frosting and bring them round for a "girls" night in." It took you the best part of a year to realise that she was fact-finding; everything would be fed back to your husband, skewed slightly as a slur on your character. She'll make her doe eyes at him at say that all she craves is a little respect. If only you could just apologise then "we can all move on." She is like a giant octopus, curling her suckered tentacles around you both, squeezing the life out of your marriage, waiting for the final moment when she can rip it apart with her razor teeth. Managing MIL - You and your Mother-in-Law, for better, or for worse? published by Peridot Press, will be released on November 18 and is available from Peridot Press or from Amazon.co.uk