AS your 30-something spokesperson there are topics which inevitably crop up as my natural territory. Weddings, births, reality TV, consumerism, public displays of affection, metrosexual men, break ups, bingo and camping to name a mere few.

However, there are a few subjects which are rather less palatable, and a lot harder to find the humorous side of than, say, unfortunate haircuts or how to find your porn star name. Like, for instance, what happens when we lose our parents? Sorry, didn't mean to wipe the smile off your face. But see, even writing the words feels like dropping a bomb. It's the one thing we know is going to happen to all of us, and it's the one thing we just can't talk about.

The reticence to talk about this issue (a reticence I share, by the way. I'd much rather discuss Jordan's boobs) feels like unhealthy superstition. Even here, I'm skirting round it. I mean, losing'? I make it sound like a parent is something you could let slip down the back of a sofa cushion and, with a bit of effort, easily find again.

Of all the subjects I discuss with my friends, nothing is taboo. Really, you should hear us. And yet this topic . . . well, not so comfortable. All in all, bit of a mood killer. And maybe there's a reason for that.

After all, is there any point trying to accept it as a reality? If you are lucky enough to still have a full complement of parents, you won't ever have experienced a second of life without them in it. So how do we accept the unimaginable? You might as well try to ram into your head the idea that the sun won't rise tomorrow. You couldn't very likely convince yourself it was going to happen until, astonishingly, it did. Up until then, it's just something unthinkable, and vaguely ridiculous.

But what do we think is going to happen? Are we hoping somehow to be exempt? Well, sort of. "I was very shocked when my mum died," my own mother confided.

I pointed out that, as she was 86, it wasn't entirely unexpected. "I thought she'd be around forever," she replied. "And the longer she went on, the more I couldn't imagine life without her." Beautiful. Heartbreaking. Entirely illogical. But, oh God, I know what she means.

Sometimes though you get a heads up'. Last year, my dad was diagnosed with cancer (I haven't yet found the funny side of cancer, or else I'd have written a column about it before now).

It was a good time to reassess my priorities, to understand the idea of my dad as something other than immortal and invincible. And yet I still get impatient with my mum and dad sometimes. I don't spent every single minute thanking God they're both still with me. Turns out, you just can't live like that.

So, what is to be done? I reckon we should think of it like a break up. You can't spend all of your time worrying about it, or you'll spoil the relationship. Just accept that you'll deal with it. Until then, don't take them for granted. And accept that sometimes life's funny peculiar, and not funny haha. Next week, more nonsense about George Galloway in a leotard.