Once you’ve whittled down your candidates to a few likely contenders, don’t book a date until you have conducted the most important part of the process — mother-in-law selection. You can’t choose your family, but you can choose your in-laws!

There are just three simple rules to bear in mind here:

1. Larder
2. Language
3. Location

Ideally, you want a mother-in-law who cooks exactly the kind of food you like, otherwise you will have to learn to fake a smile and deal with the inevitable belly ache. My first mother-in-law was a lovely woman, but bird-like in stature. Now, I might not look like I eat much, but I am 5 foot 10, so I eat a lot more than the average woman. Also, my level of nervous energy requires a lot of fuel.

My first Christmas with Husband Number One I spent the whole time hungry! While Do They Know It’s Christmas rang out! Mother-in-law Number One plated up some lovely food for Christmas dinner and as I took through my husband and his Dad’s plates, my mouth started to water. I was already hungry by this point, as the only snackage available before dinner was sausages rolls. I am vegetarian. Not even a bowl of twiglets! I fairly skipped back to the kitchen to bring our plates through, I can tell you. 

After a long time standing around awkwardly — and that is something I am very good at — she asked me what I was waiting for. “Our plates?” said I. She gestured at the two side plates sporting what can only be described as prison rations and said: “I hope that’s not too much for you.” Jesus wept and so did I! 

Mother-in-law Number Two had a thing about making mushroom quiches especially for me. Which was a lovely thing to do. I’m really not keen on quiche, but I can stomach it. What I can’t stomach is Trumpet Chanterelle mushrooms gathered from the Finnish forests. Well, gathered from anywhere. They love a good forage, the Finns. When I was newly pregnant I spent a weekend in a summer cottage with my husband and Mother-in-law Number Two surrounded by thousands of trumpet chanterelle mushrooms drying in special machines. Even now just the idea of the smell of them is making me heave. 

But what Mother-in-law Number Two did have was tan almost total absence of English language skills. She couldn’t really speak a word. My Finnish extends to the address where I lived, so I could tell taxi drivers where to take my drunken self — Linnenkoskenkatu Nelia B (4b Castle Street) — and coffee machine — kahvihuone — which my toddler son liked me to repeat often. Strange child. The fact that we could not talk to one another meant she was unable to give me any “helpful” advice when I gave birth to her grandchild. All I needed was the ability to grin inanely for the length of a visit and I was sorted.

Finally, location. I solved that by moving back to the UK, where I am now safe from trumpet chanterelle quiche.

Mother-in-law Number Three is great. She goes to masses of trouble to cook things I will eat. Now, I am somewhat picky. I’ve been vegetarian since I was 13-years-old. Husband Number Two used to say: “You can eat it, you just choose not to,” until I wanted to stave his head in with an uncooked butternut squash. When I met Husband Number Three, Monsieur Francais, who came from a family of farmers, bakers and brewers, he was somewhat dismayed to find out that I don’t drink, eat meat, or tolerate gluten. It was then that I discovered the origin of the term “Cordon Bleu”. It’s the name for that pulsating blue vein in an angry Frenchman’s temple.

Mother-in-law Number Three is also French, unsurprisingly, and lives in — you’ve guessed it — France. And so she achieves the hallowed trifecta of mother-in-law attributes: Larder, Language, and Location. On the rare occasions I see her, I happily eat homemade gluten-free chocolate cake, while smiling at her in a friendly fashion. She also likes everything I post on Facebook, even when it is a joke at her son’s expense. Bonus points!