Last week, I recorded a podcast with the lovely Anoushka Williams at BBC Radio Cornwall. It’s called Mums Without Make-up, which is me to a tee - I’m a mum, and I wear no makeup whatsoever, at any time. I’m sure I’ve got some, but it’s probably 20 years old and I’ve no idea where it is.

Anyway, last week’s theme was “things I wish I’d done differently”, aka “mum fails” for short. Where to start? When to stop?

How about remembering to top up my daughter’s lunch money so she doesn’t have to find the nice dinner lady who will feed her on credit? (As opposed to the evil crone who will let her go hungry).

I asked Daughter where she thought I could improve. After a lengthy pause, she said: “I’m never going to have kids. It’s too stressful.” I interpreted this as there being just too many things to list.

I pondered all this as I left Daughter home alone eating a TV dinner while I went to my parenting podcast. (Relax - she’s a teen, but not yet old enough to throw lairy parties. Give it time).

Why beat yourself up? I asked myself. Why not pat yourself on the back for the stuff you do well?

I refer you to last weekend as a case in point. I booked tickets to Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour at my local WTW cinema. Hand me your shiniest “best mum in the world” trophy, please.

You know who Taytay is, right? This former child country star has hit peak pop fame, and would be the natural successor to Madonna if Madge weren’t still touring herself.

At just 33, Tay has made countless albums and her global Eras tour - Japan, Argentina, Australia - encompasses the greatest hits from them all, over three glorious hours.

The actual tour was so hotly anticipated, there was a queue just to get in the queue to buy tickets. I know people who persuaded relatives to queue as well to multiply their chances.

I wasn’t willing to do that - too expensive, and Wembley’s too much of a hike. But the cinema - well, it’s like watching Glasto on the telly. You get a better view, from a comfy seat.

Tickets were £20 (oof) and £13 for kids - to reflect the singer’s birthday on December 13. I even managed to book a seat 13 without trying, much to Daughter’s delight.

She is obsessed, to the point that had she been of legal voting age, she would happily have opted for Liz Truss purely on her credentials as a fully signed-up Swiftie.

My Other Half regularly despairs that this is her sole topic of conversation. I remind him that she’s a teenage girl - at her age, I was similarly one-track about the Thompson Twins and the Pet Shop Boys. Needless to say, he was happy for this to be a girl’s night out.

Daughter prepared for the date by bombarding me with seemingly every song the genius ever wrote (only a fraction of her back catalogue in reality). I now know my Midnight from my Fearless, my Red from my Reputation.

She bought a dress to reflect the cover of her favourite album - Folklore, all dusky grey - and checked out my wardrobe for something she was happy for me to wear (my favourite shirt, a yellow check that mercifully looks a bit like the cover of Evermore).

Off we trotted to the Plaza to meet my best mate and hers. Like most of the mother-daughter combos there (there might have been a couple of dads, to be fair), we had obligatory selfies in front of the poster, bought industrial quantities of pick and mix/popcorn and took our seats.

There followed three hours of the goddess looming large on screen, accompanied by much squealing at the opening bars of favourite tracks, and singing of the loud and tuneless variety.

Should I have apologised to the people in front? I needn’t worry, says Will Burt, manager of White River Place cinema in St Austell, where fans were met by helium balloons spelling out 1989 (Swift’s birth year and an early album title).

“There has been an eagerness amongst some to sing and dance, and others just want to enjoy the show, but the venue is big enough and sound is pumped up for all audiences to enjoy,” he reassured me, adding: “The fans have been loving it – it has brought out a lot of emotion among the Swifties.”

For my part, I was mightily impressed by Swift’s stamina. Quite how she remembered all the words, dealt with the endless costume changes and remained genuinely sunny of disposition, I do not know. I take my spangly hat off to her.

With Halloween on the horizon, I note that internet searches of Swift-related costumes – especially those relating to a rumoured celebrity romance with American footballer Travis Kelce – haveskyrocketed. I think I will be drawing a line there.

And March will be payback time, when we drag Daughter along to a concert by OrchestralManoeuvres in the Dark. Her education starts now. Pass me Exhibit A: Joan of Arc…