I should be beaming with happiness. I'm growing up and buying my first home.

On the plus side, I will be able to contribute to the floating versus fixed mortgage debate. And finally, the lead story of the Sunday Star Times every second week will have some kind of personal relevance.

But I'm not happy.

This house-buying business is fraught with problems, not the least of which is supervising my mother over the phone while she goes online to look at the photos of my new home on the real estate website.

My mother has got the internet at home but she's, shall we say, a little bit rusty on it.

Here follows a running (but approximate) transcript of my phone conversation with Mummy Eleven.

Me: Hi Mumsikins, I've bought a house. Why don't you go into the magical online world of the internet and have a look at the pictures. It should be nice and easy with your broadband internet.

Mum: Who? What? Where? Whereforartthou? Whoa Nelly. I mean Rebecca. I mean Becky. Oh, now it's Beck Eleven. Why can't you use the name I gave you when I pushed you out of my womb all those hardly any years ago. The internet, you say? It sounds dangerous. There be dragons?

Me: Yes. There be dragons. But only if you Google "dragons".

Mum: Who is this Googledragons?

Me: Just go and turn on your computer.

Mum: Ooh. Turn it on? What does it like? Sexy knickers and a soft keystroke?

Me: No, but there are plenty of sexy knickers inside the internet if you press the wrong button. Let me know when you've got a window open.

Mum: But it's winter. Don't you know anything about the concept of insulation?

(At this point, we disconnect for five minutes and I channel the Dalai Lama, for I know my patience will be sorely tested.)

Me: OK. Go to the address bar and type in the following. (I ramble off a lot of letters and numbers and dots and slashes).

Mum: No. I can't see anything.

Me: What about now?

Mum: No.

Me: What about now?

Mum: I hate the internet.

About this point, as I pretend to get calmer, I become substantially more patronising.

Me: There's a good girl. It will be alright. That's the way. Becky's here.

And here miracles start happening. Mum can see 10 pictures of the house. There is a long and ridiculous discussion, while we confirm she is seeing the same thing as I am.

Mum: Can you see the white house? With the hose to the right? Is there a bush with one pink flower.

Me: Yes.

Mum: Is there - ?

Me: I think we can safely assume we are looking at the same thing. Now I've got you on the internet. Do you want to look at another website? Let's open another window.

Mum: But it's winter. I thought we'd been over insulation.

Me: Not a real window. An internet window.

Mum: Not unless it's double glazed.

Me: I'm going to boil you.

Mum: What?

Me: I didn't say anything. There's a good girl. Becky's here. Now let's open a new internet window by holding down the Control key and pressing the 'N' key.

Mum: Do I just click on the red cross?

Me: No. If you click on the red cross, everything you've ever loved will go away.

Mum: I'm doing it anyway.

Me: Now listen. You're going to hear another clicking sound, which will sound much like the phone clicking in your ear.

* If you have ever wanted to throw your mother out of an internet window, email me: beck.eleven@press.co.nz.