One personality, telepathy, identical taste in jumpers – Fiona Gibson, mum of twins, tells all.

'Double trouble!' bellows a man collecting litter in the park.
'You've got your hands full,' remarks an elderly lady.
'Ooh, I saw this documentary about twins,' says a mum with toddler. 'They were separated at birth and reunited at 70 and – you never guess what…'
'They were wearing identical cardigans,' I say, flatly.
'Not only that! They were dressed identically. Right down to their hair slides.'
Well, blow me down. I have heard dozens of versions of this hair slide story, and am well practised at gasping, 'No! Anyway, must dash. I'm late for a meeting of the Spooky Twin Society.'

Yes, I have twins. Nothing particularly unusual in that: twins are on the increase and, no, they don’t communicate telepathically. Mine are three-year-old boys who get up to three-year-old boy shenanigans: swinging from curtains, smearing jam on the telly, your usual endearing kid stuff.

Yet twins are perceived as something odd – even scary. I'm often asked if they speak a private language. I am tempted to fib that they huddle in corners, whispering, 'Mayagoo-dwaddle,' which I interpret as, 'Orange juice please, Mummy.' But they don't. They yell, 'Ah wanna chocolate biscuit,' approximately 28 times a day, like any other human being under five years old.

To the outside world, however, they are undeniably 'different'. When they started part-time nursery at 18 months, one of the carers asked, 'Do they have separate personalities?'
I blinked at her. Did she expect that they might share one giant-sized personality with no room for individual quirks? 'No, they are different people,' I told her, patiently. She paused, as if waiting for a run-down of each child's nature. People often assume they can be summed up neatly: 'I see that Dexter is the affectionate one and Sam is more, er, complex,' said a fellow mother at a toddler group. OK, at that moment Dex was sitting patiently on my knee while Sam was attempting to shut another child's head in an oven. But it's never as simple as easy one/tricky one. They can both be little monsters, frankly.

Yet I can understand the 'Twins = Oddballs' tag. From birth, they are noticed; friends were especially eager to come round and 'help' with our newborns (ie, witness the spectacle of me attempting to breastfeed both at once). They'd say, 'That double buggy's a pain in the backside, isn't it?' as I biffed my way out of the house, tearing strips off the doorframe.

Once out in the terrifying wide world, twins attract double the attention. We lived in London's East End at the time; 'Ronnie and Reggie!' was a popular refrain. And we were certainly not welcome in posher venues: when I dared to heave my laden buggy into Agent Provocateur, the steely-eyed assistant peered at me as if to say, 'You are seriously thinking of coming in here with that enormous pram thing? And what do you want with expensive underwear anyway?'

Taking the boys out to eat has always been challenging too. People assume they have identical tastes in food; I am met with incredulity when I explain that Sam loves pasta, but - horrors! - Dexter doesn't. Actually, I am relieved that they are different. We try to accentuate their differences; each has their own selection of clothes and I'd like to cut their hair differently, but it's tricky with boys. Who gets the neat crop, and who's landed with the Beckham-style shaved head? I'm not prepared for one of my sons to grow up asking why he always looked like a berk in photos.

I would, however, love our relatives to make an effort to distinguish our boys. To this day, one of their grannies calls them 'this one' and 'the other one' or, when really confused, simply whistles.
It's a weird one all right. But it’s nothing to the strangeness of our third child – a single girl. We have no double buggy to crash around supermarkets. There's no need to remove my entire shirt in order to breastfeed.
Oh, and no one shouts, 'Double trouble!' Now that is weird.

SOME USEFUL CONTACTS:
For local twin clubs, contact Tamba (The Twins and Multiple Birth Association), Harnott House, 309 Chester Road, Little Sutton, Ellesmere Port, CH66 1QQ or visit the TAMBA website.
Tel 0870 121 4000 or 0151 348 0020

Tamba Twinline (01732 868000) offers free advice, 7pm-11pm week nights, and between 10am-11pm Saturdays and Sundays.

Another useful website is Multiplebirths.org.uk The Multiple Births Foundation based at Queen Charlotte’s and Chelsea Hospital, provides info for parents and professionals.