LOVE triangles make life worth living. Where would we be without Ken, Deirdre and Mike; Brad, Jennifer and Angelina; Diana, Charles and Camilla; Mary, Mungo and Midge?

We love a good triangular scandal- or triandal as I have just catchily rechristened them - especially if it involves people in the public eye.

When Princess Di simpered to Martin Bashir about her marital version of "two's company, three's a crowd", we lapped it up.

On the regular occasions - usually Christmas, New Year and other jolly family holiday times- when Mike 'Barrow Boy'Baldwin and Ken 'Boring Boy' Barlow have a punch-up in the Rovers over Deirdre 'Do My Glasses Look Big In This' Whatever-She's-Called-Now, ratings soar.

And whenever Brad and Angelina appear to publicise their new film, Mr & Mrs Smith, the elephant in the room that everyone studiously ignores but desperately wants to ask about is the former Mrs Pitt.

We love it. We love to read all about it, and we love to watch it on our TV and cinema screens.

A good old celebrity triandal (you wait, Heat will be using it next week) is the new black. But it's not a colour that suits everyone.

When I discovered a shocking mnage a trois happening on my doorstep, I was scandalised (not to say triandalised - okay, I'll stop it now).

What started out as a quietly respectable game of kiss-catch, in which the only real danger to participants was the odd case of lip chapping or knee grazing, has now escalated into a full blown love triangle, where hearts are ultimately bound to be broken.

Much as I hate to admit it, my son is at the centre of this particular suburban scandal. The other points of the triangle are two beguiling young ladies who I shall call C and R for the sake of their reputations and those of their esteemed families.

The trio have been firm friends since nursery school, where they met across a crowded sandpit aged three and a half. Their friendship has blossomed over the intervening years, but now I fear the blossom is turning brown on the branch and is perilously close to plummeting earthwards.

Not a day goes by without incident. On several occasions my lad has found himself at the centre of a literal tug-of-love, with C pulling on the left arm of his school jumper and R wrenching the life out of the right.

He has been dealt a brisk smack in the chops when R took a swing at C and C wisely ducked.

And, only last week, he was forced to seek counselling from a passing dinnerlady when C, a healthy sized six-year-old, lay on top of R, a youngster of the more spindly variety, and refused to get up.

"I don't know why they keep fighting over me," my lad confided. "Why can't we all just play together?"

For a moment I thought he was going to break into a resounding chorus of We Are The World, but then I noticed the twinkle in his eye. He wasn't the least bit scandalised by his own scandal - he was loving it!

That's the thing about love triangles. If you are the pinnacle being fought over by the other two points, life is good.

If you are one of the pugilistic points, however, life can be a bit of a pain, even if your opponent doesn't actually sit on you.

NEW research has revealed that only two minutes of intense exercise a day does as much to improve fitness levels as two hours of moderate training.

It takes me two minutes of puffing and panting to get my trainers on- does that count?

Updated: 09:11 Monday, June 13, 2005