The good thing about being stood up by five middle-aged men is firstly that it gives you an insight into the past two years of Big Sis's life, and secondly that it gives you time to do other things. We might not be sitting in the Brighton Centre waiting for Duran Duran to take the stage, but we're currently settled on the cleanest sofa this side of the DFS sale.

Having delivered Amelie to my parents yesterday (who insisted on taking her, regardless of the status of Simon Le Bon's throat) I've spent the day attempting to prove that the phrase 'Dry Clean Only' is one of the biggest lies of the 21st century, by putting all our sofa cushion covers through the spin cycle, and then tumble drying them for two hours on a high heat. The fact that I'm not now watching Britain's Got Talent from the discomfort of a folding patio chair proves that I'm right. I think I'll try it with Lisa's clothes next.

To be honest, the main reason I took Amelie to St Leonards yesterday wasn't because we were expecting to go out tonight. It was because I couldn't afford to keep her. I received an e-mail from iTunes on Saturday containing a receipt for an iPad app costing £29.99 which I'd successfully purchased on Thursday. Which seemed odd as I hadn't even used my iPad on Thursday.

Unfortunately Amelie had. For the past two weeks she's been inseparable from the thing, and I've given her free reign to do as she pleases, safe in the knowledge that she can't do any financial harm without my iTunes password. Unless, of course, I enter it so that she can download a free picture-matching game for toddlers, and then forget to log-out before handing it back to her. Which is what happened when I staggered in from work on Thursday.

I remember her beaming at me as she pressed buttons on the iPad and said "I'm trying Daddy's games!". In reality she was clicking on one of the free apps I downloaded months ago, and upgrading it to the paid version. And she chose the most expensive one I had. I knew nothing about it until I got the receipt from iTunes two days later.

According to the App Store terms and conditions, "all sales are final" and "you cannot cancel a purchase or receive a refund for a purhase", but having already waved goodbye to thirty quid, I felt I had nothing else to lose, so I e-mailed them on Saturday, explaining the situation. And late last night, I received this response:

"Dear Phil,

Christa here from the iTunes Store. I understand that you downloaded some free apps for your 20-year-old daughter and you briefly left the room and when you came back, you found that she has been pressing buttons and ended up purchasing some items and you would like to be refunded for the purchase."

To be honest, with a start like that, my hopes weren't high. Let's face it, Christa's probably younger than my 20-year-old daughter, and would have been well within her rights to point out that Amelie really should know better at that age, and it's my own fault for leaving my iPad in the hands of a morally irresponsible adult who's been raised with a distinct lack of discipline.

But to my surprise, she went on to say this:

"I know how frustrating this can be and I will be happy to assist you with this issue.

The items that were purchased are called in-app purchases. An in-app purchase is an additional purchase you make within an app. In this case, the items that were purchased were "Professional Version with ALL Features" from the app "Eye Chart Pro".

Phil, with that being said, I have reversed the charge for your in app purchase, which I understand was unintentional. In three to five business days a credit of £35.98 should be posted to the credit card that appears on the receipt for that purchase."

Yes, not £29.99, but £35.98. It turns out Amelie bought two upgrades for the same app. I just haven't had the receipt for the second one yet. So all's well that ends well. Instead of watching my faith in Apple crumble, they've proved themselves generous to the core. I've also had a glimpse of the future. Except that in ten years time she'll be stealing my credit card on purpose.