Sara Bailey is sharp, smart and sixteen...

The fridge, once bursting at its metallic seams, now holds only a withering cauliflower. The bathroom – once a scented candle haven – is now littered with hair gel and all things male. It only means one thing: my brother has waltzed back from university, with enough audacity to make Russell Brand tremble.

My brother and I have passed the tearing-out-hair stage (with only a few exceptions) and I’d even say we’re close friends now. But there’s something about a sibling reclaiming their household throne and disturbing my only-child system of peace and tranquillity that reverts everything back to the pre-teen sibling war.

I’ll admit, I do enjoy the undivided attention of my parents (despite having its drawbacks).

It has placed a golden halo over my head; I practically glow from the unabridged praise I receive. I also don’t doubt that our once equality is now weighted heavily towards me. Although “you’re our favourite” hasn’t actually been uttered by my parents, I know it’s true – call it a sixth sense. So when his “fascinating” uni degree is the epicentre of all dinner time conversations for that three week or so period, I can’t help but imagine life as a real only child.

I have friends who are only children, who envy my situation just as I occasionally do theirs. Some claim that you can tell apart an only child and one with a sibling. I wonder how? There are certain advantages to being an only child: undivided attention being one. I must say having no one to create a diversion between slyly going on Facebook instead of work can be irritating.

Maybe self-sufficiency is another, the idea that only children can learn to make it on their own rather than seeking the help of their siblings. Perhaps the mother of all only child arguments: no sibling rivalries. This may take the form of battle wounds from the ongoing TV remote feud; I believe I had clusters of bruises up until my early teens. Or this may be competing for your parents’ attention: four-year-old me cut my own fringe in a desperate attempt to compete with my brother’s maths homework. Incredible the lengths siblings will go to.

Truth be told, 90 per cent of the time I do like having a sibling, especially in the last couple of years. The age gap has shrunk to a level of mutual teenage understanding, or perhaps boredom – the novelty of snapping at each other’s throats has worn off.

Over time, I’ve learnt how to compete against a live-in cunning opponent, who has admittedly annihilated me in most fights. If that’s not life preparation, I don’t know what is. Maybe the greatest satisfaction: learning from their mistakes. I am considerably closer to mastering the art of parent manipulation than he ever will be.

As for education? I can dodge his broken egg shells, making me the souped up, 2.0 version child.