Look, I love my children as much as the next man (er..woman), but does this mean that I have to enjoy every second of the two whole months Ireland bestows on us for their summer holidays? As I was telling B (poor, long suffering B) all we had when we were kids was the BBC and our bikes, and we seemed to manage okay. Whatever happened to entertaining yourself? Okay, my Mum will probably say that I did my fair share of ‘Mum, I’m bored’, but these children have Playstations, Gamecubes, PSPs, Gameboys, Computers..you name it. Maybe its because they’re so ridiculously over stimulated and yes, spoilt, that they have lost the ability to make their own fun. Listen to me..what was that thing about trying so hard not to turn into your Dad that you inadvertently turn into your Mum? It’s happened (Sorry Mum, sorry Dad).

And another thing: why do they have to be so horrible to each other? It wasn’t enough that when T the lodger bought his adorable daughter D down for a few days I had to send mine to their rooms for fighting on the trampoline (#2 son actually knocked #1 son completely off his feet with one punch - and no, I’m not in the least impressed, but maybe he has a career in boxing ahead of him), therefore making my children look even more like evil goblins, and D even more angelic. Every withering put-down, every sarcastic comment, every shrill cry of ‘right that’s it, you’re a cheat..I’m not playing’ that shatters our domestic bliss on a regular basis actually makes me quite sad. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve told them that they’re brothers, hence they have a family duty to love, cherish and protect each other and ‘Daddy and I would never dream of treating each other like that’ (not when you two are within earshot anyway) , it all falls on deaf ears (soon to be cauliflower ears no doubt)

And one more other thing, then I promise I’ll stop: why do they change their clothes so often. At this very moment there is a huge pile of clothes on the lawn that were shed earlier, no doubt during a spot of tag-wrestling. Do they go and pick them up? Noooo, they just go and put on clean stuff, which needless to say still ends up in the dirty laundry at the end of the day (unless it’s #2’s Brazil kit that is, which I have to crawl, stealth like, into his bedroom after he’s asleep to take. I mean, what am I, the laundry fairy (or should that be Fairy Non-Bio - sorry, that’s not even funny)?

God. Roll on September.

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