I write this first Dad Up article in a risible amount of time as the globe appears gripped by mass delirium at the birth of the royal progeny. I say the world, but perhaps more accurately the world’s rolling news media, or at least some senior figures within them, as there seems to be more than a faint echo of Johnny Mathis singing ‘When A Child is Born’ in the background.

Far be it from me to fail to acknowledge the unbridled joy which should greet the birth of each and every child of the face of the planet. It may be the Republican, or simply the Scottish side of me but it does seem faintly curious, though, that the at least partial outpouring of emotion this week has witnessed be directed to another child rather than one’s own.

The lion’s share of parents share with me the unswerving belief that their children are the centre of the universe. I would argue that kept in check this is a good thing, even as I have learnt to temper showing photos and regaling stories of tiny triumphs to strangers. What we actually think, though, is that our children are the centres of our universe, and that strikes me as a profound and wonderful emotion.

I also write this article on the morning of my son’s fifth birthday with a faint sense of incredulity at where the last five years have gone. Such is the drumming of my mantras into him that when I ask the happiest day of my life he cheerfully replies ‘The day I was born Daddy.’ When I add that this is true for every day since it may seem glib, but it is the truest thing I could ever say. I am one of those blessed, and cursed, with the steadfast belief that parenting is the single best thing I do, and that this is primarily down to the sheer wonders in my midst daily.

Meanwhile, I will leave this short return to the best website in the ether with the egalitarian, and entirely accurate idea that all of our children are Princes and Princesses. Should they wish to be.