Help us. We are prisoners in our own home. At every turn we seem to be losing the battle against the encroachment of wonders and their toys over space and time. The worst of it is we can’t even go out. We’ve tried- the place was even more of a bombsite when we left them alone.*

We find ourselves living with two more cumbersome, beautiful, expensive and unpredictable versions of electronic tags.  Our junior ASBOs do their job pretty effectively though; save for the occasional weekend pass they keep us from staying out late and being antisocial in public places.

Back at home, Oran has taken to developing a hybrid between modern sculpture and indoor playground in our living room on a largely daily basis. The names and exact structures vary, but the modus operandi seems largely the same; delirious fun and imminent peril in equal part.

These require every cushion, pillow, blanket, cover, sofa, old cot mattress, chaise longue and chair at his disposal. The end results can at times vary aesthetically, although the one spot of consistency seems how precarious they are with two children atop them. They are most commonly referred to by boy wonder as his Masterpiece, although sometimes they double as secret hideout, fort, office and slide.

Such was the wailing and gnashing of teeth when I recently dismantled a Masterpiece in his absence to tidy and hoover the room that I went to extraordinary, and frankly absurd lengths last week.

Oran had requested I leave this particular triumph intact until his return, particularly as it created a stunning soft-furnishing backdrop for the internecine warfare being played out by his myriad Hero Factory toys on the floor.

My desire to humour my eldest while being nominally useful around the house when all were out led to the following- taking a picture on my phone of said masterpiece, and the position of said heroes on the floor; dismantling and removing all to hoover and tidy around; returning all to their previous positions from said picture for the imminent return of boy wonder.

Elsewhere, the brief hiatus of normal sleep as Tallulah enjoyed the relative novelty of her own bed has been replaced by the all-too-frequent norm as she was poorly again; a badly played game of human Jenga in a bed with two adults and two children.

We have found that, initially at least, the optimum configuration is as follows- top left, adult; bottom middle small child; top middle larger child; bottom right adult. This is, of course, a fairly fluid arrangement through the night, and means subconscious choices for the sleeping parent. Lula’s end means being awakened more for cream for her skin, milk, trips to the loo and the odd tear if she’s in pain. Oran’s end means more peace, with the jeopardy of sleep-talking and superhuman strength shoving you compounded by the odd (inadvertent) kick to the head, and less frequent heel to the groin- believe me, a game changer.

For those of you whose progeny are in their beds and asleep by 7 having tidied your spotless houses I envy, respect and hate you. For those who can empathise in the dubious words of Michael Jackson, You Are Not Alone.

*This is, of course, in jest.