I took my six-year-old daughter to yet another child’s birthday party on Sunday.
Usually these events are an opportunity for the wealthier families to flaunt their wealth and try to outdo each other.
This party was at the other end of the scale.
The family were Japanese and perfectly nice people, but they had hired a hall that was having building works carried out.
The car park was a mess of mud and broken paving stones.
The hall itself was cold with two permanently open exits. Neither of them watched.
They had hired an entertainer, and she was OK, but it was just her and about thirty children.
They were all given large foam balls and plastic hula-hoops to play with and encouraged to run around.
On walking into the shrieking chaos, my daughter turned and begged me not to leave her.
I didn’t.
I wouldn’t of even if she hadn’t asked me.
I watched a dozen children hurt themselves and there were lots of tears and arguments.
How many other parents stayed?
Two.
I wonder what the others were doing that was more important?