Sleepovers are a big thing with kids these days. When I was younger they were uncommon, but now they seem strangely de rigueur. I really don't like them in such a small house as this, where a sneeze in the living area can occasion sleeplessness in the bedroom. With all the gadgets and games and cable TV, there is no escaping the noise. To be honest, I like it quiet and settled in the evenings. But in the interests of being a good parent, I tolerate them every fortnight or so.

As a compromise, I bought Tom a small tent and this is where I confine the sleeping side, at least in the warmer months. The sleepover runs something like this. I erect the tent and furnish all the bedding and interior items. I cook dinner and supply all the snacks. I give up the living room to electronic games for the evening. The following morning I make breakfast, air all the bedding and take down the tent. In between times I pick up the half-built lego, also the innumerable sundry items that are dropped and forgotten, whilst fielding complaints about unsatisfactory service or unexpressed needs that I have failed to attend to. You can understand, perhaps, why I don't like sleepovers.

A scene of relative calm.