“Ok” I thought to myself. “Dropping off sounds simple enough. Let’s go and do that”.

We travelled to the village hall that the party was being held in and I waited in the car with Lou's older daughter Abbigayle who is 7 while my friend took the three year old inside for all the fun and excitement under the sun.

Moments later I saw Lou returning and did up my seatbelt ready to go but then I noticed that she still had Harriet with her.

“Crap!” I thought to myself, for this could only mean one thing. I undid my seatbelt and opened the door preparing to execute the well-loved drop and roll procedure used for exiting cars in a bid to escape. I then remembered that A) the car was stationary, B) Lou was yards away by this point and C) there was nowhere to run.

My fate was sealed and I already knew exactly what Lou was going to say before she spoke the words.

“Harriet won’t settle. We’ll have to all go in for a while”.

I quickly looked around one last time for any escape route possible but, unless I fancied a 5 mile run through a field with an angry Bull in it, there was nowhere to flee to. I resigned myself to my fate and bit the bullet. We all went into the hall and I quickly found a place to sit on the outskirts.

The party was a wonder to behold. The hall contained 8 toy cars (designed for ankle-biters to drive around in), around 25 red balloons (although the numbers were being rapidly depleted by ever more startled looking young’uns bursting them left right and centre). There were in total, I believe, twelve 3yr old children. It is impossible to be certain of the exact number due to the terrifying speed they were moving around the room. There were also around about 17 parents dotted around (some feeling the need to team up and come together)…. and then there was me.

I sat in my chair, trying not to show my fear or make eye contact with anything. I watched in horror as these children screamed like wild animals and ran up to me saying things I did not understand such as

“Peeeooowww peeeeoooow” (which was later explained to me as being ‘child’ for “I am shooting you with my imaginary gun – please pretend to die”).

Lou, by this point was off mingling with the ‘other parents’. I try not to go with her when she does that because inevitably one of them will ask me if I saw yesterdays Balamory. This of course leads to bewilderment. Then, once the mystery of what on earth Balamory is has been cleared up the ordeal of explaining that you don’t have any spawn of your own begins. This ultimately results in being showered with their pity (or on occasion, hateful envy). Far safer to stay on the chairs!

Safer, but not foolproof. I sat on the chairs minding my own business. Every now and then a random 3 year old boy would take his turn to wander over and stare at me for a while before going away to run around in a circle with his head down staring intently at the floor and his elbows raised almost to shoulder level. After about the fifth child had done the stare/circle thing a sixth child appeared and commenced the stare out. By now I was familiar with the routine and not so worried. I stared back and then attempted to smile at the youth. This clearly upset him for some reason and he took it as an invitation to punch me in the knee. Then he smiled and ran away. Lord knows how I managed to restrain myself from bursting his balloon but somehow I did. It seemed more important to rub my knee and try to get the circulation back anyway.

A little while later and I had escaped safely to iPod land and the ‘coping with stress’ cd that I had loaded onto it a couple of months ago. Any benefit I had gained from it had been wiped out in the first 30 minutes of this party and I felt the strong need to re-listen. As I was listening to the soothing music and the silly man telling me I ‘cope with stress in a calm and rational way’ another of the little people arrived and mouthed something.

I removed my headphones.

“Hello” he said.

“Hello” I replied.

“My name is Matty” he said.

“Hello Matty, it’s nice to meet you” I replied.

“Peeeoooow Peeeeeeow!” he said before running off to run around in a circle with his head down. “Seriously” I said to myself. “what’s that about?”

By now the chaos was in full swing and I didn’t think things could get any worse. Then the Chief Mum yelled out that there was going to be a party game.

‘Excellent’ I thought, ‘let’s put them in the cars and race them!’ but this was not what Big Chief Sitting-Mum had in mind.

I stayed well back as around 20 rolls of toilet paper were bought out by a wide eyed dad.

The object of the game was simple; To wrap your parent in as much toilet paper as possible in three minutes. I stood on my chair, mobile phone in hand with 999 dialled and my finger on the send button ready to send for help if this all got out of hand.

Pop goes the weasel played sinisterly in the background as the children worked with startling enthusiasm as they attempted to incapacitate their guardians. They let out maniacal squeals of delight at the prospect of never again being told ‘no more sweets’. Thank god the music stopped when it did. The parents were judged and the most ridiculous, pathetic and broken one was deemed ‘The Winner’ and the child responsible was awarded a bag of E-numbers for its efforts.

Then the children returned to war (er play). Arguing over the cars and balloons and landing punches on each other when their parents weren’t looking.

One boy cleverly used the toy JCB to go round and collect any unused rolls of toilet paper. This sent a chill down my spine as I pictured what he must have had planned for his parents that evening and made a mental note to watch the news just in case.

Another of the little buggers (and it may well be the same one that punched my knee though I can’t be sure) was using his car as a weapon, crashing it into the backsides of the unwitting balloon chasers. I prayed the ordeal would be over soon.

Then somebody said a terrifying thing.

PARTY FOOD

The tribe (which was by now what they had become, make no mistake) were ushered into the dining area where they were fed.

Whose idea this was I do not know, but some bright spark thought that the ideal beverage for an already hyped up bunch of toddlers was orange squash. ORANGE SQUASH? CIDER WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER! It was at this point that I decided that my best course of action would be to hold my breath and try to pass out before it got into their systems. I was unsuccessful and after the food was eaten they were permitted to go back into the main hall and wrestle or something.

I was almost at the point of lying down in the foetal position and leaving my body when I saw the most wonderful thing in the whole world… party bags!

It was over. The children charged towards the head mum and clambered to get their bag of sugar then filtered out, taking it in turns to hit each other and on a couple of occasions, me, with their balloons before leaving.

I should have taken my chances with the angry bull!