There is a warning sign for the slide in a Country Park Adventure Playground that reads something like,

‘PLEASE DO NOT WEAR WELLINGTON BOOTS WHEN USING THE SLIDE’

There are no other signs, just that one. I tried to imagine why this particular sign was, in fact, necessary. After all, there are far more items of attire that are not exactly conducive to using slides – leather trousers for example.

My kids wouldn’t wear wellies on a slide anyway. No more than they would wear a false moustache or those funny glasses with spring loaded eyes.

But you’d never see a sign stating ‘PLEASE DO NOT WEAR FALSE MOUSTACHES OR SPRING LOADED EYES WHEN USING THE SLIDE’.

The news that a guinea pig farm is being closed down because of ‘extremists’ reminded me of a harrowing guinea pig incident that happened here not so long ago. I’m not going to get into the rights and wrongs of guinea pig farming but as some of you may already may know my life is either about my wife and our three daughters or their animals. Which include about 20 guinea pigs (all well looked after before anyone is tempted to throw paint over my car). They get all the fruit and vegetables that would have been thrown away (into the compost bin of course). They’re lovingly cared for by my children.

But sometimes they die.

I was working at home on a particularly hot day. My wife had taken some of the guinea pigs out of their luxurious Wendy House (yes, they have their own fully adapted Wendy House, waterproofed, the lot – even Sky TV) into the run to enjoy the day.

I was in the kitchen when a neighbour called out, ‘Mark, are they supposed to be doing that?’

I looked out the window and could just about make out 3 guinea pigs flat on their backs. I rushed out and soon realised that they were suffering from heat exhaustion. The piece of board over the run had slipped off so there was no shade for them to hide. I picked them up one by one and carefully placed them back into the shaded cage. I squirted water into their mouths in the hope that this would revive them.

But it wasn’t to be and I had to explain everything to my wife when she got home.

It was my fault of course. I had drowned them.

If something is worth doing it’s worth doing yourself. My requests to my children to keep their rooms tidy just seem to fall on deaf ears. It’s not that that I necessarily like things to be ultra tidy, it’s just that if things are put away it makes them easier to find and less prone to breakage (ok, I accept it sounds anal).

So I hit on an idea. I had a day off last week. I dropped one daughter, H, at dance lessons and I had P and R at home. After dropping H off I went to Wilkinsons and bought a dozen or so of those storage boxes. P and R were quite happy on the computer so, room by room, I picked up toys, pens, books and put them in the boxes. They all stacked nicely in the corner. Sweeping the floor was a pleasure!

With my new found zeal, I continued to clear up the house. My wife was at work so it’d be a nice surprise for her. As I was clearing up it occurred to me how many boxes we have or rely on in everyday life.

Old newspapers went in the green boxes outside, glass and bottles in the black one (always overflowing for some reason) and plastic bottles in the brown one. We even have a little square box in the kitchen for green waste for the compost bin.

My children’s guinea pigs and rabbits live in boxes.

Sometimes I take my lunch to work in a sandwich box

Our TVs are boxed shaped. So are our cars. Our houses too.

Hell. Some of us even get buried in a box.

Phew. At last. She’s back and I’ve missed her like crazy. I’ve been in a daze for weeks – we lost all contact and I only got little snippets from her. But it’s alright – it looks as though she’ll be as exciting as ever.

Exciting……exhilarating…..unpredictable…..annoying……but beautiful nevertheless.

I’ve even bought a new shirt. I want to look my best after all. We’ll see each other on Saturdays and Sundays and maybe some nights during the week. And we’ll be as intimate as usual. As close as we’ve always been. She loves to entertain me after all – there she is, in front of me, while I’m sitting on the sofa all aroused.

Yes – football is back!

I’m a happy man.

When we go away on holiday most of us come back with white bits. Sunbathing is relaxing, especially on a beach with the sound of the sea. A few hours in the sun and we have a nice colour – except for the white bits of course.

Unfortunately, being fair of skin, I have to be extra careful. I’ve learnt my lesson – I’ve had a sore back and sore shoulders in the past. Even a sore nose. Nowadays, I’m more sensible.

Sensible but not as careful as I should have been. I’ve recently got back from holiday with my family and I’m in agony. The kids wanted to go to the beach and play in the sea. We took a picnic, a Frisbee, beach towels, buckets and spades and, of course, loads of Factor 35.

With sun beating down we all creamed up. I was extra cautious because I had a good book to read and wanted to just lounge about. I knew I was susceptible to burning so I slopped on loads of lotion. I didn’t care that I looked like Mr Whippy had just fallen into his ice cream vat. I covered every inch of my body. Even in between my toes. Or so I thought.

I feel asleep with the book open across my face. I wasn’t particularly worried about dozing off because I knew I had taken precaution.

What I didn’t bank on was my baggy swimming trunks flapping open around my groin for most of the two hours I was asleep.