TIME TO COLLAPSE

I'm not sure which bit of the afternoon was my favourite: sitting in the park sneezing incessantly while my Mum cooed over all the presents she'd previously said she didn't want, or being bashed on the head to within an inch of concussion by a Nibling with a rounders bat.

Why is everything a light sabre? A stick of French baguette? light sabre; a collapsed umbrella - light sabre; a spare pole to my Aunty's gazebo - light sabre. And when they're not leaping around pretending that they're Jedis, the Niblings are holding out their hands and using the force to try strangling Uncle Matthew. Or walloping him with one of Obi Wan Kenobi's rounders bats.

My head was ringing like a bell, which made a change from the dizzy spin of hay fever. The grassy world reverberated around me, sending my family, with all its suddenly dysfunctional history, completely out of focus.

When I woke up I was somehow curled up... on the church carpet! How did I get there? I only vaguely remember telling the Intrepids I'd see them tomorrow. I have a hazy recollection of Sam saying goodbye by head butting me in the stomach as I made my way to the car.

Then, there I was, watching my shoes and lying in the foetal position on the patterned carpet, waiting for someone to tell me whether I would be playing tonight or not.

As it turned out, I was not, so I very feebly made my excuses and drove home, sneezing in the evening sunshine and feeling more than ready to disappear from the world for a while. I yawned as my boots trudged nearer to my front door. My iPad pinged with emails in my rucksack as it came into the range of the WiFi. I poked a key in the lock and the bunch fell out and jangled to the floor.

It is definitely time to collapse.