Today I went somewhere where I was repeatedly kicked, thwacked with baseball bats and smashed in the face by a football. My three assailants chased me across the grass, swiped me down and laughed as they grabbed me, all the while sticking in a few sharp-ended trainer-pokes along the way.
This is what it's like having nephews.
Meanwhile, my Dad and my sisters were talking conspiracy theories around the picnic tables. Everything from 'space-aliens-made-the-Nazca-lines, to delayed potty-training-tips-are-dished-out-by-Pampers-so-they-can-make-more-money'.
When I limped back eventually, they'd moved on to black holes - I don't know, something to do with the Vatican and NASA I guess. My Dad asked me what Hawking Radiation was again, then went back to my sister's theory that she saw Elvis working in a chip shop.
This for a seven year old's birthday party.
Mind you, he is a seven year old who got a sticker for explaining to the headteacher in detail what a pronoun was, so my Mum said.
A surge of pride swept through me for a few moments before it was quickly replaced by a surge of plastic light sabre whacking me in the back of the legs.
I never had brothers. This is 'bonding' apparently - brothers do this all the time. It's new to me; I had books, an ancient computer and dinosaur posters when I was their age, rather than play fights in the park.
I left at the optimum moment. Cake-fuelled hyperactivity was starting to edge into tiredness as the long September shadows fell across the golden grass. We were minutes away from at least one of them melting down. I made my excuses, got into my car and switched on the air conditioning and Classic FM.
There is nothing like an Italian aria or two, to soothe the aches of being beaten up by small children.
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