Play centres – love them or loathe them they serve a purpose. Whether that purpose is to hold a child’s birthday party as far away from your house as humanly possible or to read a paper in peace, the relationship between hell play centres and parents is a complex one.
Party pies are cold and there is always one child that emerges from the inferno with a blood nose. My nephew’s head was once caught in a gate. The fire brigade were called. We don’t laugh about that because I might have done something similar as a child.
Now that my sister’s kids are older, she likes to talk to me about children urinating in the ball pit and communicable diseases. I try not to look too closely at the infant toys because, to quote The Young Ones, it’s only the stubborn under-stains keeping them together.
Sometimes you take a trip to hell on a rainy day so a toddler can expend some energy but then it all goes pear-shaped when there’s no children to play with. This is not the life I envisaged for myself…..
Getting stuck halfway down a gigantic slide is humbling. Please tell me the play centre stage will be over soon?
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