We went to the soft play last week. It was meant to be fun. It was more like the Dunkirk landings. The day went south as we entered the car park. There was a massive queue outside. So we joined it. And stood in the rain. Just to get inside this spongy, bottomless pit of bastards. My first instinct was to turn myself and the boys around, hoping they wouldn’t notice that we’d driven all the way to the soft play, parked at the soft play and were now waiting outside the soft play. But it would’ve been easier to talk down a pair of rabid Doberman who’ve not eaten in two days and have spotted the postman’s arse through the letterbox. ‘Shall we go somewhere else boys?’ My withdrawal attempt wasn’t just optimistic. It was moronic and has since been filed under: ’Parenting Errors of Extreme Fuckwittery.’ (Other notable entries include: turning the TV off without prior warning and offering beverages from incorrectly coloured beakers.) I scrapped my extractio