Since my son started school last September, I’ve been quite productive. Having a good chunk of each day to myself, for the first time since he was a tiny baby, has meant I could get on with some work, some chores around the house, some organising of things that were long-left-unorganised.

But quick as a flash, his school year is over. Now begins the long, rainy summer holiday. And all of a sudden, I’m desperately casting around for things to keep the lad occupied so I can continue to do work, chores, and organising.

Having no siblings (we didn’t plan it that way), Barney considers me his primary play buddy. When he’s not eating, or crashed out in front of the TV, or with his friends, the first thing he always says is: “Daddy, come and play with me.”

Which I don’t mind doing for short spells, but an all-afternoon stint is hard work.

So I reach for the phone book and call the parents of Barney’s friends. We work our way down the list, hunting down another five-year-old who needs company.

Happily, we find one very easily. Young Sam has no plans for the afternoon and would love to come and play. His mum is only too happy to get him out of her hair for a few hours.

We’re happy too. Barney has a willing playmate with as much energy as he has, and a similar passion for space ships and explosions. And I can leave them to it, settle down at the kitchen table, and get on with some more work, chores and organising.

That’s day one of the school holidays sorted. Only 41 more to go.