Daddy cool: Andrew Hoyle

IF WE took a holiday… it would be so nice. Those were the admirable, understated and utterly implausible sentiments warbled by Madonna in her 1983 hit song Holiday. Of course, it will come as little surprise to any parent to learn that when Madge penned the ditty in question, ankle-biters did not feature quite so prominently in the Material Girl's life as they do now for her army of nannies.

Indeed, had she been blessed with infants, and if her home life bore the slightest resemblance to that of normal folks, I'll wager the lyrics would have been similar to the words I frequently find going through my mind: "If we took a holiday… it would be a right royal pain in the backside… and we'd need to arrange for someone to look after the hamster and the cat… and the kids would fight like rats in a sack throughout the journey there… and we'd pack more equipment than Amundsen did for his jaunt to the south pole…" Et cetera.

And yet, despite all that, I have booked leave for the year to coincide with my offspring's school holidays. And at time of writing, quelle surprise, the half-term break is already going pear-shaped.

Last month, I was so looking forward to spending some quality time with my smart-but-sensitive seven-year-old son, his dangerously unpredictable five-year-old brother and their bossy-but-beautiful two-year-old sister. Instead, day one was marred by the inevitable tantrums and tears, broken toys, broken promises and broken hearts. Later I was sitting with a tumbler of Aberlour, thinking, can I really be bothered with another six days of this, another two weeks at Easter and more in the summer? The answer was a resounding "no". But the next day, when I was woken at some ungodly hour by one or all of the little tykes, cuddling in tight and wittering on about picnics and pirates, CBeebies and Coco Pops, all (or most) was forgiven.

Incidentally, and to digress in the manner of Ronnie Corbett or Kirk Elder, last week the BBC reported the findings of a survey suggesting nearly half of new teachers feel ill-equipped to deal with classroom violence. Yet a cursory glance at the myriad flyers littering my sons' schoolbags may go some way to explaining the phenomenon – every other one advertises some form of martial art. Surely it is more than a coincidence that growing numbers of budding Mr and Ms Chips are finding themselves on the wrong end of a roundhouse-kick to the chops, while the evil little perps are lauded with brightly hued belts?

Anyway, Madonna also sang Papa Don't Preach. Maybe she had a point.

• This article was first published in Scotland on Sunday, March 7, 2010