Andrew Smith: ‘What modern-day boons for stressed parents. What rot’

IN poetry, when what is delivered at the climax proves not be in keeping with the promise leading up to that point, the phenomenon is called ‘defeated expectancy'. In parenting, this phenomenon is known as ‘a visit to a soft play area'.

Soft play areas have an understandable allure. Especially when it is chucking it down outside. They are indoor swing-parks. They are safe, comfortable environments. They have cafés where those accompanying their children can sit and relax as the little ones burn off all that energy. What modern-day boons for the stressed guardians of excitable little ones. What rot.

Let's take the ‘inside' aspect. It’s a double-edged sword. Yes, your weans won't get drookit. However, there is something about fresh air that, by its very nature, seems to have a calming effect on buzzing-about bairns. So take that away and, even if in its place you have all sorts of climbing frames, tunnels, slides, foam obstacles and miniature cars for them to embrace, you still have cooped-up children. And, as any parent will tell you, for ‘cooped-up’ read ‘crazed’.

Which leads on to the café aspect. We went to two soft play areas during the half-term holidays, and the food served up was excellent. The problem was that I had barely a second to sit down and eat the damn stuff. Instead, I had to spend two hours chasing around after my five-year-old. God, I was nearly in tears to see other adults reading books and magazines, and even updating their Facebook pages. What a blessing it must be to have weans who don't whack or get whacked.

Sylvie, my eldest, went off with a friend to explore the delights, but inside ten minutes the friend had returned to say that she had got herself involved in an altercation with some boys. (OK, she said “fight", but I am just trying to make it sound better for my dear daughter.) This required me to dispense with shoes, hike up to a ledge – at great expense to knees and dignity – and fetch her back. She was then given a stern lecture about not hitting, pushing or generally getting physical with other users of any apparatus. “Fine," she said, “but I'm going to go back in now because I want to teach those big boys a lesson."

Meanwhile, I was soon required to head to the toddler area, where I could see a turf war developing between my son Corin and another boy over a plastic scooter ... minutes before I had to enact the same peace-keeping role over a doll's house, a car and a stroller. In not all these face-offs was my wee one the transgressor, I might add. In at least one, he wasn't. n