Why can't they all be clams?
I was assaulted on Sunday. Or at least it felt like it. There was a whole pack of them. Feral, they were. With sugar coursing through their veins and some terrifying fancy-dress costumes (including one girl dressed as a clam – more of that later), they were on me before I could cry "This is the last time a throw a birthday party for six year olds".
There is a fine line between a riot and a child's birthday party, particularly in those dying minutes when the fizzy-drink-and-cake sugar rush starts to kick in. There were times when I wasn't sure what side of that fine line we were on at the weekend. The theme of the party was Under the Sea. At times I wasn't waving but drowning.
It was Tabitha's big day. Cue plenty of drama and emotional ups and downs in the run up to the party. Tabitha got pretty wound up too.
The pre-event highlight for me was helping her choose the soundtrack. I have a liking for hard rock and, while I have never shoved the value of a good electric guitar solo down Tabitha's throat, it's fair to say that she has on occasion been ushered in that general musical direction.
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So I was delighted when she plumped for a spot of Guns N' Roses and '90s grunge as well as the more obvious appeal of Katy Perry, Jessie J and Lady Antebellum.
MC Hammer even got a look in. But the party wasn't so much Hammer Time as Wedgie Time.
Things had passed off with a tolerable degree of order until the final 15 minutes. At this point, I thought I'd raise the volume a touch and take to the floor to show the Key Stage One-ers a few moves.
"Can we have Gangnam Style?" asked one girl.
Before I could say "next year", a group of party-goers decided it would be rather more fun to jump on top of the host's dad rather than let him dance.
That was all fine by me. After all, you expect a bit of rough and tumble at a party worth its (no added) salt. So about 18 kids stacked me. The next bit wasn't so great, however. "Give him a wedgie!" cried one of the girls, who only a few minutes earlier had been morosely complaining that she wanted to go home.
I can only think she had acquired such terminology from an older sibling, but at least a couple of the other children knew what she was referring to and tried to grab the back of my boxer shorts and lift them up. All of a sudden, this primary school birthday party was beginning to morph into a rugby tour.
With Guns N' Roses' Paradise City blasting out over the PA, this didn't look good.
Thankfully, not all the children were rioters, the clam among them. Her costume effectively consisted of an A-board painted pink, which she wore over her head. It was an outfit that precluded any dad squashing.
"If there had been any more boys it would have been an absolute disaster," said Sophie as we lay in bed a few hours after the mayhem had subsided.
"No boys or girls next year," I wanted to suggest. "Only clams."
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