THE Easter holidays is a bit of an understated thing.

Lacking the hype and pzazz of Christmas, it’s a four-day weekend for most, which is to be celebrated.

Some choose to fill that time by getting blind drunk, and while I’ll never use this column as a platform to tell people how to live their lives, I didn’t touch a drop – and enjoyed every second of it.

Holidays are always a good time to break out the board games. In our house, we have three staples – Monopoly, Scrabble and Cluedo. I’m a bit late to the Cluedo party, and I’m still a bit rough around the edges in terms of strategy.

Our eight-year-old won a game by simply listening to everyone else’s suspicions and steaming in to accuse. Excellent work.

My mam, bless her, succumbing to the ravages of time, played her own version of the game. I called it Middle-Aged Cluedo, where she spent the hour walking into walls and striding into a room only to forget why she had gone in there in the first place. Needless to say she didn’t win.

It got me thinking about variations on other board games, and whether those variations would improve the original.

Socialist Monopoly: Everyone starts with an equal amount of money, and the fruits of their labours must be allocated equally amongst the participants. There would be no clear winner but we’d all be equal, which is what matters most.

Pacifist Risk: Based on the popular game of Risk, where you aim to gain world domination by warring with rival countries and colonising them upon victory. Cut out the violence element. Simply arrive in your neighbouring country, not with an army, but a tray bake and a bottle of wine. Make friends. The person who makes the most friends wins the game.

Real-Life Operation: Now, this would involve breaking into a hospital, and carrying out surgery upon the infirm. The one who kills the fewest people wins. Hang on. This is awful. Awful enough to make it on to a UKIP manifesto.

Profanity Scrabble: You can only place swear words on the board. Points will be given for creativity, double points if you manage to combine two swear words in one. Not one for the kids.

I HAD some quality father-daughter time this week, which makes up for the time when I’m an absolutely useless dad who works long hours and misses out on plenty of family time.

We were hurtling down the A19, both belting out a song of my daughter’s choosing, which I surprisingly knew the words to. I was putting plenty of effort in.

After the song finished, my daughter said: “You know what, daddy. Neither of us can sing, but it doesn’t matter, does it?”

I wasn’t aware I couldn’t sing until that point.

I WAS saddened to learn of the death of Richie Benaud on Thursday night at the age of 84.

The commentator was the undisputed voice of cricket. I wasn’t the greatest fan of the sport as a child but I learned to love it, and Benaud was a large reason for that.

Throughout his career, he stuck to eight 'rules' which he vowed never to break.

These included remembering the value of a pause, avoid cliches and banalities, put your brain into gear before opening your mouth and don't take yourself too seriously.

If only every commentator followed those rules.