AS much as I love the opposite sex, I think it’s important for dads – and mums, for that matter – to have time for themselves. There’s surely nothing wrong with “men’s nights” or “girls’ weekends” every now and again. It means we appreciate each other more when we get back together.

So, when my mate Dave, rang me, Phil, Derek, and Geoff – all of us time-served dads – asking if they fancied gathering at his place to watch England’s Euro 2016 match against Russia, I was all for it.

Imagine my surprise, then, when Phil rang an hour later to ask if I could give him and his wife, Karen, a lift to Dave’s house.

“Karen?” I asked. “What do you mean, Karen?”

“Oh, Karen’s coming,” he replied, sheepishly.

“Well, this is highly irregular,” I told him, with a troubled sigh. “I thought it was supposed to be a lads’ night?”

I could sense Phil was just as uncomfortable at this disturbing turn of events, but he didn’t say anything, presumably because Karen was hovering in the background, and he was frightened of ending up in the doghouse. It should be pointed out that unlike my wife, who hates the sport with a passion, Karen knows her football inside out, but that’s really not the issue.

Reluctantly, I set off, with my bottle of beer and large bag of crisps, and drove to the other side of the village to pick up Phil – and Karen.

Despite my reservations, I did my best to make her feel wanted. Not once did I question her gatecrashing ours lads’ night watching the footy. In fact, I went as far as to include her in the conversation in the car about what team England should play. I’m that kind of bloke – inclusive.

But then, halfway to Dave’s house, she suddenly changed the subject from the pros and cons of playing four-four-two, and whether Jamie Vardy should be in from the start or used as an impact substitute. “Stop the car! I’ve left my hair-straighteners switched on!” she shouted from the back seat.

Are you starting to see my point?

Since passing my driving test nearly 40 years ago, I can recall making emergency stops for an old man pulling out of a side road in a Ford Fiesta, a child’s football being kicked into the street, and a kamikaze hedgehog. But it’s the first time I’ve had to do an emergency stop because of hair-straighteners.

So, with the clock ticking towards kick-off, we had to go back to avoid a potential inferno starting in Karen’s bedroom. Ok, we still made it to Dave’s house in plenty of time for the match, but that’s incidental. It was an unsettling and unnecessary diversion, and I can’t help feeling a bad omen which led to Russia’s last-minute equaliser.

It wouldn’t have happened if I’d just picked up Phil – not least because he doesn’t have any hair to straighten.

You see, sometimes, just sometimes, blokes should be allowed the freedom to do their own thing.

The things they say

THANKS to Lynne Wright for telling me about her experience with granddaughter Autumn, two-and-a-half in Sainsbury’s Darlington store. In the lift, Lynne held Autumn up to the mirror and asked: “Who’s gorgeous?”
“Autumn!” came the reply. “But Nana needs ironing.”

THANKS also to Debbie Brown, of Kirk Merrington, near Spennymoor, for letting me know how her friend’s son, aged six, asked a rather challenging question: “Mummy, where does God live?” he asked.
“Why?” replied his mummy.
“Because I’ve written him a letter,” said the little boy.

SUSAN Ullah, all the way down in Brighton, got in touch to tell me how grandson Luke, aged seven, also came up with a difficult question: “How old will you be, Nanny, when I am 44?”
“I’ll be 100,” replied Susan.
“You’ll be dead then,” declared Luke.