IT has been an extremely long haul but our fourth has flown the nest. Max has left for Manchester to study for a performing arts degree – and the very good news is that he has taken his drum kit with him.

Of course, it is sad. But it is also much quieter – not least for the neighbours who have endured his drumming practice sessions with a tolerance we greatly appreciate. Only once has an angry man, in the close opposite, been moved to bang on the door and threaten to call the police.

So far, Max appears to be adapting well without us. On his first night away from home, I phoned to see if he was okay and received a curt text in reply: "I'm kinda busy right now – can we talk another time?"

After so long, it's a strange feeling, not to be needed any more, but I'd be lying if I didn't confess to it also being a relief. Much as we'll miss him, my wife and I have been looking forward to getting our lives back.

But God gives with one hand and takes with the other. No sooner had Max's departure been finalised than his older brother Jack came back home to live. Having finished his degree, he's decided to defer his masters for a year. Just when you think the coast his clear – that the bathroom is yours again – they come back to haunt you.

The other night, my wife and I were snuggling down in bed when there was a knock on the bedroom door. Jack, 21, peered round the door and said: "There's a giant spider on the wall above my pillow."

I looked at my wife expectantly but it was clear from the way she shrugged her shoulders and went back to reading her book that she had no intention of dealing with the spider.

"Please, Dad," said Jack.

And so I had to get out of bed and come to his rescue, even though I'm terrified of spiders myself.

Armed with a piece a card, a glass, and a shaking hand, I managed to get the spider off the wall and chuck it out of the bedroom window. Oh, and it wasn't a giant. It was actually quite small.

My point is this. You might think you're free and not needed anymore – but don't believe it.

Parenthood is for life.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

THANKS to Ian Bagshaw, retired Hurworth-on-Tees GP, for letting me know about five-year-old granddaughter Laura's response when her dad Darroch – commercial director for a brewery – showed her a spreadsheet with 894 columns.

She looked at him with confusion in her eyes and just said : "Daddy this isn't as exciting as you think it is," and walked off shaking her head.

THANKS also to Penny Saint, of Darlington, for sending me a favourite anecdote. At a recent funeral, a child misheard what was said at the graveside and asked his dad after the funeral what it meant when the vicar supposedly said: "In the name of the Father and of the son and in the hole he goes."

FINALLY, colleague Gavin Havery was swash-buckling with three-year-old son Finn.

"My sword is Excalibur. What's yours called?" yelled Gavin.

"Bill," replied Finn.