MY son Jack went to the Grand National meeting at Aintree on Saturday, and it probably speaks volumes that he backed a horse in the first race called Dadsintrouble.

He had it each-way and it came third at 16-1 so he was in the money straight away. “Hey, thanks Dad, I couldn’t resist it,” he texted.

This is symptomatic of a common perception that I’m always in the doghouse for something or other, no matter how hard I try to stay out of it.

That evening, my wife and I had tickets for the theatre. I noticed that I was a bit low on petrol but we were pressed for time. This presented a serious doghouse dilemma. Should I stop for petrol and risk making us late? Or press on to the theatre and hope we’d have enough fuel to get us there?

Either way, it was a bigger gamble that any Grand National contender but, for some strange reason, I get a buzz out of living dangerously so I opted not to stop.

Thankfully, we made it to the theatre in time to have a relaxing pre-show drink. With my petrol gauge was still indicating that I wasn’t quite empty, I congratulated myself on making the right call.

It turned out to be a great show - Darlington Operatic Society’s production of West Side Story in the Princess Alexandra Theatre at Yarm – but it finished later than I’d anticipated.

On the way home, we passed three garages that were all closed. The beads of sweat on my forehead got bigger with each “closed” sign. It’ll be alright, I kept saying to myself, gripping the steering wheel ever tighter, not daring to look at the petrol gauge, and fighting off thoughts about what life would be like if we were to break down in the dark.

I needn’t have worried. When we pulled into our street, I felt a surge of emotion - like a pilot who’d nursed home a stricken war plane against all the odds. I had visions of well-wishers lining the runway, waving flags and cheering my bravery. We’d made it! My God, we’d made it!

The best part about it was that my wife didn’t even know how close a call it had been.

Anyway, Sunday morning dawned and the drama of the previous evening was a distant memory.

I woke up, had a light breakfast because I was due to play tennis, jumped in the car…and broke down half a mile down the road.

Let’s just say it wasn’t an easy telephone call to make, especially in view of the fact that my wife was still in her pyjamas and having her own breakfast.

“Er, listen, sorry about this but I’ve broken down. I think the petrol gauge must be faulty. You know that can of unleaded petrol we keep in the shed for the lawn-mower, do you think you could bring it out to me, I’m not very far away…”

Silence is an awful sound. I’m hoping to be out of the doghouse any day now.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

THANK you to Marie Green, of Darlington, for getting in touch about her six-year-old godson Hugo, who caused a bit of a kerfuffle by saying: "Daddy, just before you die, can I have your debit card?"

THANKS also to Malcolm, of Durham, for remembering the time he was lying in his trunks on the beach and son Sam, six at the time, piped up: “Daddy, I’m going to build a sand castle using your tummy as the foundations.” After a pause, the little lad added: “I think I’m going to need a lot of sand.”

Malcolm embarked on a diet after that.

NAPPY BIRTHDAY

IT was my 55th birthday at the weekend. Presents from my mum included a packet of 64 baby wipes and a set of plastic feeding spoons.

“Well, you’re a Grandad now,” she said.