THERE are many disadvantages to having lots of kids. But, occasionally, the benefits of reckless family planning come to the fore.

Take the special offer on tuna at Safeway - 19p a can instead of 55p. That's a deal no self-respecting, bargain-obsessed woman can resist.

We eat tons of tuna in our house but, even if we didn't, my wife would still have been on a mission to buy as many cans as possible, just because it's a bargain. That's how women work.

And so it came to pass that she made a startling announcement: "Come on everyone - we're going into town."

"Why?" I asked.

"Tuna. Special offer. Safeway," she replied, in a tone suggesting earth-shattering news.

"Why do we all have to come?" I inquired.

"You're only allowed three cans per customer," she explained.

On the way, Mum gave an MI6-style briefing for what has been code-named Operation Flatfish. Our four children (and me) were told to listen carefully, and given 57p each to buy three cans of tuna which were to be taken to separate checkouts. We mustn't talk to each other or do anything to suggest we knew each other.

We walked into the store, trying to ignore the CCTV cameras, and split up. We all knew what we had to do - the success of the mission depended on everyone playing their part.

I reached the tuna first, glanced at the sign declaring THREE CANS ONLY PER CUSTOMER WHILE STOCKS LAST, grabbed my tins, chose my checkout, and made it to the other side.

I glanced back to see a truly bizarre sight - my wife, plus my 11-year-old, nine-year-old, seven-year-old and four-year-old (yes, that's how low she'll stoop) all at separate checkouts with their three cans of tuna.

For a second, I caught my eldest's eye. I wanted to give him a reassuring wink but it was a dangerous move and he instantly stared at the ceiling.

The tension was unbearable. Suddenly, Mum coughed to attract my attention and made an eye movement towards the four-year-old. He was in trouble at checkout five. He was jumping around and singing his favourite song, Sex Bomb. It was bound to draw attention.

I had to move quickly. I nipped into the queue, shushed him, and stood with him while the assistant finished helping the woman in front.

Finally, it was his turn. I was sure the assistant was going to sense something fishy and say: "Aren't you the bloke who's just gone through the 'Eight items or less' checkout with another three cans of tuna?

"Come to think of it, aren't you the father of those other three kids who've just gone through with three cans of tuna each? And that woman over there, perspiring, with three cans of tuna in her bag, isn't she your wife?"

I had visions of the alarm going off and Gestapo-like supervisors rushing forward to take us off and break us under interrogation. But the assistant just smiled. We paid our 57p and made it through.

Not a word was spoken until we rendezvoused back at the car shortly after 1300 hours. I counted them out, I counted them in.

"Well done everyone," announced Mum, her eyes widening at the sight of 18 cans of tuna, all for only £3.42.

Mission accomplished, next stop was Clarks for new school shoes all round. The total cost was £123 - the price of 647 cans of cheap tuna.

"Can we go home now?" I pleaded.

"Let's just pop back to Safeway to get some more tuna and then we'll go home," she said.

* If the manager of Safeway in Darlington reads this, I am truly sorry but don't ever repeat this obscene offer. My wife will do anything to pull off the Great Tuna Heist - I'm in grave danger of having my vasectomy reversed just so we can get another three tins.

* Peter Barron's photograph has been masked to protect his identity the next time he's in Safeway.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

TWENTY years ago, John McManus, a journalist from South Shields, was asked by his four-year-old son Simon: "What's that man doing in the sky?"

"He's parachuting," replied his dad.

After a little thought, Simon added: "Dad . . .what's he shooting sparrows for?"