WE made a solemn promise to ourselves back in the days when the kids were small and we were exhausted through lack of sleep and constant demands for attention.

One day, when they had places of their own, we’d get our own back. That’s what we said.

We’d call and wake them at five in the morning. We’d scribble on their walls with felt tip pens and crayons.

We’d throw blackcurrant juice on their carpets. We’d slam their doors until little cracks appeared. We’d swing on their dining room chairs until the legs broke. We’d use their loos and not bother to flush. Better still – we’d use their loos and miss!

One day. One day...

It’s now two weeks since the eldest – the Big Friendly Giant – moved into his own place. My wife and I have talked about the promise we made, but we haven’t had the heart to follow it through. The BFG is just too proud of his nice new flat, with its pale walls, clean carpets, new telly, and my favourite settee (which my wife said he could have without any consultation whatsoever).

He’s so proud of his flat that we got an invitation at the weekend: “Do you all fancy coming round for a flatwarming?”

he said. How strange is that? Being asked round our little boy’s place for a flat-warming. It sounded nice. We liked the idea of being waited on for a change. And, hey, if we happened to spill red wine on the carpet, so what?

But before we’d had the chance to accept, he added the words: “You can bring a takeaway round if you like.”

A takeaway? I’d imagined canapes, sandwiches, slices of quiche, sausage rolls and bowls of nuts, but that clearly wasn’t the plan. Was this a flat-warming or a cunning plan to get us to bring a free curry?

The discussion progressed quickly.

With his two brothers and one sister, there’d be six of us and the BFG’s flat is only small. The conclusion was drawn that it would be uncomfortable trying to eat a curry in such cramped conditions so it was decided that we wouldn’t have a takeaway after all – we’d eat in a restaurant.

I kid you not, the BFG actually uttered the words: “Well, it’ll save any curry getting dropped on my carpet.”

I was instructed to book a table for Saturday night and we trooped into a town centre restaurant for the flatwarming.

Our four children – aged between 21 and 15 – asked for just about everything on the menu and the bill came to £92. It was, of course, left for me to pay.

To be fair, the invitation remained open to go back to the BFG’s flat for post-curry drinks. I sat on my favourite settee and sipped half a glass of fizzy white wine before it became clear that we’d used up all of our conversation back at the restaurant.

“I think we’d better be getting home then,” I said after about halfan- hour. “No problem – I’ll see you out,” said the BFG, a touch too hastily.

If I’m honest, I’ve been to better flat-warming parties.

THE THINGS THEY SAY
I WAS delighted to be guest speaker at Aycliffe Village WI’s diamond jubilee party recently and Sue Lewis told me about grandson Liam.

Sue and husband Tony were going on holiday so they had their passports out. Liam, aged five, looked at the passports, then looked back at his granddad. He looked at the passports again, then back at Tony several times before saying: “Grandad, what happened?”

MOLLY Clapham, of Aldbrough St John, near Richmond, got in touch to tell me about a little boy, who lived in Texas but was staying with his grandma in England. He asked her why people always shook hands when they met each other.

Grandma explained that it was a traditional greeting and was usually accompanied by sayings such as “How do you do” and “Pleased to meet you”. So when the next person came along, the little boy shook his hand firmly and said: “Howdy partner.”