Don't frigging tell me how to have fun

One thing that really raises my hackles is being told how to have fun.

"Ideally, parents will be in the water with the child. They'll also have more fun that way. And, if they are in the water with the child, there is less opportunity to be distracted."

A child will swim, especially if the pool (corrected typo 'pot' - must have been subliminal) is well-heated, all day, every day, of a holiday. It is not my idea of fun being in the water remorselessly badgered with "Mum, watch me do this", and "Mum, watch me do this, " and "Mum, watch me do this" which come at the rate of about 60 per minute.

Once big enough for water-wings my kids were off. Kicking around the motel pool happily while I could enjoy a rare read with one eye and ear on them. They were happier with more swimming time, and I was happier with more intellectual stimulation.

Have you noticed how busy the fun police have been this break? And people have started wishing each other a safe and healthy holiday?? I went to Tauherenikau races. They issued bottled water at the gate and kept making public announcements about keeping your fluid level up. I was trying but someone knocked over my glass of Lindauer. Then the cops were breath-testing every punter leaving. I don't object to the last. We make provision for it. But I can do without the constant hectoring about staying out of the sun because the "current UV reading is ---".

Now some utter killjoy has come up with the idea of alcohol-free February. Not happy with a day, these greedy bastards want to impose an entire month on recalcitrant pleasure seekers. Not in my house.

And who is sick of Paula poster-girl-for-the-police Rose? Nanny supremo banging on about road safety every time you turn the telly on. She leads me to having utterly paranoid thoughts like, what if David and I are killed on the road going to the races? The road is the most dangerous place a human being can venture to? What will happen to the kids? Now that they are too busy reading to want to come and have fun with me??

And spare a thought for the poor smokers. Whammo. There's another three bucks penalty for doing something that gives some relief from all the stress of worrying about getting fat, dying in an earthquake or on the roads or from skin cancer or dehydration or just the interminable nagging.

Let the smokers smoke themselves to death if they want. Because that's one less ageing baby-boomer, the new cause célèbre for the anxiety addicts.

Then somebody came into my shop and told me that pastels are highly carcinogenic. I should be wearing a mask and gloves. Oh fuck. No.

I may as well curl up in a little ball and die right now.