Fancy dress.

I was eight years old, the age of my first born, my eldest boy. I was invited to a fancy dress party by Rhian Glover who lived down the road. It was her birthday party. My dad, my creative and slightly wacky dad made me a costume.

I wanted a princess costume or a fairy costume or any costume that was pretty. (As I'm sure you remember, I was girly.) But no. Oh no.

I went to this party dressed as...wait for it, it deserves a drum roll, spotlight, round of applause... traffic lights. Ta-Da. Yes. I wore black trousers, a black top and a cardboard box that my dad had spent the week painting. Traffic lights. It's not clever, it's not cool. I mean who has EVER sent their kid to a fancy dress party as TRAFFIC LIGHTS?

That's not the only crazy dressing up that I've done. I've also dressed as Fred (the Homepride flour man), a bride groom, and a tramp. But traffic lights?

I have confronted my dad since about this violation of my human rights. He laughed, he practically foamed at the mouth he was so tickled. (I secretly think he'd forgotten the incident and was congratulating himself on a brilliant idea.) No doubt he would do it again in a heartbeat.

I couldn't sit down in it, it covered half my body. I couldn't play musical chairs or sleeping lions. Even musical statues was a problem. How lovely to eat your plate of party food standing in a corner on your own, while your friends wear party hats and help themselves to cheese and pineapple and iced gems.

The thing is, the crazy, stupid thing is, I am actually secretly pleased. Truth be told, I have considered doing the same for my kids, dressing them in the bizarre, the abnormal. You can imagine it, can't you. "Today Son, you are going to the party, not dressed as your favourite superhero. Oh no. Today son you are going as a lightbulb". Or a hammer. Or a signpost. Or an eye. Or an........ Excuse me while I consider the endless possibilities.