'Yes,' I said, punching the air. 'Daddy got the highest score' — and other triumphs

TOBY YOUNG at are the two words guaranteed to fill any parents of young children with terror? School fees? Chicken Pox? Gina Ford? The answer, I'm afraid, is half term.

My daughter, Sasha, only started going to 'big school' in September so I wasn't anticipating too many problems. What I hadn't factored in is that my wife gave birth to a third child this year, which meant she already had her hands full with a three-month-old and a two-and-ahalf-year-old. The fact that our au pair resigned a couple of months ago didn't help, either. How could I cope?

The answer, said my wife, was to cram in as many activities as possible. In this way, she assured me, the time would pass quite quickly. Unfortunately, after I'd prepared a detailed schedule, Caroline decreed that 'watching television' and 'going to the cinema' didn't count as activities. What I had to come up with, apparently, were 'educational excursions'.

Our first trip was to the City Inn, where the head chef, Peter Lloyd, has organised a series of Junior Masterchef classes for budding Gordon Ramsays. The minimum age is seven, but Sasha was allowed to participate on the condition that I kept a close eye on her — no easy task considering the number of yummy mummies present.

Peter's initial lecture on the virtues of home cooking didn't entirely capture Sasha's attention, but she perked up considerably when she was handed a six-inch knife. Her first task was to chop up some vegetables and, as I stood beside her, gingerly holding a courgette between my thumb and forefinger, she went about it with some gusto. 'Careful darling . . . not like that ... here, let me ... OWWWEEE If only I hadn't screamed, I might have avoided drawing the attention of the yummy mummies, all of whom howled with laughter to discover that Dad' had cut his finger. As far as I was concerned it was deep enough for stitches — a trip to A&E would be 'educational' — but Peter told me to stick it under the cold tap. After I'd proved such a useless helpmate, Peter decided to supervise Sasha himself and, by the end of the afternoon, she'd made a delicious vegetable primavera and come runner-up in a smoothie competition.

Our second outing together was to Chessington World of Adventures. On paper, this looked like a good bet It is both a zoo and an amusement park — come next February it will also boast an aquarium — and is only 15 miles from Shepherd's Bush. Just to be on the safe side, though, I snagged a couple of 'Express Passes' to the six most popular attractions, including the promisingly named 'Runaway Train'. I couldn't wait.

'Sony, she's too young,' said the gatekeeper at 'Dragon's Fury'.

'Don't worry about her,' I said. 'She's completely fearless.'

'Height restriction,' he said, pointing to a sign that said 'Minimum Height: 1.2 metres.'

'Can't you stretch a point?' I said. 'She's not far off.'

'Elf and safety.'

'But 'She'll fall out, mate.'

It turned out that the only premium ride she was able to go on was 'Tomb Blaster', a ghost train in which the passengers are equipped with laser guns. We duly joined the 'Express' queue and eventually took our seats in a carriage. It was at this point that I discovered you scored points for each ghost you 'killed' and that if you got a high enough score your name would be entered into a Hall of Fame.

'How does this gun work, Daddy?' asked Sasha.

Not now, darling,' I said, holding my 'blaster' at eye level and squinting into the darkness. 'I have some important business to take care of.'

When we emerged back into the light, five minutes later, I was drenched in sweat and my trigger finger was virtually paralysed from overuse, but I had managed to rack up a score of 18,900. I then forced Sasha to wait while I inched my way along the platform, methodically checking everyone else's scores.

'Yes,' I said, punching the air. 'Daddy got the highest score.'

The following day, Sasha announced that she wasn't all that keen on accompanying me on any more excursions. Would it be OK if she stayed at home and did some colouring instead? I guess the trip I had planned to the Emirates stadium will have to wait until the Christmas holidays.

Toby Young is associate editor of The Spectator.