Keir Royale

Out of the two of us, Mike is the one who finds, buys, collects and stashes in our attic, numerous board games from the nineteen-fifties onwards.

One of the few things that gets him excited, apart from Lincoln City Football Club on one of their rare and short-lived winning streaks, is explaining the rules of a new game he’s managed to persuade the rest of us to play.

So who is that spent much of yesterday playing assorted games with the children?

Well, I’ll give you a clue. It wasn’t Mike.

Yes, it was me, the game-hating harridan of our family who has never in adulthood  succumbed to Monopoly but can just about manage a few rounds of Uno, if drunk or in a good mood. Sometimes, when both states coincide, I might even be up for a quick game of Cluedo.

But yesterday, in one day I managed –

-         Badminton in the garden with Ben

-         Ballons (a French card game involving no skill but endless finger-crossing that maybe this time someone will win) with both children

-         Silly Sentences with Hannah

-         Cranium, well I admit Mike joined in with this one, but only after I pointed out my stratospheric score of Top Parent game-playing points

And today was no better. This time it was –

-         Badminton with Ben

-         Football with Ben (come on Mum, footballers do run you know)

-         Yet more bloody Ballons

-         And I took them swimming while Mike swanned about with his French Boules playing cronies

But when will they enjoy the games I can just about stand?

I rejoiced when they got past the Snap and Snakes and Ladders stage, after the horror of trying to get a two-year old Ben to concentrate on throwing a dice and taking turns to move his counter up a ladder or down a snake, constantly interrupted by baby Hannah demanding yet more access to my milk bar boobs.

I didn’t much like Ludo even when I was of an age to enjoy it, and I can only manage chess for long enough to beat an eight year old with less patience than me.

So that’s it; the answer in one fell, if a little cruel, swoop.

If he says,

“Can we play a game Mummy?” I need to reply,

“Sure, how about chess?”

Game set and match in ten minutes, followed by up to an hour of peace while he gives his toy soldiers hell in his bedroom.

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