It was National Playday on Wednesday so I decided to accompany the neighbourhood Playspace group to the local celebrations at Rowntree Park. When the coach finally dropped us off, various Playspace workers were already buzzing around the site, looking like big bumblebees in their large yellow T-shirts.

The place was filled with children. Though not just smiling, cheerful children. Hordes of them running about yelling and screaming and generally trying to drive anyone over the age of 16 insane

Then the first downpour started. Fortunately, I'd made sure that my children all had raincoats. Unfortunately, not that many other parents had done the same. So those hordes of children quickly turned into very wet, slippery hordes.

My own task seemed simple enough. All I had to do was watch over my own kids and so I decided to stay with my youngest, Freya - while quickly trying to grow eyes in the back of my head so I could follow the movements of the other two.

The one good thing about the rain was that it chased a lot of people away and made my task a little easier. Of course, this included most of those who had come by car, thereby vastly reducing the number of people I could exchange knowing glances with, as our children pranced and danced for all it was worth.

An hour after we arrived our small group got back together under a tree and vainly hoped that its sparse foliage would somehow prevent the rain from soaking our lunches.

And just as we finished eating I saw it - a tantalising hint of blue sky. Unfortunately, it was above Selby about six miles to the south.

But then the patch of blue kept on growing. It was probably willed into being above our heads by all of the guilty parents who had naively forgotten to provide their children with raincoats, when they left them with the Playspace workers earlier that morning.

And then it happened, the warm sun suddenly appeared and immediately turned my own raincoat into a sweat-lodge. Eradicating my smug belief that I was going to make it through the day without getting wet.

Then I lost sight of Freya. I turned my head and she was gone. I frantically began to walk around the park. I checked out the various activities in each marquee and stared at the little bodies swarming over the climbing structures. And just when I was about to panic, someone walked up behind me.

"What are you doing?" Freya calmly asked.

"Looking for you, you naughty monkey."

I figured that the best thing to do with her was to get her into a long queue, so that I would then merely have to follow the other two with my eyes. And the only queue that seemed reasonably long was the one for nail polishing.

Now contrary to some of the nasty rumours that were circulating, this wasn't because I wanted to have my own nails painted. I was really standing with Freya. It was just that she was so short they simply couldn't see her. Honest.

And just after we had finally inched our way into the tent, the rain returned with a vengeance.

This time it was a veritable deluge accompanied by thunder and lightening. So I suddenly found myself sharing this small space with approximately 10,000 other people who had fearfully scrambled for shelter.

Fortunately, it is at times like this, that I'm glad I'm a rare househusband amid a sea of housewives - because when I felt someone sensually rubbing against the back of my leg, my mind filled with all sorts of delightful possibilities. Until I turned around and sadly realised it was only a pram.

Oh well, I can always pray for rain next year.

And then quickly try to squeeze back into the small tent.