There is a simple fact that children have a much bigger impact on your quality of life than say smoking or drinking. But when you buy those products there are warnings on the packaging for the consequences on your health. They should do that on the stuff you buy when you are trying to get pregnant, imagine walking into Boots, picking up a packet of Folic acid and on the back is a picture of a couple having a lie in, that would make you abandon the idea in an instant. There are probably other images you could use, but how do you capture in a photograph someone strangling your dreams?

Having children is stressful, there is no doubt about that. But you have to work very hard to not let that stress effect those members of society who haven’t got children and that’s easier said than done, because you despise these people. Watching them dance through their lives without a care in the world, it’s like looking at who you once were; free, happy and blissfully selfish.

“What shall we do today, we have no responsibilities, no ties, don’t you feel energised after that twelve hours of interrupted sleep?”

All you want to do is just take your pushchair and ram it into the back of their smug heels, just to release that tension, to bleed the valve on the pressure cooker that is parenting.

But there are many occasions where you can’t contain it, where it explodes, like some sort of social terrorism, here are some of my favourite examples.

The family meal out

Is there anyone who enjoys a meal out with the family? You do it because you feel like you should. The only meal out I enjoy with my kids is when I am in the supermarket, they are hungry and I open a loaf of bread and give them a slice, basically when I treat your kids like ducks, that’s a stress free meal out.

You have visions of that perfect Utopia, the children sitting there happily, with angelic faces, “We’ll eat anything daddy, you know us we are not fussy, order what you like, we are just thrilled to be all together”

But that illusion is washed away in a tsunami of blackcurrant Fruit Shoot as soon as you walk in the place.

You see the other parents in their own private hell, holding phone screens up to kids’ faces, every time it’s pulled it away the kid starts to scream, it’s like a medic treating a wounded soldier on a battlefield.

There isn’t a table, it doesn’t matter. You find the people who are on their deserts and stand next to them and make them feel so uncomfortable that they speed up, “he’s just looking at that cheesecake, just move!” you help them put their coats on, you basically evict them from that table.

Once the kids are sat down the pressure is on. The first thing is to get the crayons and activity sheets, god forbid that the kids have to occupy themselves for five minutes. Why the obsession with stationary?!?

You may as well just have a picnic in Rymans.

When the waiter arrives you’re just angry.

“Are you ready to order guys?”

Course you’re ready to order, you were ready last Wednesday, you just wish they’d stop wasting time. You begin to lose your temper:

“When you bring the food, just bring the bill too, this hell needs to end. In fact, forget the cutlery or plates mate just get the chef to pop out of the kitchen with a catapult and fire the food directly into our miserable mouths!”

The waiter just stands there stunned, it’s all so awkward. This tension isn’t helped by the fact that you are so ashamed that you have left that table in such a disgusting state, that they only have two choices, claim on the insurance or set fire to it.

Baby on a plane

I think we can agree that it’s a special kind of arsehole who has the idea to take a baby on an aeroplane, and I know this because I’ve been that arsehole. Let’s face it, a baby is the only thing less welcome on an aeroplane than a bomb, but at least with a bomb it ends! With a baby that torture feels like forever!

You are inflicting that misery in more than one time zone! Find yourself on the same bus for the transfer and at the same hotel and you have ruined their holiday.

Taking a baby on a plane is like changing a nappy in full view of someone’s romantic picnic, when they are downwind, just as she gets out the humous and he’s about to propose.

As soon as I got on the plane I felt that power, there is nothing like it. They looked at me with a mix of anger and fear, I was effectively bringing doom into all their lives.

I began to enjoy it, revel in the misery I was sharing. I even turned to my wife and said “Oh no, I think she’s teething”

I walked down that aisle, clutching this, pausing by every empty seat, just to watch people panic. It felt a lot like the results of public vote on the TV show I’m a Celebrity get me out of here.  That tension, who is it going to be? “I have decided, it’s not you….I might be you, I’m sorry, It’s you, here you are pal, get this Calpol down her neck and just keep singing, we’ll pick her up in four hours.”

The only difference here is that faced between the choice of a bush tucker trial or enduring another minute of this screaming life wrecker, you’d be more than happy to chew your way through a Kangaroo’s Penis.

She’s gone

I have come to learn to accept that, just like my dad, I will happily take a risk to save money. My dad is a typical Yorkshireman and is a master at penny pinching scams. He’s never paid for parking in his life and brags about it like a badge of honour. In fact, when we were kids and we would go into town he would leave the car at the Jehovah’s Witness temple. I said “Dad, one of these days you’re going to get rumbled and have to join!”- He said “I will” “but dad you don’t know what they believe in?” “well they believe in free parking don’t they, I’m converted.”

So, a few years back I took the family to Scarborough for a holiday, mainly because I don’t love them very much. At the time there was myself, Jemma and our eldest daughter Olivia, and one afternoon we took a trip to Sea World. Before we went in, a man came out with his family and said to me “You going in mate? here have my family ticket, we have finished now, show that to the till and you’ll get in free!”

Well that’s all I needed to hear, that magic word, “free”, what a touching gift. In Yorkshire that’s up there with donating a kidney. A selfless act like this often sparks a lifelong friendship between Yorkshiremen. When we meet up for Christmas get togethers, weddings, summer BBQ’s, our camaraderie is all triggered by this mutual love of money saving.

My wife Jemma immediately felt uneasy, I sensed this, it was her conscience kicking in, “Relax love” I said, “I’ll do the talking.” I strolled up, confident as you like, brandishing the fraudulent ticket and approached the tills.

“Hi, welcome to Sea World, can I help you”

“Hello again love” I said, which I thought was a clever touch, “you probably remember us, we were here earlier, that’s an amazing turtle you’ve got in there!” (they always have at least one Turtle, I thought it was a safe bet).

“can I see your tickets please?

“Sure”

I handed them over.

“This is a family ticket?” she said, her eyes scanning me up and down.

“Yeah” I said, “and we are a family, solid as a rock love”

She looked at me with suspicion and then looked back at the ticket, “This admits two adults and two children, you only have one, where’s the other child?”

Now at that point most people would back down, claim a misunderstanding and admit defeat, not me. I could hear my dads’ voice in my head, “Stay strong young Jedi, get this right and you’ll be a legend.”

So, I stepped forward and said what turned out to be one of the maddest sentences ever to squirm its way out of my guilty mouth.

“Oh, the other child, don’t worry about that love, it’s gone”

“It’s gone!” that was my best effort! Like we had just lost our child, the most precious thing in our universe and we just thought, well, we should probably call the police, but we are here now, this is the Sea Life centre! Let’s see some penguins!

The lady on the till was now looking at me with all the disdain of a parent who is questioning their teenager about their secret smoking habit, “what on earth do you mean it’s gone?”

“Well it was here and now it’s not” was my feeble attempt at shutting down that line of questioning.

By now Jemma was looking really uncomfortable, she’d pulled her anorak tightly round her face, she looked like Kenny from South Park. The lady on the till could tell she was the weak link, she knew she wasn’t like me, she had honesty and integrity, so she said to her:

“Right, I’m going to ask you a question and I want an honest and truthful answer. Is this your ticket?”

“No.” Jemma crumbled, fell apart, caved in under questioning. If we were in the SAS, captured by the enemy, she’d have just sold us down the river in record time.

The lady on the till sighed, punched away at her keypad and said to me, “Okay, well that’s £27.50 please, here are your wrist bands, passes and an activity book for your daughter”

I couldn’t resist it, I’m a stand-up comedian, it’s my job to come up with the perfect comeback under pressure, so I said, “can we have two of those activity books please love, in case the other kid eventually turns up.”

It doesn’t end there. As we left the centre, I saw a man walk in with his wife and child, so I gave him that original family ticket and started the whole process all over again!