In the last week of every main term Samuel's school organises a disco. The Reception class always takes over the school hall first, so I knew I had 20 minutes to pick my son up from his after-school club, get him home, changed and ready for the party.

Unfortunately, I had forgotten about the £2.50 admission charge, and the fact that the school had stipulated it needed the exact money.

When I got home I realised I only had £1.50 in my purse, which meant that, in this 20 minute time frame, I would also have to get to a cashpoint, withdraw some money, spend some of it to get a £1, then head back to the school for the disco.

So, I pick Samuel up and the walk, which should have taken us two minutes takes nearer five, as he tries to climb every tree en route, pick up stones and throw them down drains, roll on the grass, swing on over hanging branches . . . (you get the picture.)

We eventually get home and sprint up the stairs to find something suitable to wear. But Samuel wants to wear his Spider-man costume.

Too tired/stressed to argue. I agree, but unfortunately we cannot find the mask.

A full on temper tantrum is about to ensue, when mummy has a brainwave.
"Hey, how about your Batman costume," I say. "That's really cool. You will look brilliant in that."

"Yes, Ok." (Huge sigh of relief.)

So off comes the Spider-man costume and on goes the Batman costume, but the Batman costume has been in the bottom of the dressing up box and the ears, which are supposed to stand up, are bent.

"Oh! The stupid ears won't stand up," he shrieks

"Don't worry. Mummy has got something to fix it," I say, through gritted teeth.

I run downstairs get two straws and some Sellotape. Then suddenly I hear a scream.

"Argh! Mummy, I am having a nosebleed. Argh, why am I having a nosebleed now? It's going to get on my costume, argh!!"

I run back up the stairs, stop nosebleed – eventually – but can I get ears to stay up? Of course not. Now it is 5.35pm, the disco has started and I still haven't got the £1 I need. Samuel is throwing a fit, saying he looks stupid and everyone is going to laugh at him. I am sweating buckets, shaking with anger, trying really hard to calm him down while emptying the contents of his three money boxes to see if I can find enough 2ps to make a £1!

Then the phone rings and it is my husband asking me: "What is going on? I thought you would have left to go to the disco by now."
(I won't tell you what I said because it is not repeatable in a family newspaper.)

I then, unfortunately, lose the plot with young son, grab him, a cold flannel and my bag of 2ps arriving at the school 15 minutes late, but in one piece (just).

The only consolation is that I only have to endure 30 minutes of the Birdy Song, Ring A Ring A Rose and the Hokey Cokey, before we can go home.

I am a terrible mother.