If you want to feel alive, buy a Mexican wrestling mask.
At Christmas I bought my son Jack a little pint-sized mask for his three-year-old head. If you’ve never seen one before, it’s a glittering, brightly-coloured full face affair, zipped up at the back.
Imagine a balaclava that’s been pimped by Danny La Rue.
Now when I get in from work, rather than the more traditional ‘hello dad’, I’m confronted by silence.
Then, not unlike Kato from the Pink Panther films, a bare-chested toddler appears from the shadows, trying to deliver some rough justice.
Try it. Keeps you on your toes, brightens up the day and ensures the neighbours keep their distance.