Dawning horror that it was Lana who'd gone missing

Get locked in the garden and have to scale an eight-foot wall to drop over the other side, hitching up one’s top and exposing a mound of mummy-belly to passing schoolchildren? Tick.

Have a handbag stolen in Nice that contains all car keys and payment methods, then spend an enforced month travelling around Europe whilst waiting for the mess to get sorted out? Tick.

Waddle around Tesco, eight months massively pregnant, in maternity shorts, only to return to the car and discover that one entire pocket covering one entire bottom cheek has ripped away? Tick.

Receive a round-robin text from youngest child’s school informing parents that a rabbit has been rescued by them from underneath a car and that they are keeping it safe until it is claimed?

Oops.

Return home at 4.30pm and ask eldest daughter to release the bunnies, laughingly suggesting that she check they’re there, and then presume she’s winding you up when she chirrups back that nope, one is missing.

Experience dawning horror that said escapee is either safe and nesting in youngest’s school, or, this is a hideous coincidence and we have a bunny missing in action.

Grab rabbit receptacle and run, in flip flops, with offspring, to the school and have it confirmed that Lana Del Rey, the Lush family rabbit, was discovered under Amelie’s teacher’s car (!) in the road (!) at 8am that morning.

Four staff members and a broom were needed to coax her out, and she spent the day in a state of blissed-out pamperment once the shock had subsided.

Subsequently, this is a huge thank you to the higher powers of utter coincidence and also to the marvellous Rabbit Rescue staff at my daughter’s school.

So, to Ms Banister the broom wielder, to Mrs Boiling the car owner (who did not squash my rabbit), to Mrs Campbell, Mrs Anderson and Mrs Lathem, a huge thank you!

Lana is now safe in her hutch and run and the perimeters are being checked on an hourly basis.

VIOLENCE BECAUSE OF A LUMP OF INFLATED LEATHER IS BAFFLING

I know very little about football.

This has nothing to do with my having ovaries and being of the female persuasion, and everything to do with my finding it as much fun as the times when I had to unclog the upstairs loo during my youngest’s phase of ‘flush an entire toilet roll’ when she was two.

I do, however, deign to watch football (my kindness knows no bounds, Mr Lush), and have subsequently picked up on the violence at Euro 2016.

Unless these halfwits simply use football as an excuse for violence, then I don’t get it.

Inflicting any violence is anathema to me, but doing so because of a lump of inflated leather being kicked about on some grass seems beyond baffling.

WE LIVE IN DIFFERENT TIMES, BUT NOT NECESSARILY BETTER ONES

My children are outdoorsy.

I’m such a meanie that they’re only allowed a certain amount of iPad time on three specific days of the week.

This may lead to them going to the opposite end of the spectrum as soon as they’re old enough to be free of my eagle eye.

But I’m hoping that the fact we spend time encouraging creativity and pursuing hikes, swims, picnics, dog walking and nature-based adventure will pay off long-term.

I look back to my own 1980s childhood, filled with dirt and grazes and mischief and I simply can’t stand the idea of my kids being raised in front of a screen.

We live in different times, but not necessarily better ones.