LOOKING across the playground, there were no prizes for guessing whose mum had just come back from a trip to Barcelona. There was our seven-year-old, running around in a giant sombrero, while his musically-inclined brother, aged 11, was demonstrating his new castanets, stamping his foot and shouting "Arriva, Arriva". No stereotypes there then.

Mum brought our eldest a sombrero back too but he's far too cool to wear it to school because he's a teenager. The boys' sister, being far more interested in food than silly hats, was content to be presented with a bag of Spanish cakes and biscuits.

And what did my beloved wife bring me back from this soaraway sojourn in sunny Spain? A head-massager that looks like a giant egg whisk. "It helps you relax," she said, standing behind me and sliding it through what's left of my hair.

It goes into more detail in pigeon English on the accompanying leaflet: "Only by sliding the hair massage up and down on our head, we will obtain the well-being and the relax that allow us the deep and lasting rest. The hair massage can be used in every moment and place, at the office, in the car, at the beach, anywhere..."

I couldn't help thinking that they'd laugh at me if I started using it in the office. And, if you can go to court for using a mobile telephone in the car, surely it's against the law to drive around using a head massager.

Mind you, heaven knows I need de-stressing. Our house gets noisier every day and it was about to get even worse...

"Can you take me into town tomorrow, Dad?" asked the 11-year-old, clacking his castanets behind his ear. "I want to buy an electric guitar with my savings."

My heart sank. An electric guitar? Had it really come to this? In truth, I knew it was only a matter of time. He'd been having acoustic guitar lessons at school and felt he was "ready to rock".

The man in the music shop had a ponytail and looked like the lead singer in Status Quo.

"Can my son try out an electric guitar please?" I asked.

"No problem, man," he said, chewing gum.

The boy was duly set up with an instrument in his price range, plugged into an amplifier with an alarmingly large volume knob and handed a plectrum. He immediately let rip with a few screechingly familiar chords.

The Status Quo lookalike winced and shook his head: "Oh God, man - Smoke On The Water. You have no idea how many times that riff is played in this shop. It's what all the beginners learn."

Riff? Don't get technical with me, I thought, or I'll take my business elsewhere.

We bought the guitar and the boy's been practising Smoke On The Water ever since. Over and over and over again. I'm reliably informed it's a Deep Purple composition.

Oh, and not only do I have to carry his electric guitar to school on orchestra days, I have to carry the blessed amplifier too.

At the weekend, he took great delight in demonstrating it to a few mates who came round for a sleep-over. As usual, they didn't go to sleep until after 1am and were wide awake before seven. We got an alarm call in the form of - you've guessed it - yet another piercing rendition of Smoke On The Water, with one of his mates providing ill-timed percussion on the castanets. From deep sleep to Deep Purple in less than a second.

The seven-year-old, who doesn't like to be left out, heard the riff and was out of bed in a flash, whizzing past our bedroom door in his pyjamas and a sombrero, shouting: "Are you awake, Jack? Can I have a go? Can I? Can I?"

There was nothing else for it - I reached across to the bedside table and gave my head a good whisking.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

I AM indebted to those who popped into Ottakar's bookshop in Darlington for the launch of Dad At Large 3 a week last Saturday.

They included Jan Gavey, who works on the special care baby unit at James Cook Hospital in Middlesbrough.

Jan mentioned the colleague whose brother was standing in a supermarket checkout with his wife and little boy.

The boy grabbed the till-roll, looked at the list of purchases, and shouted: "Durex?"

Red-faced Mum looked at red-faced Dad, and red-faced Dad looked at red-faced Mum, as the queue fell silent around them.

The silence was broken by the boy asking: "What on earth are we going to start painting now?"

EVA Stainsby told how her granddaughter Rebecca, then aged six, piped up while a song called Love and Affection was playing on the radio.

Rebecca, whose brother David is recovering from leukaemia, said: "I know what affection is - it's when the nurse puts a needle in your arm."

WHEN David's dad Alan was at school, he had a reputation for never being able to shut up.

"Alan, why don't you keep quiet, pet?" urged his mum.

"I can't help it, Mum," replied David. "When I open my mouth, my speak just comes out."

JOAN Whitfield, of East Cowton, near Northallerton, was on a train heading for Great Yarmouth and was passing some cooling towers.

A little boy behind her said: "Look - a cloud factory."

* Anyone else who wants a copy of "Dad At Large 3 - Whose Paper Round Is It Anyway?" can buy one for a fiver at Ottakar's or from The Northern Echo offices. The Butterwick Children's Hospice gets a pound for every copy sold.