IT had been a long week away from the family and the A1 was dark, miserable and wet. A warm welcome home was all I could think of.

The warmth of the welcome, after my annual business trip to Hastings on the south coast, is guaranteed because the kids know I always bring them presents back.

I'd had to survive the week without them on just telephone calls - wonderful, surreal telephone calls.

Jack, ten, rang every time his beloved Arsenal scored a goal against Inter Milan in the Champions League. That was five times!

"Dad, Dad, Thierry Henry's scored another one - he did a really sneaky dribble and his shot was bang on target. Oh, and Dad, guess what, my sausage exploded under the grill today. You should have heard it - BANG. When will you be home, Dad?"

Hannah, 11, was a little calmer: "Hello Daddy, I got ten out of ten for my drawing of a knife and fork today. Did Jack tell you about his sausage? Will you be home soon?"

In case you hadn't realised, When will you be home, Dad? and Will you be home soon? means Have you got us presents?

Six-year-old Max is far more direct: "Daddy, I wet the bed again but I got worker of the week at school and I can bounce the basketball 14 times on the garage floor - listen (20 seconds of silence) - so have you got me a present?"

Christopher, 13, never has much to say these days because he's a teenager, so when he came on the phone, he just said "Fine" to every question.

"How's things?"

"Fine."

"How was school?"

"Fine."

"How's Mum and the kids?"

"Fine."

"I'll be home soon."

"Fine."

Nevertheless, there was bound to be a fine welcome from him as well because even teenagers melt when presents are in the pipeline.

It doesn't have to be much - spud guns and werewolf teeth from the seafront joke shop for the boys, drawing pens and pencils for their more sensible sister, and sticks of rocks all round.

Oh, and another one of those pens for Mum where the man's pants fall down when you tip it upside down. She's easily pleased.

Finally, the A1 released its stranglehold and allowed me home. The welcome could not have been warmer. They were hugging me before I had chance to get out of the car.

"Daddy, Daddy, I've missed you. Did you bring me a present?" cooed Max.

Minutes later, Hannah was drawing pictures, bits of potato were bouncing off my head as the boys started a gunfight at the PotatOK Corral, and Mum was taking such a keen interest in her pen that the poor bloke must have been dizzy. Oh, the joys of being home.

That night, I was back to getting up in the early hours to take Max to the toilet. He's going through a particularly bad bed-wetting phase and getting him up has become a nightly routine.

With me half asleep, and him completely unconscious, I pulled him out of bed, guided him towards the bathroom, pulled his pyjama trousers down, sat him on the loo and whispered: "Have a wee for Daddy" in his ear.

That was when I felt a warm, wet sensation trickle down my leg and onto my foot as a direct result of not sitting him on straight.

And so, at 2.30am, there I was, standing with one leg in the bath, wondering how my six-year-old's sneaky dribble had - unlike Thierry Henry's - failed to hit the target.

I'd hoped for a warm welcome home - but not quite that warm.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

SISTERS Laura and Joanne had just arrived home from school and were asked by their Auntie Pat what they'd been learning about.

"I found out about the menstrual cycle," said Laura, nine.

To which Joanne piped up: "If she's getting a new bike for Christmas, I want one."

(Auntie Pat is Pat Lamb, of Maryport Ladies Circle over in Cumbria)

PETE Winstanley wrote in to say his 14-year-old daughter, Maisie, came home to proudly announce that she had got 98 per cent in her geography test.

The question she couldn't answer was: "Give an example of a bay bar."

This, as Pete now knows, is a feature of longshore drift, a narrow spit of land across the mouth of a bay.

"I didn't know, so I had a guess," said Maisie. "I put Marsden Grotto."

"I see where you're coming from, Maisie!" said the teacher.

THE THINGS THEY WRITE

EMILY Jones, aged 12, of Redcar, was busy doing the Daily Mail crossword and got stuck on one across.

"What's the capital of Belarus?" she asked with a frown.

"Minsk," came the answer from clever mum Helen.

"Can't be," replied Emily, "it begins with 'E'".

"It's definitely Minsk," insisted her Mum who'd done a spot of checking.

"We'll I've definitely got 'one down' right. The clue's 'Legendary king' and it's five letters," said Emily.

"Well, 'Midas' fits and starts with 'M', suggested her mum.

Emily had got herself in a muddle by inserting 'Elvis'.

Published: 04/12/2003