Dear Diary. Dad's legs are ghostly white compared to the rest of this observable body - his arms and face - which are tanned in comparison. "I never wear shorts, do I?" he says by way of explanation. Well, he's certainly wearing shorts now. From the waist down he looks like a snowman with legs.

I asked Dad if he still has an Amazon Echo. "No, I got rid of that," he says. "It was too global corporate. These big companies are destroying the planet. I only shop at small shops now." He doesn't use Amazon anymore either. It's like he's become a global campaigner.

We're at a place called Adventure Farm. It's like if Alton Towers had sex with a farm and gave birth to a retarded baby. Yes, it's exactly like that. It's a farm with some other stuff added on, like a hedge maze, face painting, and the world's most lacklustre teacups ride. 4-year-old and Girlfriend are in the queue for face painting. There are eight kids ahead of 4-year-old in the queue and the two women doing the face painting are really slow. It looks like 4-year-old might be waiting an hour. This is a nightmare. This Adventure has turned into a Misadventure. I'm faced with a parenting dilemma: do we keep waiting and waste an hour of the day in the queue, or do I tell 4-year-old he can't have his face painted?