IT MIGHT be the winter season, football season and even awards season, but there is nothing like kids’ party season to bring a fully functioning adult to their knees.

Ours is about to kick-off as so many little darlings in our lives have their birthdays around this time of year.

For some reason, February, March and April seem to be the months most of us, yes us too, birthed at least one child and now we are all paying for it as our calendars are jam-packed with kid-based events for the foreseeable.

Yes this is a first world problem and yes there are millions of other more serious things to focus on I am sure, but right now we are crashing towards the least relaxing weekends of our year with unequal amounts of joy and dread.

They are also the loudest weekends of the year, some even louder than the raves we used to go to in the Nineties.

In fact, kids’ parties and raves have many similarities.

Bright colours, flashing things and pumping music feature heavily at both, as do crowds of happy, smiley party-goers, bouncing off the walls with excitement.

The major difference, of course, being the type of mood-altering substance on offer.

Sugar certainly has a lot to answer for.

Oh and there was no cake or cute gift to take home at the end of a rave either, well unless you had met someone “interesting” while waving your glo-stick around with wild abandon.

Aside from that, they are pretty much the same thing.

I know I certainly feel the same the day after a kids’ party as I did back then, what with the banging head, ringing ears and burning soles.

Although these days I have to get up early and be adult, instead of laying in bed until 3pm, watching The X-Files and eating Supernoodle sandwiches.

Do not knock it until you have tried it.

So, next weekend the fun begins with a double-party whammy.

They are both on the same day in fact, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

First up, bowling. A crew of hyperactive six and seven-year-olds with heavy bowling balls at their disposal. What could possibly go wrong?

Our son had a bowling party a couple of years ago which, with hindsight, was not the brightest idea we have ever had as he is ever so slightly competitive.

On his first go, using that funky frame thing little kids use to roll the ball down the alley, he missed every single skittle.

He proceeded to lay face down on the ground and refused to get up for remainder of the session despite the numerous bribing tactics we tried.

We have since avoided organising sports-based parties for him just to keep the peace.

It also transpired, early into parenthood, that he cannot deal with party games so we give them a wide berth now too.

After the bowling party next weekend, we get a couple of hours respite before we are all off to a pool party.

No, we do not have friends with an indoor swimming pool, or even an outdoor one for that matter.

The party is at one of Brighton’s delightful municipal pools; verrucas, cockroaches, wet plasters and all.

My husband does not know it yet, but I have volunteered him to be one of the adults who will go in the water and help supervise the kids.

I am sure he will absolutely love it.

He might not love me much afterwards, but I am sure we will look back and laugh in years to come. Probably.

There are many more parties on the horizon too.

Some in village halls, some at softplay centres, some at farms and some in the child’s actual home.

Who does that? Who is daft enough to host a seven-year-old’s party in their own home?

Either they have taken complete leave of their senses or they are moving out soon, there cannot be any other reason.

It is our turn in a few weeks and we have had hundreds of conversations about how best to celebrate the big seven.

Our boy wanted all his friends to come over to ours, hilarious child.

Then something wonderful happened and a friend whose kid has a birthday a few days before ours, suggested a joint party in a building neither of us own.

All we need to do is endure a couple of hours under unforgiving strip-lighting while the nippers go crazy on some bouncy equipment, then stuff their faces with beige food.

Oh there is the small matter of the party bags and cake to sort, and Mary Berry I am not.

Anyone know how to make a football shirt out of sponge? Nope, me neither.