June. Eighty degrees in the shade.

I’m on a coach with fifty over-excited, over-heated, under sevens. We’re off to a farm. All day. Whose bright idea was that?

As a responsible adult, I grin and bear it. Today I will be teacher, helper, protector and toilet monitor. Mostly toilet monitor.

Upon arriving, we visit the toilets then go for a walk. We see fields, corn and cattle. Somehow, the children see digging, gold and Minecraft. Their re-count on Monday will be interesting.

Lunch. After eating, we let them loose in a field. Keeping the children on invisible leashes, all’s fine…for about thirty seconds.

What was that?

There’s a loud scream followed by the cries of multiple voices. Half a dozen children limp forwards with hands on bumped heads, cuts on their knees. The first aid kit is swiftly deployed to treat the casualties. Head-bump letters are written. The first of many.

Cries of “no”, “stop”, “don’t do that” and “really?” ring out with irritating regularity. I’m assigned to toilet duty. Again.

Afternoon. We split into groups. I'm bread making…with the five year-olds. Twenty sweaty-fingered infants kneading dough in a non-air-conditioned room at the hottest time of the day. Enough said.

Back on toilet duty.

And breathe. The best part of the day. We escape to the tranquility of a gorgeous herb garden, in full bloom. It’s the sort of garden I dream of creating at home. I point out the various plants to the fascinated children, get them to stroke the leaves and sniff the flowers. We look for colours, talk about textures, discuss names. Then I administer anti-histamines, inhalers and tissues. At least they learned something.

One last toilet duty.

Coach home. Thank goodness. I’m so hot I could die. The kids go to sleep - or pass out. Either way, it’s quiet.

My fellow teaching assistant nudges me. “Wine time?” she asks.

Daft question really. “Make mine a pint.”