I’ve just attended a sponsored school pedal-push. Parents were invited to cheer their children on their bikes, trikes and scooters, plus, being Lewes, a child pulling a metal mechanical monkey on a penny-farthing. Does this sort of thing make you feel happy? Full of community spirit, pulling together for a good cause? Really? Well let me buy you a drink. Several, in fact until you crack and admit you hate sponsored jollity just as much as I do. The odd thing is, I did enjoy taking part as a child. But as I recall, it was me that had to collect the sponsorship, which was an event in itself. There were some peculiar characters in our street. I was sure there was a dead body in the basement of no 7; it had a very odd smell. But I digress. A four-year-old cannot collect their own sponsorship, so the onus of responsibility falls onto the parents. Which in some households translates as the mother. But I feel I paid my dues thirty years ago when I rallied forth and got the ‘Plant a Tree in ‘73’ t-shirt. My solution this time has been to do a deal with a couple of other mothers. A lifetime of mutual sponsorship, £2 a shot. No street collecting and no money need ever change hands, except directly to the school. Does that defeat the purpose? No, because the school gets money and there are others who are better at the cheerful social stuff. And when my chap is old enough, he can go off and discover the eccentrics of the neighbourhood by himself. I’ll even sponsor him to do it.