Racing around the craft shop at the weekend, asking for dinosaur scales, green felt, and instructions on how to make papier mache, our enthusiasm was beginning to wane.

The past evening had been spent drawing diagrams and working out our model building action plan. Operation St George had begun, because we had one weekend left in which to construct our termly project of building a dragon and a dragon trap. Yes you did read that correctly, a dragon trap.

How to trap a dragon was therefore a hot topic of conversation in our house, with endless sadistic schemes being thought up from a noose to a cliff edge, net or guillotine. We finally agreed on a hidden underground trap between the dragon’s cave and the maiden tied to a tree, and set about its incarnation.

Of course, that was then, after a bottle of wine, and this was now, harassed, and competing with Christmas shoppers for materials, shop assistants, parking spaces and patience. There were no instructions for making papier mache in the shop and no one could shed any light on the issue. We surmised that glue and paper were involved and bought both and endless other expensive paraphernalia.

The shop assistants were unsurprised. “It was Humpty Dumpty last week and one poor mum was nearly in tears about the pirate ship she needed to build the week before. It makes you wonder about the teachers though doesn’t it?” she laughed.

Which did make me wonder what kind of staff meeting that had been. Was it parents payback time for all our misdemeanours, or were they just in a particularly brutal mood when they thought up the dragon trap concept?

Because it was only on unpacking our purchases that we realised the Herculean task that lay in front of us. Not having an artistic bone in my body, I had to leave the dragon’s creation up to him indoors, who slowly but surely realised our over-ambitious plans might have him admitted to the asylum many years earlier than planned.

Suffice to say, it took all weekend. And I mean all weekend. As we swore and covered ourselves in a steady and sticky mix of glue, paint, fluff and paper while shunning all social invitations, we laboured on into the night, the children long having given up on any interest or input.

By Monday morning, the dragon was complete, resplendent and pinned up with a variety of toothpicks to make sure his wings didn’t stick to his body overnight. Him indoors had photographed it and sent the pics off to all his friends and family, so proud was he of his endeavours. And no, the competitive dad side was not something I’d encountered before! The triumphal dragon procession into school was something to behold. I’m sure I could hear the trumpet players heralding away somewhere in the background.

So how did our dragon get on? No idea. We never heard back. Now the teachers’ Christmas gifts have been brought into line with commercial cutbacks versus dragon homework ratios. Bah humbug.