I turned 38 last week. Yes 38, still single, and still, as my dear co-hosts reminded me, a loser in life’s ‘find a hubby lottery’. So, after observing an appropriate period of self pity and depression over still being a singleton (roughly a minute), I moved on to finding the answer to one of life’s even greater mysteries.

What age is too old to use a kids’ slide?

There are several reasons I ask. Firstly, the Jack office directly overlooks the old basketball court in Summertown which, as each day unfolds, is being transformed into a magical play area with an assortment of new swings, slides and climbing things which look far too much fun to be wasted on children.

Secondly, I’ve just spent the weekend with my friends who have a toddler who has just reached the age where swings and slides are officially more important in his life than his parents, or... air.

The only thing is, he is too small to slide down himself, so mum is currently enjoying hoisting herself up the ladder to squeeze her ‘mumsize’ buttocks on to the slide about 20 times a day, much to the delight of the teenagers at the nearby skate park.

She says having a toddler is great fun, because it gives you an excuse to be a big kid again.

Her husband is the same. He’s in the middle of a second childhood. Not that I’m sure he ever got over his first one. This is the man who ended up on suicide watch in hospital with a broken leg after admitting he jumped off a roof on purpose. He just neglected to tell the doctor it was because he was stupid, not suicidal (although as I was admitted to A&E a couple of years ago for super glueing my eyelids together in a freak accident, I’m not really one to throw stones).

So, with several glasses in hand of that special red squash only grown-ups can have, we started reminiscing about the fun things we used to love doing but don’t do any more because of a) fear of ridicule and b) fear of broken limbs.

Things like jumping over cracks in the footpath, sliding across polished floors in your socks, swinging from a rope, riding a skateboard, building a den (accidentally pulling out a rare plant in the process), blowing bubbles, finger painting (on paper and walls), playing barefoot, making mud pies, flying a kite, building a sandcastle, half burying someone in sand, skimming a stone, pretending the sofa is a boat and the floor is shark infested waters, licking cake mixture from a bowl, riding a bike through a puddle, playing on swings and of course sliding down a slide. Sigh.

I could almost be fooled into thinking my friends have had a child purely so they can relive their fondest childhood memories.

But then, who would blame them?