As `extracurriculars' go, there's a lot to be said for the television

NOW THAT the children are settled back at school, the extracurricular activities will start. Yes, yes, I know that if you start your child off on a hobby now it will be a hobby for life.

But, quite honestly, I just want the television off, a bit of peace in the house and ... to get rid of them. Yep, there, I've said it.

But it just didn't work out like that. Read this cautionary tale.

The local Irish dancing teacher was a friend and said she would collect my Aoife and deliver her home if she was interested in starting. I couldn't believe my luck. Each lesson would cost only £1.50 and often she would be gone for three hours. Such bliss.

Once a year there would be a class feis and everyone would get a medal, crisps and a drink.

Such happy days. Why, oh why, didn't I leave it at that?

Aged six, Aoife came home to tell me that there was the most beautiful dress for sale in the class for only £15. "Diamonds that glitter", she cooed.

She was gorgeous in it - little fat legs, pudgy arms. Photographs were taken and sent off to the grandparents, who all obligingly admired my little Irish dancer.

Why, oh why, didn't I leave it at that?

One Sunday during a cold winter, I found myself sitting in a bleak school hall watching an unmerciful amount of little girls doing their easy reels.

The hall was dusty, the music monotonous, the mums and dads resignedly ate their sandwiches and drank their tea. Not knowing the form, I hadn't brought any. Six hours later we emerged, tired, hungry and medal less.

That's when I should have left it at that.

But I found I was getting caught up with it all. I began to recognise ether mothers and got a pal. When I mistakenly stood in the queue to register her for tus, my pal pushed me into bun; and when I did my Maureen Potter bit at the back of the hall, she gently elbowed me into a seat.

She advised me about Aoife's hair. "The whole point is to make an impression on the adjudicator. Tiaras are not allowed, but you must be spectacular." How I wished I had played more with my dolls when I was little, because however much I curled and fluffed up her lovely straight hair it always looked the same. So we tried rollers and arrived at the next feis with them in under a hair net. We teased and backcombed these curls, and my little Aoife emerged from the ladies cloakroom a Shirley Temple look alike.

As time went on, medals accumulated and Aoife grew, the once beautiful dress began to look a bit ridiculous. The "Leinsters" were coming up; this, I learned, was a mega feis. So another dress was planned - a creation of red velvet, embroidered with Celtic scrolls in coloured silks and encrusted with diamonte's; then, the piece de resistance, a pair of silky knickers. I secretly thought it was over the top, but when I saw the other dresses at the "Leinsters" my little Aoife's looked tame.

Oh God, I thought, as I saw a mammy put tanning cream on her little girl's knees, will this be me next year?

Now there was no leaving it at that. Jumps, twists, rocks, trebles or rallies became part of my vocabulary. Each weekend was spent at a different feis, while summers meant watching her school give displays at every village festival in the county.

So be very, very careful when activities are being selected. Nothing for a parent is easy. Their involvement means your involvement.

Maybe the telly isn't such a bad option after all!