It's that time again. If life wasn’t punishment enough we’re now forced to spend even more time in the company of our offspring.

The summer holidays are well under way and I’m already at the point where I have my passport ready and have booked a one-way ticket to Mexico.

I know that come the beginning of September the kids and I won’t be on speaking terms, so in an attempt to improve relations I booked us a family holiday.

Family holiday – never have two words conjured up as much fear and anxiety.

The destination was Disneyland. The price was robbery. The sheer horror at the thought of only being able to have a conversation in English with my kids was real.

I’ll admit that the flight and the first 24 hours were actually quite pleasant.

Despite a mini panic attack when we got lost in an airport the size of Workington, things were going well.

The kids were excited and I was expecting the baby to scream at the guy in the Mickey Mouse suit but, to my disappointment, she didn’t.

I was really getting into the whole Disney thing. I’d bought the kids a novelty straw each to use whilst I was strutting around the park in my Disney T-shirt, cap, backpack, shades and 25th anniversary hi-tops.

Everyone was smiling and even a miserable old dude got pulled into the communal euphoria. Well, for a short time at least.

While waiting in line for a ride in the Toy Story section of the park, I was dumbfounded when a rather aggressive-looking French lady joined the queue behind me and started getting just a bit too close to me. Even someone as slow as me knew what was about to go down – this sister was a queue jumper.

Obviously she was looking for a gap to squeeze through so, using the kids as a defensive weapon, I formed a human fence and shot her a few disapproving looks.

I thought that was the end of it until we turned a corner and she unceremoniously shoved past the kids and me, dragging one of her brood so aggressively I was surprised his shoulder was still in its socket.

I couldn’t have this! As a Brit it was my duty to enforce the rules of the queue!

“Excuse… ex-cue-say mwah?” I began.

She just looked me up and down then turned her back on me! What the...?! I had to take a minute to calm down.

I didn’t really want to be the first person in history to be arrested for punching another parent at Disneyland. Though I’m guessing The Sun would’ve paid a fortune for the interview or The Daily Mail would’ve used it as some sort of warped justification for Brexit.

I looked around, hoping to find an ally but everyone just pretended (quite badly) that they hadn’t seen the shady move. I should have just ignored the event. Everyone had warned me that the queues of Disneyland were a battleground, but did I listen? No.

I respected the honour of the queue far too much so, in a brash move, I unleashed the baby from my grasp and, as anticipated, she shot past the queue jumpers and I immediately gave chase.

“Kids, eh?!” I laughed as I almost knocked the lady into a rather large bush.

I don’t care if it’s Disney or the summer holidays, a queue is a queue!

Awh-ray-vwah for now.