BEING a parent is a challenge.

It is a relentless and constant drain upon your physical and mental reserves.

But I have never had anything test my patience as much as being a parent when it is warm.

To give you some context I am 35-years-old.

I have a two-year-old daughter and four-month-old son.

I am bald. All three of us are ginger and our complexions mean we sometimes need to slap on factor 50 when there is a full moon.

Then last week we had the hottest night of the year and what has always been a difficult task became something conjured from the mind of some twisted demon from the fieriest circle of hell.

At around 3am it began when simultaneously both children decided it was too hot to sleep.

As I walked into their rooms the screams emanating from their sweltering mouths were almost visible.

The humid air shimmered under the screeches and chilled the sweat that had sprung up on my face.

I picked up my son whilst my wife grabbed our daughter and I realized that the back of my knees were actually damp with perspiration.

Yet just when I thought it couldn’t get any hotter I discovered our children generate more warmth than a newly stewed hot water bottle.

I contemplated plunging all four of us into an ice cold shower…or ripping out the plastic drawers and climbing into the fridge.

How do people in warm climates ever procreate? I have held baking trays with oven gloves that were emanating less warmth. The four of us sweltered through the night, wafting at each other with teddy bears and The Gruffalo. Then the sun came up. It was the beginning of another ordeal. I feel nauseous just thinking about it.