I have always allowed them some screen time, though I prided myself on the fact that my oldest boy only got a phone for his 13th birthday a few months back. My husband took on the responsibility of monitoring content; they have only ever had access to age-appropriate material – no 18 certificate, sweary, gory shoot-em-up games were ever allowed in our house.
So, when my eldest came home from school and asked if he could get a new game, called Fortnite, because the other kids in his year were playing it together, I couldn't really see the harm in it. Once it had passed the dad-security checks, it was downloaded on to my son's computer and also on to the Playstation. Whereas some games cost upwards of £50, the big bonus here was that Fortnite was free! Great.
One of our great family traditions on Friday nights after school is to sit and have a film together after dinner but with the prospect of Fortnite-play looming, both of my boys were adamant that they should be allowed to power up the Playstation when we got in.
If I had been a bit firmer at the start, perhaps it might have stopped what was to come but I didn't see the harm in them having a go; they'd both worked hard that week. After an hour had elapsed, I went to have a look at what the kids were up to; normally I could get away with maybe 20 minutes without some kind of fight breaking out between them, or a Nerf bullet whizzing past my ear, or a demand to go to the park or to the shops to buy sweets.
But once they were plugged into Fortnite – with their headsets allowing them to speak to each other via their microphones – there was no shifting them.
They were talking to each other in a bizarre language - "On me!" , "Where are we dropping, boys?", "I got an AR", "He got a legendary SCAR". The last two, it turned out, were names for weapons.
Did they want any pudding? I had got chocolate ice-cream, their favourite. There was no response. "Shall we go to Risky Reels or Tilted Towers?" asked my eldest son.
In the end I got two bowls of ice-cream and set them down in front of them. I watched them melt. My kids were stuck to that screen like glue and in the end, I had to shout at them and pull the plug out of the wall to get them off it. And that was just the start of the great Fortnite-mare. They'd get up ridiculously early on a school morning to play before I was out of bed; they'd whine and moan to be allowed on after school and would sneak on when my back was turned if I refused.
The guinea pig was forgotten, their chores were left undone and I found myself losing my temper with them because every time they were on it, they developed a total deafness to the world around them.
And yet, there were positives: they could play with friends who lived miles away, there was no blood in the game, they got to be teddy bears or disco dancers (albeit gun-toting ones) and the graphics in the game were amazing to look at.
However, for us, the low point came on a trip of a lifetime to Barbados at Easter when they wanted to stay in and play – you guessed it – Fortnite rather than go to the beach. We pulled the plug and started a slow process of rehabilitation; card games, swimming together, actually talking to each other again.
Since then, we have allowed them Fortnite at weekends only and during holidays but for a limited time. They know that we ultimately have control over it. And while they spent some Christmas pocket money buying V-bucks, the game's currency, no amount of pester-power will persuade me to part with any more cash.
My biggest hope is that like fidget spinners and slime before them, this craze will have had its day before the summer is out.
