I rang the shiny doorbell and waited. The doormat said ‘hello.’ I studied the flowery cursive etched into the coir matting. Cute idea, I mused.

Despite the blustery day, the porch was pristine. I cast around for a mound of discarded school shoes. Where were my young son’s feculent socks, peeled from sweaty feet and flung to the ground in the rush to play?

The door swung open and a glamorous school-mum ushered me inside.

“The boys are having a ball,” she said. Half a dozen small, excited voices echoed from somewhere upstairs.