Having a 10-year-old daughter gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘surprise party’. It’s no longer defined by a joyful exclamation when a sudden flick of the light switch illuminates all your nearest and dearest in one room.

Instead it is discovering that you will be hosting a major sleepover event in three days’ time, to which every little girl within a five-mile radius has been sent an invite. And sleepovers are badly named. It’s not until the final visiting eyes sink shut in the small hours of the morning that I can at last crawl under my own duvet safe in the knowledge that I have at least three hours before the first waking child is burning bread in the old toaster.

So I am now faced with the prospect of borrowing enough air mattresses for a jamboree, an afternoon of hard labour pumping them up, the feeding of the 5,000, followed by something akin to a musical festival in the front room.

At least there won’t be chemical toilets and that at least is something to be grateful for, particularly as my front room is home to the most wonderful sofa in the world.

Sometimes you just see something and instantly fall for it. My sofa is purple, funky and opulent, a statement piece for sure though I‘m not quite certain what statement it is making.

I know it’s a tad on the foolish side, and tends towards the OTT, but it makes me smile and that’s important if you’re going to spend time with something day in day out. Rather like internet dating, the moment the image appeared on the computer monitor I knew this was the one.

I drove straight to Swindon to check that it really was as suave and well-built as it looked online. If only you could do that with screen idols too, but I don’t think Johnny Depp goes to Swindon very often. My one concern was that it would be too big to move in, and I considered having windows removed or perhaps relocating my living room onto the drive.

However, the sales assistant with a swish of his wizard’s wand announced that the arms come off for transit. I signed with a flourish on Cupid’s dotted line.

Over time I have allowed the children to approach the sofa with care, and even sit on it gently if they’ve behaved well for a lengthy period of time.

And now, this Saturday, my pride and joy will be scaled by a heaving mass of giggling girls dabbling their homemade spa kits over its fluffy cushions. What on earth can I do?

As the old adage goes, if you can’t beat them (and current child protection laws clearly say you can’t), join them.

So I think I’ll wear my disco gear and shuffle my eclectic music collection on the ipod speaker dock.

And for my daughter’s guests, that will be a surprise.