How I survived a family Easter egg hunt in Kirkliston

They’re very sweet, but it’s inadvisable to eat a whole one.

Anyway, I recently found myself heading to the adventure park Conifox’s Easter Festival in Kirkliston - April 20 is the last day, folks - with three of them in tow.

My two nieces, and one nephew. The eldest, at 13, is probably too old for this kind of caper, but she tagged along anyway, and I felt touched that she’s still willing to hang out with her increasingly uncool auntie and uncle.

We went to this event last year, with the two youngest rugrats, and they had a blast. It was an unseasonably hot April day. We cast our cloots prematurely. I got sunburnt.

Not so this time round. It’s Baltic. I exhume my puffer coat from the wardrobe, again, and try to keep the jackets on the backs of the children, who keep shedding their skins like snakes.

When it comes to the drive, I will not be going shotgun, so I squeeze myself into the rear of our two door car. We learnt our lesson, on a recent trip, when there was wrestling and shrieking in the back. I have to slot between two of them, and act like a divider. I will not get involved in their conflict. I am Switzerland.

They still manage to have a row, when one sibling flings their water bottle at the other, who then confiscates it. The row gets louder.

“Not while I’m driving!” bellows my other half.

That gave me Proustian feelings, including flashbacks to my own childhood. And so it goes, across eras. I bet in prehistoric times, the kids riding on the rump of the woolly mammoth were admonished by whoever was steering the thing.

“Unga bunga, I’m going to crash”.

We arrived at Conifox and, oh no, this year it seems we’re entering via the funfair, use of which is not included in the ticket.

Eyes down, and I’m trying to distract them as we go past the money sponge that is the waltzers.

We can do them later, I say, knowing very well that I’m not going to pay for this. Let’s go to the free bouncy castle instead. Unfortunately, this inflatable looks like it's at capacity, with a cairn of tiny discarded Crocs at its bright pink drawbridge.

Straight to the hunt then. This went a bit wrong last year. It takes place in their maze, and they’d filled it with hundreds of mini foil-wrapped chocolate eggs.

Unfortunately, they weren’t being replenished by the resident rabbits.

The kids at the front of the queue, with adults assuming that the supplies would be topped up, got ALL of them. That included us. Oops. My kind middle child niece went round redistributing her eggs to any small children who were weeping while clutching empty baskets.

This year, they rethought the hunt, and there are colourful plastic eggs to collect instead. They will be used as shekels in exchange for real chocolate. There’s also a wordsearch.

Off we go, skippety skip. Then I remember, children and mazes don’t mix. As they split up, one gets lost, then the other. I find myself shouting names through privet hedges. Once we’re all reunited, we check out the letters we’ve found, ESPRIGMN. Simpering? Impingers?

We’re missing one. T! It must be springtime. We’re off to see the wizard, aka the rabbit in the middle of the maze, to collect our spoils.

It’s someone in an oversized costume but, aw, so cute. And they’re breakdancing. Good work, whoever is in there, sweltering.

We get a group photo, and each of the kids bags a Cadbury’s Caramel Buttons egg. I have to ask the rabbit for the teen’s one, since she’s slightly cringing.

I’m tempted to add, “Hey Mr Beaver, why are you beavering around?” in the voice of the Cadbury’s bunny - who, random fact fans, was voiced by Miriam Margolyes - but I don’t want my niece to go any redder.

“Can we open our chocolate now?” says the youngest, and I unwrap the foil.

“Just a wee bit, because we’ll be having lunch soon,” I tell him, though I know how this will go. He’ll have eaten the whole thing within the hour.

We’ve pretty much exhausted the Easter offering, so it’s off to the go-karts.

“Can we go to the OTHER ones we saw earlier, though?” says the youngest, in reference to the waltzers. I pretend not to hear.

Thankfully, use of the pedal-powered karts is included.

I stay by the side, to guard the decimated chocolate eggs and discarded jackets, and to view the grand prix. I try not to wickedly laugh, as I see one of the children peddling off, while another is trying to get into the back seat and has barely got one leg in. Siblings, eh?

Then the teen drops her Easter egg, and manages to reverse over it in her own vehicle. She jumps out, to rescue the remains, but someone else’s go-kart runs it over a second time.

Oh dear. I’m glad the breakdancing rabbit isn’t near enough to see this.

We put her discarded chocolate in the bin, and open up our picnic.

However, I don’t think anyone is that hungry. They want a shot on the pair of trampolines, and various rows ensue, as they fight for dominance over their bouncy islands. As long as nobody attempts a back flip and lands on their head, I’m happy.

It’s been chaotic.

As I slot myself back into the middle seat in the car, I ask them if they had fun. I get a resounding yes.

Next year, fingers crossed for sunshine.

www.conifox.co.uk