I have it on good authority that I am a nerd: I was told repeatedly when I was at school, although the main definition of ‘nerd’ was “Doesn’t understand minutiae of football” and “Doesn’t base self esteem on how his football team did last weekend” which I think was the pot calling the kettle black frankly.

I used the time I could be obsessing about a bunch of people kicking a bag of wind in making models. This means I was considered even worse than a Nerd: I was ‘Boring’: I didn’t even blow things up on computers, for goodness’ sake.

So I embraced my inner nerd. I even got a job partly on the basis of that when I showed my carpentry master a dimensioned design I’d made for some models I was working on. Skills gained making models are also surprisingly useful in the largely improvised world of occupational therapy.

Besides, with three boys things break in strange and unusual ways. This Christmas the boys got a high-tech marble run with magnets and other exciting things and which I wasn’t allowed to play with because the boys have grown out of eating small objects and know more about physics than I do. It contained the little green component above, which succumbed to laws of physics after a couple of hours, and which is pretty simple to fix if you are the sort of person that has a stack of really fine brass rods and tiny hand drills just lying about.

So there: Nerds rule.

They still wouldn’t let me play with the marble run though. Next time I’m going to demand access for repairs…