The good news is my fall is broken by the shade cloth above the park’s play equipment.

The bad news is Matt’s fall is broken by me.

Then because it’s that kind of a day, the shade cloth gives way underneath us and we tumble onto the mulch below.

‘Ouch, Rich. I think I broke my bum.’

‘You did?’

‘Yeah. It’s got a big crack down the middle.’

It might be the fact that I’ve nearly died a zillion times today, but something about Matt’s joke really tickles me. I laugh, happy to be on solid ground.

Matt shhhes me and points across the park. Baby Zilla stands unsteadily, sucking on her dummy, eyes heavy.

‘Rich. Look. Someone’s going nigh-nigh.’

She sits down.

She lays down.

Seeing our chance, I mime at Matt to grab one edge of the huge torn shade cloth.

We drag it over towards the sleeping giant baby and cover her.

‘Now, Zilla, please go nigh-nigh,’ Matt says Zilla yawns. Matt begins to sing.

‘Rockabye baby, something tree top . . .’

He’s never been great with lyrics. But it seems to be working. Her breathing gets deeper.

‘Baa baa, green sheep, why do you look so ill?’

I sneak around to her hand and start to slide the hoop off the immense, chubby wrist. Her giant arm twitches.

I have to be oh, so quiet.

‘Something, something, cradle will fall,’ Matt sings.

The hoop is on tight, but I manage to ease it off, bit by bit.

‘And down will go Zilla, and then we’ll have brunch,’ Matt warbles.

And with one last tug, the hoop comes free.

Weird, we spent the whole day dodging death to get this thing and it’s just an ordinary hula hoop.

How could this piece of stripey plastic be so darn important?

Zilla lets out a snort. Could she wake up? We can think later. It’s home time.

I grab Matt and run towards the Teleportaloo.

But between us and our escape is . . .