At O-School today I trained my son in martial arts. All in preparation for the absurd TV show that is to hit our screens in a few weeks - American Ninja Warrior (and no - I am not making that up. At the moment it's a very one-sided issue. But I do genuinely fear he will end up with a canny mix of his mother's genes (being six foot two like all the men on her side, and suspiciously healthy all the time) and my family genes (big ears, ginger and very bad at singing). As long as he has my dancing genes he'll be a winner.
As you can see Sensei (that's what he calls me) won this battle. But it's a losing war from this point on, I fear.