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Our house transformed itself today into a small version of Hogwarts School of Witching and Wizardry to help celebrate the birthday of our youngest daughter. When I say “transformed itself”, of course, I mean “was forced by the might of two idiots will power, and a few pounds spent here and there” – more of which will be described in a few minutes time.

In this time of “bought” birthdays, we are something of a throw-back, almost proudly. Where other parents buy experiences for their children at theme parks, or hire entertainers, we pretty much do it all ourselves – as our parents once did. Our favourite memories were always of birthdays spent at home with friends, and we have no doubt – listening to the reactions – that this is still the case.

The invitations went out some time ago – on official (ok – officially faked) Hogwarts headed paper, inviting the new term intake for Hogwarts to arrive at our house at 2pm on Sunday afternoon, wearing any Hogwarts uniform they might have. The contents of their afternoon would remain a mystery until their arrival.

We ended up with 12 children (I think). Apart from one particular child that I might choose to describe later or not, everybody was remarkably well behaved. I'm still not sure if that's a reflection on our children choosing excellent friends, or blind luck. They arrived in various combinations of wizard robes, school uniform, and “Harry Potter” style glasses. The middle school has a wonderfully 1950s uniform, which makes dressing up for a Harry Potter party pretty much just a normal school day.

Parents delivering children were greeted by my other half dressed as Mrs McGonagall (a second use for the outfit used for Victorian day at school!) – then took one look at me in the background and broke into huge smiles. I was bedecked in flowing Wizard robes, long white hair, and a really rather impressive white flowing beard and moustache. Dumbledore for the afternoon, if you will. Just for the record, I am notwearing a full wig and beard again for quite some time. I now have endless admiration for the actors who have to wear full face makeup for hours on end.

First order of business once the children had arrived was school induction – colouring in school ties, and choosing (and decorating) their own wands. They also took turns having the Sorting Hat put on their head, which shouted “Griffindor”, or “Slytherin” at them, in order to form teams for later in the day.

Next up was Potions class, lead by Mrs McGonagall in the back garden. Various mixtures were made into plastic cauldrons from bizarre sounding ingredients, following recipes in a spell book that each student was given (in reality they were vinegar, baking soda, cooking oil, water, food colouring, and a few other oddities – the adults reading this will be wayahead by now). Let's just say the first cup that foamed foul smelling bubbles all over the tables caused shock, hilarity, and cheers among everybody – who then of course tried to out-do each other. You have never seen such levels of horrified, scared, excited concentration from a group of ten year olds.

After cleaning up a little, we all headed out onto the grass – first for a game of blind man's bluff, and then to play Quidditch. Our version of the great game involved broom sticks that must be placed between each player's legs, hoola-hoops for goals (held by Dumbledore and McGonagall), and a foam football. I don't think I've laughed so much in years – the sight of the two teams of children in full wizard robes running off across the green in pursuit of a foam football – broomsticks waggling between their legs – was the stuff of comedy legend. A hundred yards away the teenagers game of soccer came to a complete halt as they watched the spectacle too.

Griffindor narrowly beat Slytherin 2 goals to 1, if you were wondering.

Next up was “pin the scar on Harry Potter”, which caused no end of cheating, fibbing, and “adjusting” of blindfolds by less than scrupulous children. I had to warn one particular child that I would cause them to break wind spectacularly and explosively in front of all their friends if they didn't stop cheating. They stopped cheating.

Back in the house we went for a final round of “Pass the Parcel”, where the children didn't mind for a moment that the parcel didn't contain toys. The forfeits more than made up for it. The young lad who had earlier drawn the ire of the faculty on more than one occasion had to act like a chicken who's bottom had been set on fire for ten seconds – in front of all the girls he really likes. Karma is a curious thing. I'm sure they were impressed by him jumping repeatedly in the air, smacking his own ass to put it out.

Finally, we opened the great hall (living room) doors, and the kids hit the banquet table – festooned with all the foods we liked as kids – sausage rolls, carrots, cheese and pineapple on sticks, chunks of bread, and bowls full of crisps. We didn't hear a single “I don't like that”. We didn't hear a single complaint. We did almost staple one boy to his chair (yes, the same boy as previously mentioned), but we're choosing to overlook his inability to control himself at all.

The day was a hugesuccess. When parents came to pick up their children we heard repeated remarks about the amount of effort we had put in, and how tired we must be. We both thought, but didn't say, the same thing as each other – this party had cost next-to-nothing to hold – all it took was our time, and the kindness of some friends to borrow props (huge kudos to the local dance teacher for the loan of 12 broomsticks). Yes, I felt like a fool dressed as a Wizard all day, but the children accepted it instantly. We have been hearing reports on the grapevine all evening that the party will not be forgotten for years- and all because we put a little bit of effort and time in, instead of packing the kids off to some play area while we sat drinking coffee.

p.s. does anybody want a sausage roll? We've got rather a lot left.