It's a Dad's Life:What is this, Compton? Are we in south-central LA? There are four of us asleep in a double bed. Well, sleep would be nice; there are four of us elbowing, kicking and snarling at each other in a double bed. The reason the kids' sleep was disturbed? A Garda helicopter has decided to hover some 50 feet above our roof for about an hour.

There's a part of me thinking there had better be some seriously bad action going down or I'm dusting off the Black Widow catapult and taking this bird down. The Missus holds her pillow over her head and roars face-first into the mattress. "How many of them are up there?" she demands.

"Just the one," I reply. "I think he's trying to find his friend." Apparently, the Air Support Unit has added a second 'copter to their ranks.

I'm wondering is this the new or the old one. I'm wondering is he on the trail of a major gangland crime figure or an international terrorist suspect. I'm wondering is there a riot kicking off due to societal disquiet at the state of the Taoiseach's finances and Airwolf has been called to disperse the ringleaders. I'm wondering all these things, but the image that keeps returning to my head is the pilot working his way through a couple of rounds of ham sandwiches and a flask of tea. He's humming along to something nice on Lyric and looking forward to his Club Milk.

Those of us who aren't wealthy enough to afford private air transport or haven't taken part in an armed conflict don't have much cause to experience the hover of a helicopter for a prolonged period. When we see our local Rozzer fly about the city, keeping us all safe, we still point upwards and get the kids to wave.

It's all very innocent and family friendly; our new generation of Plods taking to the skies to battle evil for the good of us all. You half expect to see the Batsignal beamed on to City Hall. But then you realise you nearly always see him above Croke Park on match days and concert nights. Is this a traffic measure, an attempt to aid crowd control? Or have 12 of the lads piled in to catch U2 from above? So when he sits there on a random weeknight, for ages, immobile, like a great, bloated, demented wasp and wakes my whole family and then proceeds to keep them awake and have them bicker and moan, I get a little irritated.

When my children insist on invading my bed because the noise is even worse in their bedroom, I wind up further. When I'm the one who must adopt the air of Zen calm because my wife is melting down and we are only allowed do that one at a time, I become resentful - of her and our law-enforcing friends.

Because, as every parent knows, nothing, and there are no exceptions, justifies waking sleeping children.

So, he hovers on. From my vantage point I can see no action on the street.

Sirens are conspicuous by their absence, there are no shouts of joy or despair carried to me on the wind. Though the beast's engine whine would surely block them if there were. It seems a quiet night in the city, but for our friendly invader.

Eventually he rises up and departs, maybe to issue a ticket to someone parked in a loading bay in Raheny. I move from the window where I have been standing with clenched fists and teeth and realise my side of the bed has been utterly consumed by offspring. I grab a pillow and hit the spare room to consider a life of crime.