Once, the playground was the woman's domain. Mothers gathered, chatted and, on occasion, argued while ferrying their children backwards and forwards to school each day.

Fast forward to 2026, where working from home has become the norm for many fathers post-Covid, and now the school gates is a mixed bag of parents.

Not to get too David Attenborough on you, but it's a jungle out there and identifying which type of father you're going to bump into - whether it be the 'flirt' or the 'Labrador dad' - is a bit like wildlife tracking.

'Here, we have the pompous of the species, displaying his heirs and graces as he asserts his dominance by the monkey bars.'

But not to fear. Whilst there's a wide variety of different school fathers, I've whittled it down to nine distinctive dads.

Eyes down, bingo dabber at the ready: how many do you recognise?

His courteous compliments soon turn copious and before you know it he's reared into serious flirtatious territory. 

I once encountered a Flirt who told me how young I looked for my age (thanks Botox), and then how 'trendy' my clothes are – his words not mine. 

At first I smiled and laughed because who doesn't love a compliment. But now I'm beginning to think I was lulled into a false sense of parental kinship with no idea how to get out of it.

I had visions of him making a drunken pass at me and worried about the day that he potentially crossed the line from schmoozer to full-on sleazebag.

The Showman, or more commonly - and less politely - known as the show-off. Everything is bigger, louder and more extreme with this father. 

He makes sure he's the centre of attention, whether it's in the playground, at the Christmas fete or at that one-time pub get-together.

I've once seen a Showman at a children's party, front and centre in the middle of the ball pit hurling missiles at the youngsters - and if I was ever cornered into a conversation with him, I felt my eyes involuntarily starting to roll... not that a Showman would notice that.

You only ever see Emergency Dad when there's been, well, an emergency. He just about knows what time school starts but forgets to pack his kids' water bottles, library books and cardigans.

His children will pile into the school gates with no coats in winter, lopsided ponytails and toothpaste down their fronts.

Emergency dad is rough around the edges, but he's often a good guy, one you can have perfectly pleasant conversations with about the new teachers and the like.

Literally and figuratively with the Too Cool For School. We get it, you were cool at school. And yes, you're still cool at your kid's school, but jeez crack a smile sometimes.

His whole demeanour, which has hints of hipster, is head-down-don't-make-eye-contact. 

At first, you'll likely try to catch his eye in an earnest 'we're-all-new-here' kind of way, but as the weeks turn into months, you'll eventually get the hint. 

He doesn't want to engage, he doesn't want to talk… he doesn't appear to even know who you are despite your children being in the same class. 

He works in music or something similarly cool and is not interested in making friends for the whole seven-year school stint. He will never be on the dads' football team or running a stall at the summer fair. 

Decked out in Carhartt and working in comedy, Edgy Dad is an enigma. You can't work out if he's really arrogant or just a bit shy; it's a fine line and he straddles it. 

Much like Too Cool, he's aloof and doesn't seem overly keen on making playground pals. 

I managed to strike up a conversation with one Edgy Dad and now we're not exactly friends but we have that familiarity and do the whole 'You ok? Yeah, yeah you?' nod and smile when we walk past each other.

A small victory, but I'll take it.

Now I love a good chat as much as the next person, but I don't always have the time. Or the desire. And why is it that Chatty Dad chats and chats but has asked me literally nothing over the last two and a half years? 

I know where he went on his last holiday, where he's booked to go over the summer and what trips he wants to take in 2027. 

As for him, he can't even recall my youngest daughter's first name. It's not so much that he's chatty, more he loves the sound of his own voice. And even if I had all the time in the world, I still wouldn't have time for that.

Ah, you have to feel for Downtrodden Dad. He's like a meek little mouse who's neither seen nor heard, but rather hides behind his wife who's a social climber and social butterfly - the life and soul of the playground and PTA meetings. 

She's au fait with aesthetics and is suddenly always in the gym with her new personal trainer as well as out every Saturday night with her recently-divorced sister. Her husband appears to just let it all happen right under his nose, without making so much as a squeak of protest. 

The Trophy Dad is a rare breed of the species, but if you look hard enough he can be found. 

He has a part-time lifestyle job, probably a content creator, while his wife is the big earner who is never at the school gates. He does all the school runs, replies to all the WhatsApp messages and attends all the birthday parties. 

He's kind and genuine and will probably be our next class rep. Trophy Dad laughs at being called a 'house husband' but doesn't understand the fuss – no one side-eyes a woman taking care of her kids instead of having a nine to five. 

He's sweet, loyal and full of energy; this dog-like dad is the best of the species – the pedigree of playground parents. 

The children all love him, as do the parents and teachers. He knows everyone's names and is always around to lend a hand when asked.