I’m feeling so much better today, after two days of mooching about the house with a head stuffed full of cotton wool and a nose on permanent drip. Fresh air! Physical activity! A functioning brain! I missed you!

So this morning I got up, walked the eternally grateful Pippa and Max, vacuumed the house, did some washing, weed-eated the forest round the back of the house, did two hours of studying Victorian poetry (strictly timed) and now, now I get to chill out, wind down and relax, with the possibility of a large glass of chilled white wine looming on the horizon.

Tomorrow it’s my turn to take Miss 8.6 to her swimming lessons in town, which start at 8am. This involves extracting myself from bed at around 6.45am, in order to wake up properly for the 25 minute journey (I am so not a lark, but I’m not really an owl either, come to think of it) and to make sure that our ever-forgetful daughter hasn’t forgotten her goggles or her swimcap or her hairbrush or her head.

Miss 8.6 is an awesome little swimmer and can do four lengths of the 25m pool at the aquatic centre no problem at all. So much so, she kicked butt at the school swimming competition two weeks ago and was subsequently picked to represent her school at the regional champs, this coming Tuesday.

The Other Harf and I are very proud and humbled about this, considering both of us represented our respective schools in diddly-squat. We both plan on being poolside on Tuesday, cheering very loudly and over-enthusiastically to embarrass her and to make up for our pain.