And we wonder why we drink?

Let me, for a minute, bore you with a day, chosen at random from the past two weeks: Leave house at 7.15am with daughter’s urine sample to drop off at GP's surgery on the way to work – suspected urinary tract infection. Get to work, meetings, reports, call doctor to check on sample, discover has been left with nurse, call back and speak to doctor, reminding her of daughter’s history and urging her to check it and send to hospital, back into meetings, ask surgery to call me on mobile with any updates. Get home, shove piece of bread in toaster and smear peanut butter on it as have ten minutes before having to leave again to attend parent evening at school. With three year old clinging to leg crying ‘Mummy, I want YOU to put me to bed,’ see blinking message on answerphone. Daughter does indeed have UTI; prescription is waiting at surgery. Peel three year old off me, quickly kiss five year old and seven year old, cram toast into mouth whilst grabbing car key and race to surgery, then chemist, to pick up antibiotics. Drive furiously to school and get there just in time. Back at 9pm, shattered, no time to cook anything… Open a bottle of wine instead. Pour a glass. Drink it. Exhale…

I know there are other props. Mindfulness, a hot bath, popping some fresh kale and spirulina into the blender for a delightful smoothie (tried that once. Not so delightful).

But none of them hits the spot like a glass of red. None of them says ‘Okay, it’s your time now. Kick back. Enjoy me. You’re done for the day. Everyone’s alive, the house hasn’t burnt down, and no one has seen through you yet…’

And none of them taste anywhere near as good with stilton, either…