In our house, I’m in charge of adventures. The man of the house is in charge of predictability. On Saturday mornings, he sprawls on the sofa with his newspapers (and a crimson knee rug). He’ll stay clamped to the lounge like a limpet until I bundle the kids out of the house, leaving him child-free to confront the weekend’s maintenance project. By the time we return, I hope he’s changed three light bulbs and dug up a deep-rooted collection of sticks once known as the camellia bush.

“Kids who get in the car right now get chocolate Clinkers for the drive!” (Sometimes, bribery replaces reasoning in our house – especially when the Morley toy and hobby fair opens in twenty minutes).