Cursing the 20 mins of my life I would never get back, I admitted defeat, unplugged the curlers and went to remind my children for the 74th billionth time to brush their teeth. I had blindly led myself into the comparison trap.

It means you are still stifling polite when ruddy-cheeked Martin from accounts makes his way over to you, brandishing a forlorn looking sprig of mistletoe. 'Um no thank you, Martin...'.  However were you more emotionally lubricated, you could probably find two far more effective words to use on Martin.  

Sure, no problem, that's fine. The words have tripped out of my mouth before you can say nervous breakdown. WTF. 

We know the feeling well, so accustomed are we to it. It leaves un-drunk cups of tea, unshaved legs and unread books in its wake. The feeling that we must be all things to all people...but ourselves it seems.

We still have tough times, don't we? When the world, the day, the room we are in, gets 'too much'...but we know and you know, and those we love to know, and we muddle through.

'So?' I asked the children, what did you think? 'I liked it.' said my eldest...'It takes longer but it isn't as boring as the supermarket.' 'Can I have some Brighton bun? ' asked my youngest.