Sometimes being stuck in a traffic jam is

YOU don’t even know you’re born’, was a common accusation levelled at me by my mother, when I was a student.

Admittedly, I didn’t really understand the insult and I’m not sure I do now, but I imagine it’s something to do with a cossetted existence.

I got up at 8.15am, went to a lecture, ate a bacon bap, had a chat, went home for toast followed by a nap, woke up for wine from a box and a takeaway pizza, ready to watch films with friends in a student house my mum and dad paid for.

It was a few years ago but it wasn’t so long I can’t remember all that free time.

If anything, I was bored, a very distant emotion in my current situation.

The only chance of an afternoon nap now is if I fall asleep in the toilet.

And this is not a complaint about growing old because the alternative is not growing old, which would mean I’d be dead.

This is about how time is allocated on a disproportionate basis.

I had far too much time as a student. For example, we watched Neighbours in our house, nobody should have that much free time.

Whereas now, there’s no time for anything. My morning beauty regime involves shaving in the car, flattening my hair with my hand as I walk from the car park and checking my shirt isn’t tucked into my pants.

Victoria and I have a break between 7.30pm and 6.30am when the twins are in bed.

A break involves washing dishes, clothes, cooking, tidying and sleeping.

Although again, I’d like to stress I’m not complaining because I’d be a very unhappy