What did you do all day?

How about he stays at home cord-hunting, while she escapes kiddie hell for a quiet, shiny office? I have considered this option. The frisson I experience when imagining myself on the phone with no one tugging at the cord is not unlike orgasm. But when I suggest a switching of roles, my partner looks as if he might vomit.

Admittedly, staying at home with the children was largely my decision; work, I decided, could wait. My career need not wither and die if I took three or four years' break.

Yes, I still miss my company car – in fact, any car without apple cores slowly putrefying in the back – but I have no wish to hurry back, leaving a nanny to do all the fun stuff.

Sometimes, though, I come over all dreamy when I remember the working world: a proper lunchbreak, not merely snatching a cold fish finger from a child's plate, and having a reason to wear lipstick. In the workplace, you can mooch and even snooze for part of the day when you're tired/hungover/alone in the office. Doze off while in charge of children and they'll be out through a bedroom window, abseiling down the side of the house.

In contrast, the 9-5 was a doddle. When my boss asked what I achieved that day, I would blithely report that I had examined market potential and implemented a new appraisal structure designed to maximise motivation.

Which, roughly translated, means, 'Nothing.'