That’s how many weddings I think you have a duty to attend for any one person in any one lifetime. First weddings are one thing, second ones and you’re already veering into ‘okay, this time,’ territory but third? Isn’t seeing someone married for the third time a bit Groundhogadoon? More of a hobby than a wedding, I’d venture. I think if I were to be getting married for the third time my invitation would begin with the word: “Look…” and would end with “Absolutely no presents, please. Unless you’d like me to give you something - I have a loft full of toasters up for grabs…”

What are they going to call the First Puppy? Already, election discussion forums are rife with campaigners insisting that Sasha and Malia Obama have a duty to adopt a downtrodden rescue dog rather than a puppy but that sooooo misses the point of little girl-dom. I’m keeping everything crossed that their eventual choice will be tiny enough to carry around in a bag, with its head end indistinguishable from its tail end owing to sheer volume of floofy fur.

Finishing a draft of a novel is not earth-shattering. But it does bring with it a sense of freedom that’s not altogether nice. I’m going to have to change some beds. Talk to the children. Wash. Write more blogs. Crivvens.